Author: poetryfest

I’ve written about you before, typed pages and
pages
about you and I.
It has been years since we last spoke, longer since meeting
but I think of you often.
The woman next to me is nothing like you
at all,
and that is good.

Yet often in those intrusive stale, steely hours between
wake and sleep
dream and nightmares
insanity and lucid thought,
you come creeping back like Germans
over the Alsatian line.

The crickets amongst pallid wind whisper
you over the cut lawns and framed homes.
You drove me mad and I drove you away,
word by word
cruel act after cruel act
lie
by
lie.

Reflecting on previous poesy
immature and false it was,
I now know the fool some folly
and can testify to those
dubious and duplicitous acts
so many sunsets ago
as Oahu dimmed a dangerous red.

Green, Green, Green…
Gone.
Light blue skies-
Grey gas.
Swimming, Happy fish-
They surfaced.
Beautiful, icy glaciers-
Warmth.
Warmer and warmer.
Is it hot in here to you guys?
Coughing, and coughing
My lungs feel full.
Not full of fresh air.
But full of it.
Full of this indecency.
Pick up your trash!
Go for a walk!
Take a break from driving for a bit!
You deserve it!
So does the environment,
So does the world.
Reduce, reuse, recycle!
It’s not just a jingle
We need to commingle.
A Community
together,
It is not a one-person job.
A solution for pollution,
Hopefully, soon, or we will be robbed
Robbed of this once beautiful Earth
Here for us to enjoy and love.
But there’s love no more
Slowly Dwindling,
Dwindling,
Dwindling,
And Gone.

Poverty
Isn’t the story they sell you.
It’s not just the guy on the street
with a sign and stare.
It’s your neighbor who turns off the lights early
to save on the bill.
It’s the kid in class
who’s always never hungry at lunch.

It’s working two jobs
and still falling short.
It’s being told
“just work harder”
by people who’ve never had to choose between groceries or gas.

It’s shame that whispers,
not screams.
Struggles hidden by wide smiles.
Hope stretched thin
like the paycheck
fully spent
before it even came.

But poverty isn’t weakness.
It’s survival in slow motion.
It’s power in worn-down shoes.
And we’re done pretending
this is normal.

Drawn by hype I raced
to a planned encounter,
with a pony-tailed wayfarer,
who dragged a rake,
through virgin sand.

His native motifs,
scratched on low tide’s grainy canvas,
received no accolades,
drew no crowds,
just me.

The artist, indifferent,
I, disappointed and duped, retreat—
contemplating another gallery,
another day.

But, there!

Lithely swaying sea oat brushes
hold tiny droplets of orange pigment.

On wings of softest parchment,
droplets float silently from brush to brush,
barely touching the canvas,
like weightless ballerinas moving from partner to partner,
unbound by morning sky…
The monarchs fly!

One solitary artist
drew me to a chance encounter
in a random studio
nestled in the dunes.

And the masterpiece!

I gave you a home,
patched the cracks where others had broken you,
fed you love like it was bread,
like hunger could be starved out of a person.

You said you were sorry.
You said you were done chasing ghosts,
but I heard the whispers,
saw the way your phone lit up
like a lighthouse in the dark.
And I knew.

Did he feel like silk?
Did he taste like freedom?
Was he softer, warmer—
did he call you by names
that didn’t carry my weight?

I was never enough, was I?
Not when I bled for you,
not when I forgave you,
not when I called your son my own.

You took everything.
Every damn thing.
And left me with the hollowed-out shell of a man
too tired to start over.

So, I ended it.
Not in rage—no, rage is quick and sloppy.
I ended it with the same steady hands
that once traced your spine
and built a life around you.

Now you are mine,
in the only way that lasts.

Forever.

I’ll wear black before I wear white
It’s all mourning until then
Grief
Blended with the night
Veiled
I’ll swim in the darkness
Prior to glory in the light
Nothing’s nothing about anything without you
Itching at my wrists
Biting at my lips
Blood
Subtle gestures at my hips
Curtsy to kings and queens for aisle’s sake
A grocery store aisle with red carpeting
Attending
Operas
Slippers missing
Spindle spellbound and sleeping
Doe prancing, ballerinas, and sugarplum fairies
I’ll wear black before I wear white.
Adam and Eve stayed together even after exile…

As you’re already aware…
…I’m on a one-way trip.

