Tag: poem

Lines

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A woman by a wall painted with Revolutionary Poetry, in London, 1970s Richard Braine/PYMCA (from ‘Unordinary People: A celebration of British youth culture’)

Indefinite streaks of infinity running in one direction
words spilled over into cups of inspiration overflowing with obsession
so she writes
hurrying to let go of the pain caught in the palms of her hands
when
raindrops washed away dirt only to leave blisters of unspoken words on racing lines
how will she ever catch up?
Not talented enough to open her mouth in time to swallow the air so that she may catch her breath
not enough lines left over for exhausted words to sit and to wait
so what do I tell her?
what advice is there available for the woman with bleeding hands and a song to sing?
what kind of shoes are necessary to ensure that she keeps running in the same direction the lines are running
and
how many times
how many times must the caged bird write before she sings?
What advice shall be given to the one behind enemy lines?
Somewhere within the margins of the page
on the WRITE side of the RIGHT side
tell her
to stop hiding under her notebook
Tell her blue lines are not running they’re waiting
to search for similes beneath the surface
like
question marks these lines are empty on purpose
cuz
spoken words are not written they’re spoken on purpose
you tell her ….
this water didn’t come from raindrops in the sky
but the raindrops underneath her eye
-lids
Tell her it’s OK
to cry
even her messiah did
Cuz deeply emotional is the truth
and hearts aint bullet proof
but these lines
tell her these lines are waiting for her to get there
blank paper anticipate being stabbed in the chest
and wait for the blood you call ink to transform into the familiar alphabets the world has grown to love
called words
Indefinite streaks of infinity running in one direction
skillful lines
waiting
2 be heard

Pre-Conceived Notions

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the first time we met, I stood knee deep in lust
took advantage of your smile
never thought I would fall for it
too young to realize I’ve just never met a man before
dancing in your eyes
willing
to gamble my last just for a chance to see you again
your words,
so elegant that I thought deception wrapped its arms around my waist
tried
to convince me our love was nothing but child play
planned
to hold nothing in my heart but a piece of your gaze
and now
just maybe
you’ll let me kiss the anger from your voice
babysit your thoughts in my lap
let you feed on the wisdom of my breast
and we’ll dance neck up in peace & tranquility

Guest Feature Poets

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One of the features we have added to The PBS Blog’s list of reading material is our Guest Feature section. In this section, we strive to deliver quality poems or articles, usually written by an author outside of PBS, for your enjoyment. We would like to cover so many different topics but we can’t do it without your help. After all, who better to get your message out there but you? So, we are opening up to allow some of you to Submit a Poem of any subject to The PBS Blog to be posted in our Guest Feature section. This is not the same as a Guest blogger because you will not have access to this site. You will not be given a key in which to go into the inner rooms at this time, but I will be posting your poem to The PBS Blog for you. I will not edit your work and a link back to your blog (if you have one) will accompany your poem (further details are below). I have to make it clear that I do not have millions of followers. You will not be exposed to a grand audience and you will not be compensated for services rendered. However, you will get the opportunity to have your work exposed to some new faces and may even be able to make some new connections. I am also aware that there are many new bloggers in the blogosphere (like some of you just started yesterday, congrats! btw). If you are among one of these, this exercise is for you. I have seen an enormous increase in the follower or traffic or however you track your blog’s success, to someone’s blog when they were either featured or re blogged by someone else. That’s because in this vast techno-world, it’s not always easy to see everyone. Sure, your blog can be great, but it can also get lost in the clutter. So the re-blogs help to greatly generate attention to who you are. The Guest Blogs and Features do the same. So, for those of you who are still looking to do some connections and increase traffic to your blog, this is for you.  One  of the many purposes for this blog is inspiration. I enjoy inspiring and motivating people by way of poetry. I love being able to write about things that others can relate to, so being able to relate to others will be a key factor in the Guest Features I choose.

I will begin posting the Guest Features as soon as you can get them to me, but I will also like to space them out so if you don’t see your poem posted immediately it’ll probably post the next day (Poems are posted in the order to which they are received). Below is a basic guideline to follow:

– Only Poetry submissions are accepted at this time, Guest Featured Articles from Bloggers is coming soon.

– Poems can cover a variety of topics, except for these no no’s: 1. I will not accept material with an obscene use of profanity (guest or no guest,  this blog is after all a reflection of me and that’s just not the kind of language I use)  2. religious agendas (this is not to say you can’t submit a poem with spiritualism, but please don’t send in a poem about how Jesus is Lord and that we all need to accept him as our personal lord and savior) 3.  and poems that are just outright disrespectful (no example needed)

The idea is to try to relate to people across the board so try to be relatable. You have your own blog in which to push your own agendas.

– I will NEVER edit your post. All submissions will be posted AS IS.

