by Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty |
Categories:
love, , western,
L'Origine du monde
smegma musk odors of clit
pervade my night sky
L'Origine du monde, the first realistic painting of a vulva in Western art (Oil painting by Jean Désiré Gustave Courbet 1866, Paris: Musée d'Orsay )
"I am fifty years old and I have always lived in freedom; let me end my life free; when I am dead let this be said of me: 'He belonged to no school, to no church, to no institution, to no academy, least of all to any régime except the régime of liberty."(Jean Désiré Gustave Courbet)
©rajat kanti chakrabarty
16 December 2014
by Masereka Amos |
Categories:
age, celebration, conflict, culture, loss, lost love, new year, poetry, time, today, violence, writing, yellow,
In time, days, months to years
Is the failure of relationships
In January to July to December
And the shallow of rivers
In July, August to September
The destruction by earthquakes
In January, February to December
The reshuffle of accidents
In lakes, roads and in air
The manufacture of acids, guns, and robots
In laboratories, industries and employment areas
The color of rainbows
Blue, green, grey
The personality of people
Conceited, gloomy, temperamental
The training of soldiers, students, and also religions
In academy, schools and institutes
The birth of children
Over years and years all over the world
The truth of lies
In homes, schools up to work places
by Lori Thomson |
Categories:
angst, confusion, depression, introspection, life, loss, sad,
How is it possible to be so lost,
so completely damaged,
to be so far gone,
yet no one can see the truth?
Is my facade so damn impenetrable,
my smile that genuine,
do I deserve the academy award
because no one can see the truth?
It seems implausible really,
that you could be this screwed up,
this irreparably broken,
and still no one sees the truth.
Perhaps they don't want to see,
or consciously acknowledge,
what's staring them in the face
and just refuse to see the truth.
Or maybe, they love me too much,
to admit I'm getting close to getting ghost.
Well, look closer dammit…
the truth might just save my life!
by Vince Suzadail Jr. |
Categories:
imagination, life, life,
If my life was a movie
What kind would it be
Would it be an adventure
Or maybe a comedy
Would there be a love scene
To make you feel so warm
Would I be a hero
In the eye of the storm
Would I handle the challenges
The pain and the strife
Would I travel the world
To find the meaning of life
Would it become a classic
And go where memories are stored
Would it ever be nominated
For an academy award
Would I take all my worries
And give them a fling
If my life was a movie
I wouldn't change a thing.
by Theresa Dunn |
Categories:
blue, cinderella,
I'm living in a world of fantasy,gone is my sanity. I feel like an actress playing the role of a lifetime or like a great mime with only movement and sound.Or anything goes with no bounds.
I think I could win a Grammy or an Academy Award,or play a pirate and fight with swords.
Oh but yet reality is a ***** and the sight of it makes me itch.
My vision is clear and in my sight maybe a comedy or love story but nothing that has fights.
An animation now that would be cool just sipping on a cold one out in the pool.
But yet my fantasy world will just have to wait, unless Warner Brothers decides to open the gate.
by Alkas Poetry |
Categories:
allegory, allusion, appreciation, humorous, irony, metaphor,
Oh poet, nativist,
would you love that much today
this country of clowns and artists... !
PS/ Gonçalves Dias was one of the greatest poets of the first romantic generation in Brazil. He was patron of chair 15 at the Brazilian Academy of Letters (ABL). Remembered as an Indianist, nativist poet, he wrote on themes related to the figure of the Indian,
always extolling with euphoria his great yearning for the beauty of Brazil, its people, its nature...
In addition to being a poet, he was a journalist, lawyer and ethnologist.
by Paul Warren |
Categories:
friend,
What I remember is his smile
That was never far from his dial
When we were young he was there
Our Course 47 for three years of Academy fair
Each one of us would have a tale
Of Gerry’s pranks that would never fail
But time marches on for all of us
And he would not want for me to fuss
The things that I remember now
Are his love of family and his father’s know how
And the one thing I am glad of most
Is to call Gerry a good friend as my proud boast.
© Paul Warren Poetry