Author: poetryfest

The sky is on fire,
As it burns, embers float.
The sky is burning with my desire.

The sky is falling.
Come, grab my hand,
We run towards our calling.

Our only lifeboat is our love.
Safety, getting closer now.
Out of the blazing sky falls a dove,

Out of the ashes, the question arises,
Is our love strong enough?
Or are we battling love’s devices?

The sky is on fire,
you say you no longer love me.
I crumble down, landing on my funeral pyre.

You broke me, left me to burn.
But now,
I am free.

Nations stand up
In a world of diversity and strife
We search for harmony, a common life
Across the globe, we reach and roam
Nations unite, to make our world a home

With cultures blended, and hearts aglow
We celebrate our differences, and let love grow
From east to west, we stand as one
Nations unite, beneath the radiant sun

We’ll bridge the gaps, and mend the tears
And build a world where love and peace appear
With open arms, and hearts so bright
Nations unite, in the warm and golden light.

In the face of adversity, we find our way
Stand strong people, come what may
With hearts united, and spirits bold
We’ll rise above, and never grow cold

Through trials and tribulations, we’ll make our stand
Stand strong people, hand in hand
With love and resilience, we’ll pave the way
For a brighter tomorrow, starting today

We’ll lift each other up, and never give in
Stand strong people, with hearts that win
Our diversity is strength, our unity is key
Stand strong people, and we’ll make history.

mirages in the dead of winter
pressing down wood until it splinters
gold encasing for the door
the sun rising more and more
me in my long blue dress
trying to think about you less and less
my fingers fidget when i’m alone
while you sit silent as stone
everything is gray outside
you and your endless lies
salt shaker next to pepper
you being a homewrecker
the birds outside taunting me
you and your leaving haunting me
seeing your body everywhere
your face filled with lack of care
this table being ours before
me being devastated to my core
you at the table next to me
i hear her voice, the banshee
i have learned how not to talk
it’s your turn to learn how not to walk
me and the sunlight that frames my face
us forgetting to move with haste
you wearing dark blue
me and these old shoes
whispers in the dead of night
all the birds are taking flight
day in day out, you still here
i might need to move on i fear

What do I know about love?
I’m a middle-aged man who has only fallen in love once—okay, I lie, maybe twice.

The first girl was as cold as ice;
She thought her kisses should suffice.
The second was more involving,
But her temperament was like a door constantly revolving.

Non-stop arguments, moody spells—
I should have known from her initial displays she would drag me through hell.
But I was enticed by her beautiful curves,
The thought of which I still preserve.

I was pleased for a while;
She had class, sophistication, and style.
But I couldn’t trust her, so I constantly put her on trial—
Constantly bugging her about who, what, where, and why…
Until, for absolutely no reason, she would cry.

My suspicions ran deep,
So I stalked her like a creep.
But no revelations were made;
In time, I got comfortable,

And my jealousy—or shall I say paranoia—faded.
That’s when we went for a random sex test.
I passed. She failed. So I was vexed.
Was it me who drove her to this,

Or was she just the wrong one to have kissed?
In all, I know this about love’s crazy state:
You’ll fail if you ignore love’s fate.
It’s an open gate,

Which you have a key to—but so does everybody else.
You don’t own it,
And at any moment, it could split,
Literally leave you looking to greener fields.

You feel like a warrior,
Armored with the love you wield,
As you laugh at previous encounters—
The love you killed.

But one day, it’ll come around to your turn.
You’ll be in pain, but you’ll just have to let it burn.
It’s part of life, I guess—
That when you pinch at hearts,
Yours gets pricked in return.

I need that
bare feet, caked in mud, kicking up dust
mantra.
That carry on melody in my head.

Towering stalks of gold
instead of those old cloud kissers.
I’ve got a rolled-up pants, shirt untucked kinda
soul.

I need that
quiet night, candlelight, sitting back
feeling.
Those screen door creaks.

Tennessee whiskey
wheat in my teeth
farmer tanned
and feeling small.

My oiled hair, out and dusty.
Shined shoes, hanging on a telephone wire.
I’d give it all up for
my rusty wild country.

The sweetest escape is not heavenmade
It doesn’t resemble angels with its facade
But can make me see god through the smile on his face

I could name you with a hundred lies and bathe you with golden mines,
But what good use would it be ? I want your state of mind
Any sin and virtue you intertwine

I need the truth that only comes when lovers set fire to disguises
You, faceless daydream that makes a fool out of me
I’ll nourish hazily, I’ll run like a mad man If you’re in the things I seek

Let me be at least a tiny street
You can rest on me when your too lost in your bliss
You already are home for all of my daydreams.

