Poetry Reading: Knight and Dragon by BRIAN T. SLUGA

Performed by Val Cole

*****

Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Poetry Reading: MEAN GIRLS by Linda R. O’Connell

Performed by Val Cole

*****

Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Poetry Reading: MORONIC MOTORISTS, BY JOHN ROSS HARVEY

 

Performed by Val Cole

*****

Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Read Poem: TO THE GIRL WITH THE RED BRACELET by Jack Peachum

(Fragment)

Quietly,
you looked back.
I think you will go
when you meant to stay.
Red bracelet,
I am not yet water under the bridge,
I am not the horny traveler–
and you are not a red thread
to tie round my heart!

Read Poem: Reflections on Ties That Bind by Jan Little

If marriage offered a narrow tether like Denmark’s attachment to Europe,
I could have conformed that much to a husband’s wants
And gladly given all that connected me to him along that shared side,
Yet still have space to feel whole within myself
With time alone to welcome sunrises.

But in an era of coupledom,
Children, churches, friends appear as too tight enclosures
Like that of landlocked Poland vulnerable in its total connection to others.
The need for time to self-define would have pulled at those seams
I chose to sew myself into

—So, torn between need to soar with dragonflies
Or serve those who had depended on me, would leave me
Only ever be a halfling to them and to me.
And I would self-bind myself to a tree of love and know that
That to break even one branch to see the sunset
Directly and with no filter would break a dear heart.

Always my need to meander and to become
A nomadic jig-sawed raft, like Ireland, separated just enough
Would cause wars over custodial privileges—But after a while,
Loneliness would lead me to dock ports of serial monogamies
Until the yen to roam again arrived to leave
Those voices waking me from seaside talks with mermaids.

Yet love’s allure—to matter most to another—
To have another matter most to me–
Still calls to me as Penelope’s steadfastness
Did to Odysseus—
Like him, I could happily winter in love’s arms
With freedom to sail in spring’s seas.

Poetry Reading: THE COMPLEX MAN by Joy Genauer

Narrator: Kate Fenton
******

Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Poetry Reading: I’M LIVING by Bhekuzulu Khumalo

 

Performed by Kate Fenton

*****

Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Read Poem: To Manchester With Love by Kathy Walsh

Liverpool’s neighbour since time began
Cultural landscape ripe to explore
Exciting things if you have a plan
Or just want to go the match and nose round the shops.

I went to my first gig 22 years ago
I saw Blur at the G-Mex,
It was so like the MEN
There was none of this hate, fear and anger back then.

What happens through ideology
Only cements the love
People have for families, friends and siblings
It should be enough

There is no just cause, no right way to find the words
No explanation given
Who can? I can’t

I only hope as humans we remember
To be helpful kind and speak and do peaceful things

So the 22 people lost on a night out
Will be remembered as the people that were having fun
Manchester I send love,
Stay strong.

Note: I wrote this a few days after the terror attack at MEN last year in tribute to the 22 people who died after seeing Ariana Grande. The word Tribute is what I would like this poem to be considered for publication on the site and in print.

Read Poem: To the Piercing Underneath my Tongue by Zainab F. Raza

Golden lock,
In shape of a classic knocker
resting beneath its conveyer
to thoughts that I’ve decided to shut my doors against.
Golden lock,
holding unspoken treasures,
Golden lock, an unspoken treasure,
stabbing already raw gums.
Keeps me from sharpening the tongue of what many words that
turned
the misheard away.
And please don’t ask me why I sound so dull,
it hurts to speak.
Tastes like blood in here.
My mouth,
a home to where walls come down,
but who is there to invite?
Who will listen in borrow to
the suffocating voice behind gates of locked jaws?
I find no lending ear.
Who do I invite inside?
My golden knocker,
I made rupture for you by the piercing strike of a needle.
This is revenge to myself
for all that I’ve said,
so I suffer to I say what I think.
So I think twice, before you knock again.
And if it is worth the pull
of my aching tissue that’s known more cries than a box of goddamn
Kleenex,
I will answer.
Leisure to my lesion,
my thoughts are resting in apologies I want to say,
but let me rather spare you the pain of forgiving.
Because I know it hurts to speak.