Read Poem: LATE SPRING FILES, by Travis Darkow

Barbed wire fences stretch down this dirt road
All the way to the dusty iron gates that hold back
The secrets of an ill regarded graveyard

A space of well intentioned headstones that lie in wait
For the paranoia of the seasons to come to an end

Late spring flies gather and swarm
Between shadows of the passing years

In nonsensical terms this all makes perfect sense
Innocence
In a sense

Lost through time
Revoked beauty held hidden just beneath the surface
Blood runs from the trees down through the roots
The buds of a pale future drown in the soil
Before they will ever have the chance to bloom

Nothing will survive the coming days
But we should be so lucky for the chance to start again

Read Poem: The Lady of Shallot Revisited, by Caro Field

The barley fields are golden ever,
The willows weep, the aspens shiver,
By the swift, fast-flowing river,
On the road to Camelot,
I glimpse the walls, the four grey towers,
A sense of gloom quite overpowers,
And a solitude that just devours,
When I set eyes upon Shallot.

I push the heavy, oaken door,
Petals line the marble floor,
I feel like I’ve been here before,
In the Castle of Shallot.
The silence echoes and it’s eerie,
It envelops those who, travel weary,
Find the Castle somewhat dreary,
This Castle of Shallot.

I climb the gently curving stairs,
Their grace takes me so unawares,
None before these quite compares,
To the stairwells at Shallot,
As I ascend in the sombre gloom,
I come across a tiny room,
And in it sits the very loom,
Of the Lady of Shallot.

It was here that she would sit and weave,
And she never took her leave,
She wove steadily, without reprieve,
The tales of Camelot.
She wove and wove, she knew not why,
But if she stopped, she’d surely die,
So to stave off death, she did comply,
The Lady of Shallot.

She wove her web of myth and mystery,
Of Arthur’s world, and of its history,
How his court was almost consistory,
The court at Camelot.
But she wove whilst looking in a mirror,
It somehow made her visions clearer,
And all emotions even dearer,
For the Lady of Shallot.

But one day, out rode Sir Lancelot,
On his fine steed, at a steady trot,
And our careful weaver clean forgot,
The Lady of Shallot.
As she looked on him, the mirror cracked,
And she knew that she could not retract,
She’d sealed her fate, and that’s a fact,
The Lady of Shallot.

And so she dressed in purest white,
And in her boat did she alight,
Resigning herself to her fearful plight,
The Lady of Shallot.
She lay down in that small, small boat,
And calmly, set herself afloat,
Chanting the dirge she knew by rote,
The Lady of Shallot.

Those on shore all watched her go,
Caught fast amid the raging xflow,
Trying hard not to let their feelings show,
For the Lady Of Shallot.
Because the mirror cracked from side to side,
As she floated, she slowly died,
And all who saw her mourned and cried,
For the Lady of Shallot.

© Caro Field

Poetry Reading: Poetry of Mind, by Joy Genauer

Performed by Matt Barnes

 

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

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Poetry Reading: The Ruins, by William P. Robertson

Performed by Matt Barnes

 

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

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Poetry Reading: Part Conversation with Homlo, by Bhekuzulu Khumalo

Performed by Matt Barnes

 

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

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox