Poetry for ChangeThe thorn in the rose rose
To prick and pick the pose
Of the stone staying style
Of bone that bosses boys
From tome to tome to
Cover conversations in cold
Winter storms that hinder the hearer
From accepting and acknowledging
Avarice that alienates avowels
Of loyalty, love, and lies
That embue endless enmity.
https://at.tumblr.com/malakkc-poetry/prickly-rose/qaapzwsv1nat
In a world where silence
Is a luxury at the core
Grab the peace
Where there’s only violence at the door.
How do you hold onto it?
How do you keep it, or
Stay sane in a fit
Where chaos is always at the door?
By the harvest moon
The lover’s moon reaches out,
Only to swoon
At the alter of harvest being picked out.
In a bout, the moons collide
The lover imposes its power
Fully intending to win and bide
His time to overpower such wonder.
As the lover reigns
The harvest gains, through pains of
The glory of feeding, with grains,
The world that’s exploding in a bluff.
Your Muse is either music (DavidArnold, Who YouReally Are, & Metamorphosis), society, you, life, relationships, dicord, or anything really. You add your words, on paper, and you get this:
Notice please: crossed out parts, lines that are supposed to an m, and personal note at the top (Kafka). Love writing!
Life is sometimes a Strain
But you live life as a speedy Train
That leaves you breathless in the Rain.
Don’t let people lead you to Stray
From your path, that’s like a Tray
Whose definative shape is sun’s Ray.
Don’t try to Explain
To people what’s Plain
For they’ve put their heads down and Lain.
Those of you, like me, who love books, they’ve taken a day out of the year specifically to celebrate our erudite natures. Books are my friends and confidants. They help me overcome difficulties by creating a world that’s simpler, where most rules are applicable, and most importantly, where imagination has free reign to soar.
Below is just a double acrostic poem about this special day!
Buying books isn’t for the weak, who falL
On their faces for their lack of imagination tO
Overcome life’s problems with luV,
Keen on transcending thE
Secrets of being a book buyeR
By: Malak Kalmoni Chehab
As the keeper of my secrets,
I need to confess my troubles.
I run around trying to please everyone And seem to end up alone!
As if by indulging others’ needs before mine,
I relegate my own happiness into a dark mine.
In it, the gloominess of the ambience
Is oppressive, comfortless, and has no patience.
As I squabble with my inner demons,
And my supererogation drowns my angels’ voices,
I notice that angels are a happy lot,
Who empower the self and never forgot
That there’s a price to pay for sacrificing For others, but it doesn’t need to be self-defeating.
No, no, no, and once more, no!
By helping others, you aren’t weak to
Assert your endowments to achieve
Your wishes without being demeaning,
Rather, you can help others believe
Not only in themselves, but in You.
“Man has it all in his hands, and it all slips through his fingers from sheer cowardice.” Fyodor Dostoevsky
To be a coward,
One must:
Fear being changed,
Fear loving it,
Fear beauty,
Fear being hopeful,
Fear the inspirational,
Fear of being an individual,
Fear of being assertive,
Fear of being humane,
Fear of being disruptive,
Fear of being positive.
When all is locked in a chest,
How can you break its best
From solid bonds that need a rest?
Take pride in ‘you’, the ‘person’,
Have faith in yourself and press on,
Knowing that what’s right will live on!
Heart, ohhh sweet heart,
I long for the days you were red,
Not a sunburnt heart full of dread.
Trampled heart
Disillusioned organ full of cheer,
Don’t give the fight that’ll impart
Moral, knowledge, friendship,
To all those who value
Mentorship over the need for material that rip
Your heart and soul
Replacing them with a money bowl.
By: Malak Kalmoni Chehab
I look upon the four hundred year old Cedar tree
That has survived such chaos, death, decimation
Of great forests of pine trees by invaders who ‘free’
It of its natural resources, life, and vegetation.
Encased in the trunk of the ancient tree, the world
Is small, burning hot under the summer sun, flashing
Its heat and brilliance to help everything grow into a postcard
That’s photoshopped into being breathtaking
In its organized life, only disturbed by humans barking
Out order for dissolving the inner and outer beauty of its solitude.
Slipping out of the of the cedar tree, I take my human form
And gaze astounded on my reflection: wrinkled skin,
Darkened splotches, and great disillusionment
Darkens the depth of my eyes as I lay bare upon the bank.
The scenes of war and decimation I witnessed
Have been imprinted on my soul, waiting for any deed
That will alleviate my despair that humanity is a dying breed
That needs new blood, ingenuity, and values
To help it defeat famine, war, racism, and religious discriminations.
Poetry for Change 