There was a time long ago
Before the truth was set free.
When love had an even flow,
And fairness was not a plea.
Soon after the games and fun,
Would I have a chance to see
You were always holding a gun,
Just never pointed at me.
Others knew the arms you bore
And would run away in disgust.
Belief in your drive to fight the war
Allowed me to give you my trust.
In your times of needing backup,
I expected to receive your call.
Sadly you couldn’t pass up
The enemy between us after all.
Sometimes it was your foe.
Other days it was your love.
I always reached high and low
To fight and keep you above.
Finally the enemy suffered defeat,
And we reached the other side.
But left was a thing I couldn’t beat,
Something you were unable to hide.
The view of me without the enemy
Was the strangest sight to you.
There was in fact no remedy
To show what you always knew.
In a blink of an eye,
You began to throw many a stone.
I had thought I was your ally.
Your true self had ultimately shown.
I am no longer your crutch,
Or your shoulder to cry.
I will never do things as such
Since you couldn’t even try.
Now you beg for my grace
As if I hadn’t shown it before.
I can see it in your face,
The enemy has what you adore.
Did you forget I was your peer
When others decided to run
Holding nothing but the fear
Of the damage that could be done?
I was the one who was tough.
I didn’t want you to waste.
But now I see I wasn’t enough.
Your true love is that awful taste.
It’s time I say goodbye
For you I cannot fix.
I have slowly bled myself dry
Falling for all your tricks.
In the end I am set free
From the loyalty that was false.
The gun you drew upon me
Was the last of your faults.
I am left to repair what you broke,
Essentially mending my heart.
I won’t be left behind to choke,
Even if you fall apart.

In my first act as a contortionist, i’d be a pretzel in your black box;
square pegs in round holes and the audience would erupt
in laughter that bursts like fireworks.
Bent over backwards straight into a handstand,
ushering my fingers forward past the eggshells
and my eyes would summon the sea.

In my second act, i’d be on the tightrope,
walking that fine line
between my dreams and yours for me.
I’d hold my breath until blue
if it meant finishing the act and applause from you.

For my third act, you’d need a season pass.
I’d sport shoes I can’t fill, a new nose plus a red wig.
My hands a frantic blur, yet none would slip:
a baby, a briefcase, a dinner plate and a whip.
I’d make it look effortless
and everyone would suppose
that they too could do clown shit,
all they’d need is a red nose.

I’ve dreamt of joining the circus,
because, there, you’d be amazed.
I’d be the enchanting virtuosa,
and you’d beckon me to ‘do it again!’

But a whisper caught in the morning dew
said ‘XX’, so, I guess, dreams come true.

she plants a salamander kiss
on my dry and filthy lips
and I have never in my life
know such a pure, clean love as this.

the corners of my mouth are caked in dirt and grime and mess
and still her hands touch on my hips
and still my tongue touch on her dress.

she is a silky spit of snow
on a sickly summer day.
i don’t know how, i don’t know why,
but i’ll take her either way.

she plants a salamander kiss
on my flushed and aching lips
and I have never, in twelve hundred suns,
know love so bright as this.

it is rugged, it is dainty
and good even when i’m not.
it is grounding, it is earthbound,
it’s exactly how love ought.

she plants a salamander kiss
on my cracked and bloody lips
and I have never in my life
been healed so righteously as this.

I sometimes wonder while sitting under
The sputtering shade of a cottonwood;
What would be better, this life as a settler,
Gifted with this mischievous blood,
Or the smooth simplicity of a tree?

It seems to me, apathy is key
To living a life which is without pain,
Without worry and without shame.

Coniferous and I are not so disparate.

A tree grows, In my eyes, just as I do.
They strive to survive, to accomplish tasks,
To reproduce using their tender fruit… Yet,
They are completely unaware of their acts.

But, then I ask, Darling, “are they happy?”.
I know maples are surely sappy,
Producing sweet syrup for us to eat,
And supple shade for this poet’s retreat,
Alas…
They are completely disconnected.
All an all, Gall’s do not love their fruit
They grow their sweet produce unaffected
By whether or not they go unconsumed.

But us?
Not so much, it’s not so plumb.
We’re spiritual and physical creatures
Blessed by fate with sentimental features
Which gifts me the sensitivities for love.
Hmm…
Musing what truly matters to me:

Reflecting honestly on you, Darling,
No Baum’s beauty could ever compare,
To the sensations of petting your hair.
Caring for you, and constructing our dreams,
Seeing Juniper as more than a tree;
These, my love, are my upholdings against strife
My coat in the cold, and comfort in life.

It is true,
A tree is effectively dead inside
The core which supports their many branches,
And braves the weight of great avalanches,
Is cold, alone, and unalive.

While what supports me
Is love and amnesty:
An uncrackable combination
Filled with mischievous circulation
Strong enough to last any tragedy.

So when a cold winter blows
One winter
A tall Oak may splinter
Down its center,
While our love
Will last forever.
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