I’ve been on this journey
For over a year now.
In the end,
It’s just you and your convictions.

I believed Miller,
Every word he said.
He was finally happy,
Finally at peace.

He described contact with a highly-advanced civilization.
Said they knew how to make it all go away —
Every trouble, every sorrow.

Nobody believed him,
And I’ll never know why.

Human nature, I guess?
If it sounds too good to be true,
It probably is.

But I believed Miller.
And my faith was rewarded,
When he sent me,
And only me,
Instructions on how to reach them.

Miller lost his father to alcoholism,
His mother to suicide,
His wife and child to a horrible accident.

He was a deeply religious man.
After all he’d been through,
Who wouldn’t take a leap like this?

And so, I chose to follow in his footsteps.
Back on Earth, I was a corporate man.
The money was good, but everything has a price.

My soul couldn’t take it anymore.
They begged me not to go,
But there’s nothing left for me on Earth.

All that war and fighting,
Greed and famine,
Chaos and crime…
…I’d seen enough, had enough.

It’s not lost on me
That without money,
None of this would’ve been possible.
But all the money in the world
Couldn’t keep me there any longer.

Maybe I’ve been in denial,
Maybe I’m selfish,
But I left my fortune behind to charities.
Using the remainder for this journey.

It doesn’t matter what they do with the money.
It doesn’t make a difference now,
They can’t say my heart wasn’t in the right place.

Where I’m going,
At least I’ll still have everything.
And I’m not talking about material things either.

Can you imagine?

My excitement knows no bounds.
My parents are still alive.
My mother isn’t stressed out all the time,
My father isn’t holding onto his pain any longer,
My pet is still running around,
Living his best life.
Everyone’s happy,
Everyone’s at peace.

And most of all?
She’s still there too,
Just as I remember her,
But healed from all of it.
Pain, trauma, abuse,
Things she endured but never resolved,
Hurt that was there,
Long before my arrival.

It won’t be the same,
But I’m okay with that.
Because when I make contact with them,
Deep down I’ll know,
Just like Miller did.

They’ll free me from my pain,
My grief,
My suffering,
A trinity of torment that refuses to subside.

With their help,
I can build upon the memories
I refuse to let fade,
And I can revise those endless dreams,
Dreams that never came to pass.

Because I’ve finally accepted,
With all my heart…

…That the illusion will be enough.

I tell the big-shot mobster I believe in America
but its courts betrayed my belief so I’m desperate
to avenge the savagery suffered by my daughter.

I don’t tell the big-shot mobster I despise him
and his family and all his kind of sick psychos
for giving honest Italians like me a bad name.

I tell the big-shot mobster what he needs to hear.
I beg and bow and humble and humiliate myself
call him godfather and kiss his hand. Sell my soul.

I won’t ever tell the big-shot mobster the satisfaction
from our violent vengeance lasts merely a moment
but the sin of our evil will torture me to my grave.

Inspired by the opening scene of The Godfather (1972)

A sonnet by Susan Gallotti

White waves scurry, arrival elusive.
Smooth, bleached limestone hides dull space rock crater.
Intense sun glare blinding and intrusive.
A lone cloud wafts, the landscape’s curator.

Blue sea tiers sky in monochrome rainbow,
Clear water dissolves slate, sapphire, marine,
Turquoise stops breath, fades azure, indigo,
Mid-day sunset in plain view but unseen.

Green trees, all hues, overlapped and blending,
Protrude center mural tall as Redwoods,
Unmarred, erect with pride and unbending,
Guard the cape like a valiant knighthood.

Grey heart absorbs light; Warmth, calm, hope effuse.
As soothing palettes mute the lonely Bruce.

Feet buried into the bank of the lake
Water stews around me
As waves splash against my breast
I stare from the Indiana beach westward
As the sun dips behind the Sears Tower
Yellow rays of light streaked through the clouds
Brushstrokes stretching
across the scape of the water

My friend waded a few yards away
Savoring the water and playing mermaids
I turned back to the sun
And saltwater started forming in my eyes
I thought of my mother
And grief overtook me like the waves
Cresting on the coast

The sun had set on me
As it had on her life
So I enjoyed the last few minutes of light
Before the beach faded into darkness