Author: poetryfest

I teared up once, out of panic,
As it was my necessity — so basic.

I teared up once, out of fear.
It was when you failed to grasp my whimper.

But I had never teared up once,
As I am,
Of what you are afraid.
You just made me one of you —
Unconscious,
Walking on your tread.

I felt left out once —
Cause I was a fool,
When I was being taken from your hold.

I felt left out once —
As I was mad,
When you lashed at me
With a stick in your hand.

But I had never felt so isolated
In your presence, as I do now —
Scared of what you might think
Of my dreams and plans,
As if I am letting you down
.
You built a world for me,
Which you once failed to grab.
Tell me sure —
Did I want to be part of it,
Though it was you I was glad?

You saw me —
I was just hanging there.
A word from you
To go on — was priceless.
Yet you let me push alone
Into a cave full of bats and rats.
Your dread won over my wellness.

I teared up once again,
For myself
I chose to build my own space,
Hidden in the veil
Of being anxious and solitary,
Among the world’s race.

the summer is an expectation
the summer is a common lie

in which i’m taking a part
of which i’m taking a part

to which i’m giving the biggest share
of my most careless and unintentioned days

unallocated days

and unallocated, unmeasured waterflow of the mind

the summer is an overflowing basket
that all of us have to carry

so why not you too?

why do you want to be spared?

it’s too much
please, let me have a bite of this and a sip of that

and one more

and one more

until i burst from my thirst and greed
until the flies decompose my lustful thoughts

then I’ll send myself into exile, away from this brilliant world

to hide my ugliness

Intending to write a poem with rhyme
is clicking and tapping an elegy for time.

Sitting and typing a well-constructed crime,
prying your brain until the words shine.

A rhyme a day
keeps the writer’s block away you say.

You don’t usually do this
because it’s so meticulous.

You try so hard to be a team while
it chooses to be your thirteenth reason.

Sewing your consonants, pinning your vowels,
you let the ink run for miles.

The poem asks, where will you put me?
I reply, With my ashes along the sea.

I feel trapped inside the husk they call my body
I am weak like the pillowy overhangs of my flesh
As it piles a top itself
and overflows over the waist of my pants

I am acutely aware of
The size of everyone in the room
And
The snacks on the table
The promise of serotonin
wrapped up in sugary satisfaction
But,
Of course
the fat girl wants a snack

I am the butt of every joke
The crescendoing laugh emitted
by a self deprecating comedian
People only like the fat girl
if she’s funny

I am weighed down by the weight
of my own seeming inability
to do what’s best for my body
An inexplicable urge to stuff myself,
leaving no crumbs

Food is a reward
Food is non judgemental
Even if it evokes shame in the end

Food is constant
Food is unchanging
Processed ingredients and food dyes rarely shift
The consumer market is always there for me
Even if their motives are vile

I see myself as an elephant
The elephant in the room at all times
The elephant who everyone is watching
to see how many peanuts she shoves down her throat
The elephant that everyone eagerly watches the ring master torture
for the mere reward of peanuts
Dance, ‘phant, dance
No one is here to watch the elephant
to love it
They want to see if topple from atop its ball
The mistakes and shortcomings
are much more satisfying for the audience
Than the feelings of the elephant

If the elephant is doing well,
The show loses all its meaning.
And the audience
Is no longer interested.

I returned—
not in dream this time.
A cracked floor remembered a chipped tooth
I was lucky to lose.
So I knew:
this was my house.

Last night,
moths came again—
marble-bodied, almost human,
dragging themselves in a line.
They shook,
softened,
grew feathers from their backs.

Their mouths dripped yellow,
eyes hollow.
When they tried to speak,
powder blew out,
fine and dry.
I could not move.
I was one of them.

The house rocked—
was it sea, bed, ambulance?
Something unnamed
was being pulled from me.
I lay like a husk,
a vessel post-purpose,
my mind floating
behind sirens and glass,
watching green blur by.

They said I lost blood.
My heartbeat climbed,
then fell.
Darkness arrived.

When I awoke
I held a child,
white-wrapped, soft-skinned.
His eyelash twitched.
Too tightly swaddled, maybe.
I searched for a hospital.

They told me:
go back.
Back to house,
to country,
to name.

I held him tighter.

My fingers began to change.
Middle and ring.
Under the skin,
fetal shadows bloomed.
When I made a fist,
they rose—
little bones,
pink like tender fruit.

A woodpecker knocked.
I did not move.

Evening came
in a room of moving flesh.
We passed a buoy.
The cloths came off the dead—
they wept red tears.
You floated,
rope between your teeth.
Mine? Yours?

I kissed a swollen man.
His skin, thin as plastic wrap,
peeled under my lips.
I pressed it back.
“I’m sorry,”
I said
to the air.

Then, a room without corners.
Mold breathed in the walls.
My thighs wore paint.
The bed was stained.
The world:
metal warmth,
bones stacked like pastry spirals.

Once,
I wanted you
inside my world.
Later,
I wanted revenge.
Now,
I only want to stay in yours.
Even if it’s only a dream
I can’t wake from.