– I will NEVER take credit for your work. All submissions include your first and last name along with any other credentials you’d like to send, such as: blog address, copyright information, etc. If you only send in your first and last name, this is what will accompany your post

– Limited promotions only. Please don’t send us a book about how great your business or talent is. Keep in mind that you are a guest in someone else’s home.

– If you’re familiar with The PBS Blog you know we like to use big colorful images to compliment each post. While images are not always used, if you would like to use them, please include them attached to your e-mail. I will arrange them in your post so that it looks nice (see posts for an idea). If no picture is attached to your e-mail we will not add pictures.

– If you’re a blogger, we encourage you to respond to the corresponding comments following your Guest Feature. If you are not a blogger, The PBS Blog will kindly thank those who comment on your poem. We can add an e-mail address or your personal website too if you include it in the e-mail. It’s up to you.

– You will know if I am interested in posting your poem simply because I will respond to your e-mail. Please give at least 1-2 business days before slamming your computer into the wall because you have not heard back from me. Bloggers actually have lives outside of cyber space, so give it a day or two.

That’s it, see ya soon 🙂

Please e-mail entries  to: ahouseofpoetry@gmail.com

Guest Feature – Fear Itself Is Undefined by Bianca Flores

I lay on my bed soaking my pillow with my tears,
I try to remember exactly what it is that I fear.
Is it the passing of time or the love that I lack?
Is it the mistakes that I’ve made or the fact that I can’t bring the past back?
What is it that I’m afraid of?
Why am I so scared?
Is it the people I’ve hurt or the people that have hurt me?
Am I afraid of everything that I cant seem to see?
Is it the love of a friend, or the loss of my family?
Is it the possibility that my life can end in a tragedy?
What is it that I fear most?
What do my eyes say I’m scared of?
Is it the sun that sets but won’t seem to rise?
Is it the hope that I have that always seems to die?
Is it the trust of a person that I cannot begin to grasp?
Is it all the memories of my horrid past?
Is it me?
Can it possibly be that the thing I fear most is the thing I can’t be?
The things that I try to understand?
The me that I try to be with when I’m feeling sad?
The person I’m expected to be? Is that what I fear? . . .
I think the thing I fear most . . .is me

– Poem written by Bianca Flores

Mankind is an Arrogant Creation

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Mankind is an arrogant creation.
He walks proudly on both legs,
almost as if the wind carries him
His head is tilted toward the sky that he curses with his lips
But the clouds mock him
And the seas have admitted, he is foolish in his ways
He possess intellect, but his intelligence has seated him on the right side of fools
knowledge, wisdom, and understanding has slipped from his fingers; escaping his memory
He has no parachute to which to catch them, and he does not desire to
He is an arrogant creation, man is
Everything is thankful except him
He does not understand that what elevates the trees,
birds,
and even the wind is their willingness to bow in submission to love
to fill the vessel that is himself with compassion
to walk an orderly path
to wrap oneself outwardly and inwardly around it like a fetus in its mother’s womb
to bleed it’s law
and conform to the shape and the will of love
but he is greater in comparison
man is
And what compares to love?
He cannot count the number of hairs on his head
Measure the depth of the sea
And the width of the wind
Yet, he is greater than love?
Yes
It is clear
deception has robbed him of the truth…
because mankind is an arrogant creation

There’s a Poem Somewhere

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There’s a poem somewhere waiting to be heard.
There’s a child out there confused and afraid so he waits and she waits to be heard.
There’s a man out there who wants to know truth
but this world is so tempting that his dreams he’d rather pursue
there’s a poem out there somewhere that speaks to you.
There’s a student out there who refuses to sit still in class because he refuses to accept that his people are at the bottom of the social class,
he refuses to accept that his history goes no further than the days of slavery’s past
there’s a young lady out there whose virginity didn’t last.
Because see,
somewhere,
there’s a young woman who was taught that her materialistic was much more precious than her body so she sold her body,
for cash.
somewhere out there a young man’s innocence didn’t last…
Somewhere a young boy is told that it didn’t matter who he shared his love with
that it didn’t matter if he sexed ‘em young or old for the rest of his days…
there’s a young man out there who can’t understand why and how he’s got AIDS.

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There’s a false prophet out there waiting to get paid.
There’s a couple out there who just can’t get along
there’s a father out there who can’t leave his home, the home occupied with bars for far too long.
There’s a mother out there who can’t sing her song,
her song of new life that has lingered in the air for far too long.
And a grandfather who can’t take depression for much too long and a…
there’s a…
poem somewhere…
out there……that sings these songs.
There’s a brother out there who’s tired of being alone.
There’s a sister out there in search for a home.
There’s a nation out there that just does not belong,
in this world.
But there’s a Power out there who hears these cries
and a Truth out there that squashed those lies
and there are many prophets, they too have cried.
Somewhere now,
somewhere……
somehow …..
somewhere here,
this poem right now
There’s someone out there who hears these songs…
and their poem is right now,
so to say somewhere……
I guess
I was wrong.