Author: poetryfest

LEO SUN: a poppy seed lays in soil for fifty years, unbothered, and continues to grow, just like how I don’t need sunshine and water to validate me, but it helps, except I am the sun, I am the water, I will do what I need to do for survival, loyal to my family, loyal to myself, owning my roots, and this town, kudzu grows four feet every night under the moon, you won’t notice the ivy, but it will notice you, fires ablaze, lavender haze, heat remembers the space that was burned, I will always remember my mother coming to me with her problems, and now I don’t talk to her, forest fire, burnt out gifted child, ashes to phoenix, I will arise, not because you asked nice, but because I am incandescent, chandelier daughter, garden lion, Babylon lover, prideful forgiver,

AQUARIUS MOON: opals are rain made into solid, gemstone heart, fool’s gold brain, my chronic pain is the worst roommate, always hurting for others, always hurting for myself, tattoos and tarot, individualistic sorrow, water bringer, nighttime crier, waiting for tears to be worth something more, sapphire, tanzanite, aquamarine, suppressing your emotions leads to loss of memory, my childhood an opal necklace stolen by my mother, I hate you for making me caretaker, do not take credit for my accomplishments, or my brother, these feelings aren’t treasure incarnate, floodgates waiting to be opened, water sign mistaken, the fire inside grows with the wind, blow that funeral home down,

SCORPIO RISING: my ghosts are always in the wrong place, thought I left them buried, everything secret, everything a pinky promise, oath taker to my mistakes, call me mystery villain, psychic victim, these visions of ruin haunt my daydreams, my cat nuzzles me for attention, her whisker falls off, this is supposed to be good luck, four leaf clover, growing under a ladder, a rabbit’s foot broke a mirror, seven more years, shipwrecked, thirteen death threats, fourteen to twenty-three, disorder made concrete, cracked in the middle, realizing all my skinny idols weren’t real, photoshopped bones, sticks and stones, I dream of snakes and falling teeth, now I like my stretch marks, lightning bolt beauty, and the beast, but they both live inside of me.

I see the past in the present
Your face stands out so clearly
Vividly
Dark complexion, a chiaroscuro against so many white
I see you
Your family
Happy
The beach
A refuge for so many
Cares
Worries
Disappear
The wind picks up
The roar of the sea grows louder
Azure sky replaced by the grey, blue, and pink of impending twilight
You sweep your daughter into your arms
Your son runs after his mother
This human act
Replicated throughout the world
Throughout time
Culture
Language
Race
Religion
Makes no difference
We yearn for the same things

Yet hate
Taught
Perpetuated
Replicated throughout the world
Throughout time
Learned ignorance
Convincing the masses that differences should scare us
Culture
Language
Race
Religion
Manipulating us
Fright obscuring reason
Unleashing our animalistic nature
Anger
Fear
Hate
Powerful motivators
Wielded by rulers to control the ruled
To inspire violence
To maintain power
To profit
Strawmen change
Tactics endure
Dividing and conquering the exploited
Isolated
Solidarity gone
How powerless groups become
One by one
Realization
Always too little
Always late

You leave
I stay
Thinking
Lessons forgotten
Lessons ignored
The muted cries of the past fall on willfully deaf ears
Red hats
Red armbands

Anger
Fear
Hate
A perpetual battlecry woven into the fabric
Authentically unoriginal
Yet it works
The same old tricks
The exploiter eternally convincing
The exploited eternally naive
Manufacturing consent
To eradicate neighbors
Profit over people
Hate over reason
Fool me once
Shame on me
Fool me for eternity
Shame on thee

Yet indifference
Enduring
Time after time
Shame
A sensation no longer felt
Payout
Always too great
Consequences
Yet again
Arriving late
Lie and cheat
Steal and kill
Business as usual
Unless it happens to you
Manipulation
Your weapon of choice
Cold

Conniving
Coordinated
But you know the secret
Fools are ever so trusting
How truly easy it is to train the ignorant
The uninformed
The shallow of soul
Morals forgotten
Ignored
Replaced
Pavlov’s dog
Feasting on lies
While piercing rings
Toll on
And on