I laid my head on your lap.
You left no mark.
The sheet remained cruelly flat.
I shook you—
you swayed,
light as breath.

You said:
Go.
Bleed from your fingers
until it becomes meaning.
Or draw a square.

So, I drew a square.

I cried beneath the clouds. The sky cried too.
It wasn’t much. So I turned on the loose
cold tap again.

Then you roared, burning red right through my moors;

“Enough, go cloud your head.”

I stripped, left all my soaked clothes on the floor.
You yanked them out, tossed them toward the door.
Your hands caught hair. My skull found stones and dread.
Where could I go? This floodplain was our bed.

I begged for heat. You left me in the frost.
You called the dew I made decay and rot.
So I built dams, fled thunder, feared the light,
and curled into a moonflower by night.

You hated how my petals sought the air.
You crushed them under gravel, didn’t care.
Said you were parched. Then blamed me for no rain,
and left me cracked and reaching up in vain.

But still this moonflower blooms beneath her rain.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Slammed doors,
raised voices,
tears hitting the floor,
she’s faced with choices.

She sleeps alone
for the first time
in a long time
with a heavy heart.

Her own painful words echo in her head
and guilt consumes her.
What started the fight?
How did it get so bad?

She was unsure.
She gathered her blankets,
and her courage,
then left her pride lying in bed.

Her heart began to race,
worried that he may reject her approach,
but she found him to be completely asleep
curled under a small blanket.

She slinked into the bed with him silently,
She felt him sigh, his body sagging with relief
He held her so tightly, she almost couldn’t breathe,
and it was a comforting feeling.

With her pride left far behind,
and her lover wrapped around her,
Tender apologies were whispered, and then she fully relaxed, knowing that
she had made the right decision.

She was home.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

I.

Eros walked slowly through the forestland,
Near Mount Olympus, in the soft twilight.
By his side, he held his bow in his hand,
As he walked on through the advancing night.
Above the forest, the evening was clear,
As a full moon lit up the mountain’s peak,
An endless number of stars filled the skies.
Through the trees, he saw a wandering deer,
That appeared to be searching for a creek—
He quickly followed its path with his eyes.

II.

Reaching back into his quiver with care,
Eros placed an arrow within his bow.
He quietly raised the bow in the air,
Then he slowly crouched his body down low.
He watched the deer at the creek quench its thirst,
As he swiftly trailed it through the thick brush—
Suddenly, there came a beautiful sound.
The music startled both of them at first,
Then Eros and the deer left in a rush—
The arrow fell from his bow to the ground.

III.

As they both followed the sound of the lyre,
They then found themselves now coming nearer
To a woman on a rock near a fire—
Her sound and her beauty became clearer.
The deer slowed down from the pace which it ran,
And shook the loose leaves away from its fur—
Erato had brought an end to the hunt.
Her playing always charmed both beast and man—
The deer calmly listened from behind her,
And Eros stood enamored from the front.

IV.

They listened together, as she played on,
Wearing myrtle and roses in her crown.
Further into her presence, they were drawn—
Surrendering, Eros placed his bow down.
In the moonlight, Erato’s tunic flowed,
Appearing light blue within the green trees,
And her golden lyre began to glisten.
The fading embers of her campfire glowed,
And remained burning in the gentle breeze—
Eros stood and continued to listen.

V.

Overhead, the moon hid behind a cloud,
The fire was soon extinguished in the dark.
Her playing became increasingly loud,
And the fire reignited with a spark.
The playing then soon silenced in the night—
Her precious lyre upon the rock she placed,
And handed Eros a golden arrow.
He then watched the deer leave in the firelight—
Being thankful, for their presence it graced,
And for the sounds from the clearings narrow.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

McCulloch
Would you like to dance?
I could sing your name out slowly
Je-
Mi-
Mah
Lullaby loosely word that reminds me
Of syrup
I mean clearly the marketers knew what they were doing
Because your name still sounds like a poem to me

A deep southern love song
A windy romance

Would you show me the hills?
Walk me up and down
Je-
Mi-
Mah
Weaving through pathways like crochet
Slowly
Until the day fades into stardust
Until the scent grows sweet with the coming dew

I don’t care what colour you are
I care what sunset you bring to your eyes in the morning
And the cadences of your
Laughter

You could sing to me in yellow

Would you want to breathe?
A cathartic huh, huh, huh
Je-
Mi-
Ma
Mah
Muh
Uh
Uh

Uh

Jerimiah was a bullfrog
But you are beautiful
They have not copyrighted your smile
Nor have they formulated your recipe

But I bet I could memorize your walk
I bet I could sell your scent
If you ever gave me the rights

Romeo was a lover
But I’m sure on someone else that name fits like
A ripped pair of jeans

I think Juliet was right

I cannot imagine you anyone else
Anywhere else
Anybody else

Would you smile at me?
I could ease your awkward tendencies
Je-
Mi-
Mah
Oscillating violin strings
Slow moan

I mean you make me want to make you sing
But you keep your perfect mouth closed

Some locks don’t have a key