Writer Poems
Writers' Fate
by Oluwatosin Thomas
Writer of the present era,
Conceived and raised in the illumination of the gods.
Literary path they showed me,
Never to be them but to seek what they sought.
Winter and summer, i lay my lines.
Explicit and abstract, still in my lines of ancestors.
Lines of creatity i wished, and end to it i prayed not.
Papyrus and cuneiform, all i grew with.
......
why do you seek the living among the dead?
by Bogdan Dragos
The old lady kept coming by
the hospital to assure the medics that it'll be
okay
"He's a true fighter," she said. "I know he'll make it.
He has won the battle with drugs
twice in the past. He'll make it this time as well. I
know it. I feel it. I believe in him."
"Mam," said the doctor. "We found rusty fragments
......
not to the swift
by Rikske Kessner
They cling to the weight of their quill,
the tactile sensation, grounding them,
yet, the digital tide pulls at their resolve,
urging them to adapt or be left behind.
Nostalgia blooms in the scent of old books,
memories of applause, now distant echoes,
the poet's dilemma, a struggle within,
to honour tradition or embrace the new.
......
People like you die young
by Bogdan Dragos
People like you die young, she said
You don't drink, don't
do drugs, eat healthy, rarely
go out, rarely meet new girls
But you keep on writing, boy, you
keep on writing
and that's enough to outweigh
all the above
......
making it big in a small world
by Bogdan Dragos
other than
weirded
the fuck out
she didn’t know how
to feel about it
so she read the
words again
SO GLAD TO SEE YOU
......
Writers' Fate
by Oluwatosin Thomas
Writer of the present era,
Conceived and raised in the illumination of the gods.
Literary path they showed me,
Never to be them but to seek what they sought.
Winter and summer, i lay my lines.
Explicit and abstract, still in my lines of ancestors.
Lines of creatity i wished, and end to it i prayed not.
Papyrus and cuneiform, all i grew with.
......
not to the swift
by Rikske Kessner
They cling to the weight of their quill,
the tactile sensation, grounding them,
yet, the digital tide pulls at their resolve,
urging them to adapt or be left behind.
Nostalgia blooms in the scent of old books,
memories of applause, now distant echoes,
the poet's dilemma, a struggle within,
to honour tradition or embrace the new.
......
A Prodigal Soldier of Words
by Hébert Logerie
I am a prodigal son of a gun
Who fears nothing under the sun
I am a brave and defiant soldier
I am a peaceful gladiator
My pencil is my sword
My pen is my deadly weapon
I write one word at a time, one word
Which can destroy their plan
My pen is like a machine gun
An M16, which spits with a lot of fun
......
The Greats
by Tyler Morello
All artists strive to be like the Greats.
No shame in vying to be someone's Van Gogh,
Going, going, gone, Homer
with his Odysseys and Iliads
and to all, a million ears lent.
Just as Romans did to Antony in Caesar.
Shakespeare's sonnets sold out theatres,
but I grasp at the same words as he.
I pin them to the walls.
I paint them on the mirror.
......
making it big in a small world
by Bogdan Dragos
other than
weirded
the fuck out
she didn’t know how
to feel about it
so she read the
words again
SO GLAD TO SEE YOU
......