Conditioned
Salivating
Rabid
An empty vessel to be commanded
Used and discarded
After the violence
Empathy
Our spark of life
Smothered into silence
Eyes seeing, yet the mind not truly grasping
A husk of a human
Yapping for its master
Blame
Excuses
It makes no difference now
A song on repeat
Another generation lost
Innumerable and forgotten
Tale as old as time
Continues
Marching
On
And on

Strong gusts
Dark clouds
Tide turns
Water churns
Flash
Crack
The Thud
Thud
Of rain upon sand
Beats on
And on
Your footprints fade
Another memory of this world
Lost
Forgotten
Will you survive what is to come?
Will I?
The end is written
For those who look
Tear out the page
Change the book

We keep fighting about nothing,
then sitting in silence that feels louder than words.
It’s like we’re caught in a song that won’t move forward,
just the same verse, the same note,
again and again.

You said, “You never listen.”
I wanted to say, “I do, I just don’t always know how.”
But the words never came out right.

I think about how it used to be
when your laugh was my favourite chorus,
when your hand in mine was enough to quiet everything else.
Back then, we were in tune.
Now we sound like two instruments
playing in different rooms.

But I don’t want to give up on this.
I don’t want love to be a solo.
I want harmony, even if it’s imperfect.

Maybe if we slow down,
listen softer,
forgive quicker
we can find the music again.

Not a perfect song.
Just ours.

I get sick of myself
Sick of
My overthinking,
my madness,
My mind is like a car without brakes.
You’re the cure,
Which I take in small doses.
I admire you,
Your patience
Your love
Your tranquility.
The serenity that comes when you hold me tightly, with my head on your chest, while my tears
streaming down my red, puffy cheeks.
You’re the remedy for my madness.
It’s no longer me against the world; it’s us.
Us against the world that’s going up in flames.

You’re the one that I want, but—
Don’t say but.

But she’s the one that I need.
Oh.

A simultaneous push and pull.
An interior darkness sweeps.

I find myself beside myself;
a voice that’s not my own begs:

“Then say it’s over.”
It will never be over.

“Say it’s over,” the beggar demands.
I’ll think of you in five, ten, and fifty years.

“Say it’s over,” the beggar implores.
Fine. It’s over.

The beggar comes back inside of me.
She is dead.

Joanne Koenig Coste, 1940-2022
“I am seeking, I am not lost. I am forgetful, I am not gone.”

cobblestones, shells, fishbones, pearls, ambergris
images of a sea appearing, disappearing in a sieve,
Whose place is this? Where am I? My name seems lost
he says: Who are those people sitting there? He looks
at her in progressively learned helplessness―

As one left behind, the caravan far ahead, camel
bells heard on more, blistered feet on scalding desert
sands, she lifts him with ice-cold hands of care.
―Reminiscent waves weave oblivion, but trusting
swollen memories, steering slippery lanes

he moves on―maps saved in remote safes identify
getaways, houses appear, which one to knock, no door
bell rings, paint-peeled tracks are gone, staring
back are blanks: walking down the stairs, his anxious
hands turn pages of chronicles, lines thinning fast,

fading inks plant smudges on sweaty palms. How
was morning? ―a long pause―I had breakfast.
How was your afternoon? ―a long pause― I had lunch.
What else did you do? ―a long pause―afternoon ended.
Confined in cupped hands, the brook in spherical

sounds of catch & let go, rusty orange waters receding
in tunnels, the flow swallowing recalls―there’s no pull
back―fists knuckling for help, fiber-thin flickers glow
― he looks at his son and says: he is my dad; I love him.
Assured, perhaps someone is listening, he articulates―

All the world’s a stage. And all the men and women, merely
players. Is it a poem, a prayer, or a book title, and who
wrote it? The soliloquy continues: 4 times 4 equals 8. No,
no, it is 16; how strange that 16 or 61 is the same as
1991, digits somersault, words fox jump, in staccatos

aging cuckoo clock filters the usual sunset; not long ago
perhaps yesterday, maybe today― maybe― maybe
Grandma baking pies; air sniffs cinnamon, sliced apples
stir appetite, headlines on black and white TV stream―
Neil Armstrong is landing on the moon,

a winding road, angry birds are hitting a town
in a thriller, carnivorous creepers cling around palm
trees, lone survivor shivers on a shipwrecked beach―
Is this the end of my world? Mama! Where are you?
My evening is cold and dark and scary.

In swishing tugs of rowing forth in swirls, the mind,
a bunch of dandelions in the green eye of a storm: hope
held in lion-toothed leaves, in forgetfulness, footnotes tug
in her gentle touch and lips pressed on the forehead mean
sleep. Good night, my dear, the familiar quilt

―his head on her arms: light switching off, lavender scent
sinking into pillows, that intimacy of being loved, vestiges
stay. Back then, the roads they drove, speed helping trees rustle
tunes, those tears in her eyes when he said, I Love You―
His smile, a rainbow then―Now―an epitaph, grief, and loss.

What causes war?
Do not this question you ignore
Is it for lasting peace,
Or has someone greedy had you deceived…?
—For a selfish purpose

War—Nation and nation
Have forces stationed
Against each other,
And a brother kills brother
—A sad man’s celebration

Should we really trust—
Gentlest lies told to us
Before God and his divine law,
Can we justify killings in war?
—But someone’s ambitions…
Peace is divine
Loving enemy is wisdom’s sign
Wisest act—’Avoid war’
Wrote Sun Tzu—In the ‘Art of War’
—Bible: ‘Thou shall not kill’

Look at earnings of peace
Love, celebrations, and pursuits are ease
So many things to excel at;
Futile is the act of combat…!
—Be wise

A million swords fall from the sky
Your love shields death a million times
Your love is strong
Yet gentle and kind
You are the helmet I wear
You keep me focused and prepared
You are my chest plate
You protect my heart from evil and pain
You are that immaculate sword
That inspires my achievement and growth
You are that bow-and-arrow
That fortifies my life
You are my spear
We plunge forward with no fear
You are the armor that keeps me sane
Through these battles, we must face
Victory with you is always achieved
You are all I ever need

1. Knowing unconditional, sincere and selfless, love is actually a super power that you can lean on eternally.

2. Having someone who truly, deeply, instinctively understands you is like seeing bigfoot twice. Take pictures! Celebrate, appreciate, document and cherish it!

3. We’re never alone, even and especially, when it seriously seems like it. We always belong.

4. Grief evolves, just as we do.

5. When a heart breaks so emphatically, it doesn’t have to harden or recede into some sort of haunted
basement, guarded by a creepy, cryptic, cyanide breathing dragon shaped like the person you used to be,
before. Don’t get me wrong; sometimes that’s part of the journey. But, it can, also, if we’re brave and
willing, break a heart wide open, and broaden it quite beautifully. You can see, feel and emanate levels of
tenderness for humanity that you didn’t know existed; it doesn’t have to be all about uncharted territories of pain, but you do have to actively, effortfully choose positivity (more than once or twice).

6. The songs that get stuck in our heads are almost never a coincidence. Most “coincidences” aren’t coincidences.

7. Someone who loves you, like the love mentioned in #1, will never stop trying to connect with you, even
and especially after their “death”. Their physical body might “die”, but their consciousness expands,
profoundly. Talk to them, write to them, think about your lost loved one(s), and know they’re there. Ask
them to prove it, with specifics, then be present and patient.

8. Singing, dancing, laughing, meditating, anything that raises your frequency, can help you connect with your loved one(s) in spirit. Don’t just protect your peace, create and care for your joy, with ferocity.

9. It’s so true that people who heal from deep, soul-shifting types of loss have a particular type of spark about them. They’re brave; they live fully; they vibrate at a higher frequency. They have the most noticeably
bright, true compassion and splendor.

10. Grief can also be a gift, if you’re able to trudge through it and allow it to keep changing you.

I’ve known many things
I’ve known many people
Wrapped in stories of many histories
Absorbed in the next best text
I’m on the hunt for knowledge I already possess

Every time, however,
When I step into the life of another
I learn something new
I learn from the eyes of others
Bring out parts of me I didn’t know I had
Teach me what to do with all these words
Living like I’ve never done this before
Because time with you
Is like my first day of something brand new