Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.

Poetry Reading: THE SILT OF GRIEVING, by Natalie Haynes

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

—For my mother

while night scoops down to transform silt in the veins
spilling into day a slow drowning in songs from the waters of life
stretched fraying before day breaks
to dying embers of temporariness
wind blows like candle flames struggling,
calling with moans bodies of water found at home;
an odorous loneliness confers the darkness
etched in-between the broken lines in my face are alive.
the shelter-less river a spongy bait
of human ruins mislaid at the shore
offers a chastity of charity to bury loss…
dangling upon the wingless moon of nights—
carrying thrice my remains like an aura—
searching the language of color
coughed into the tears of thunderstorms,
clomping raw emotions into leverages of sand.
photocopied here a wet purpose of sacred water
reflects love
with a voice reposing gravity.
here, drink
drink of the sounds wafting into the hungry clouds
walking distress into god’s ears,
whispering what becomes of night
when the moon is put to shame in the nape of a thunderstorm.
a decorated death wind returns the echo of my wails;
standing before a mirror’s shadow praying,
tongue-shattered, I do not break:
a billowing tone rose a sun over my head as hands
touching the attire of my scarred morning breaths
brimming into freshness, night’s mouth.

Poetry Reading: SLEEPOVER, by Erik Rosales

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

We were just boys,
and we had spent
the best hours
of the day,
committing ourselves
to children’s parades
and folly crusades
and lost causes.
And we came home,
hungering and ravenous,
and ate amongst ourselves
candies and red meats
and angel cake, till,
full as pigs we
went off to sleep.
And yet,
in the dark of our rooms,
in the shadows of our bed corners,
certain bleak faces
had followed us home.
Hungry faces,
pale as the full moon,
And as widely grinning.

Poetry Reading: SOMETHING HAPPENED IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD, by Gayle Baldwin

Narrated by Val Cole

POEM:

People disappeared.
Not just people but our neighbors. All five of them. Momma, Poppa and the three kids with
thick black hair who played with our kids, wispy blonde blue-eyed, all three.

When they moved in, I remember
You were a little uneasy.
We only speak English, you said.
Our kids learned their language as fast as their kids did ours
To show them what America was like, we showed them old reruns of Mr. Rogers
They didn’t want to watch it.
They did it.

Last night, our neighbors
Disappeared.

It was so quiet for a Sunday morning, that we went over
We always went to each other’s side door
There was a note
Please take our dog
And Penny,
That was Juanita’s chicken.

I knocked and the door opened
By itself.
Entering the kitchen was like our own
The smells were familiar

Last night we were here.
We ate bisteces
And from-scratch tortillas.

I had to apologize for my kids
Who chased Penny, the chicken
Through the hall
“All the kids were in on it,”
Paloma said with a smile.
“You’re more patient than me,”
I confessed.

Diego added, “Kids be kids. It’s ok.”
I looked at you.
You didn’t say a thing.
You do that. Let me stand there alone when I am vulnerable,
Undefended.

You pulled the note down and stared at it
Solemn but helpless as usual.
And suspicious. You reminded me that you said we should not get so cozy.
We don’t know these people, not really.

My youngest screamed from the back yard
“They shot Penny!”
Peppy, the dog had already come up from the basement
And was dancing around us
Pulling on your jeans leg
Frantic.
You pushed him away,
Gave me that disgusted look.

People like our neighbors don’t shoot animals,
I said.
ICE did it
Ice-cold did it all
It dawned on me that the rumor was true and now
It is happening
They must have come late in the night
I must find ICE COLD and tell them
About our neighbors.

They pay more taxes than we do,
We eat in each other’s houses,
Our kids are best friends
The only person undocumented is
Paloma and she is due to receive citizen ship next week
She’s been working at the local Holiday Inn for twenty years.

Where did they take our neighbors?
What do we do?
What did they do?
Did they fool us all this time?

I feel myself going numb
I am becoming you. And they, them.

–Gayle Baldwin, 16 November 2024

POETRY Reading: Death Row, by B. Scott Boring

Narrated by Val Cole

POEM:

Got in a bit of trouble
A few years back.
It cost me very dearly.

Grew up in a Godly home
Never missed a service
Or a summer church camp.
My parents’ faith it was,
Not mine.

A rough crowd lured me away
A little at a time.
Innocent enough it began,
Weed and beer and wine
Peer pressure,
Rebellious risks,
Euphoric ecstasy.
Acceptance
Enchanted me,
Enticed me,
Enslaved me.

My parents saw the spiral
Down and away.
Refusing to fund,
My “wicked ways”,
I took to taking
First from them,
Then malicious marauding.

My friends turned out to be
No friends to me
More addictive drugs
Then abandoned
They left me scott-free.

Addiction clouded
My mind
My judgement
My determined
Destructive
Decisions.

Then…
On a torrential night of rain
The station attendant held at gun point.
With cash-filled bag
I backed away.
A sudden dash
A trigger pulled
A bullet blast.
Shot in the head,
I left him for dead.
I panicked,
Dropping gun,
The cash
And fled
To my car—my dad’s car.

With pounding heart,
I heard the car doors slam.
Uniforms approached my house.
Held my breath
For what seemed like years,
Waiting for my bedroom
Door to crash.

My mother shrieked.
To the window
I dashed
To watch my father led away
Cuffed
In a policeman’s grasp.

“You’ve got the wrong man in there,”
I said to the sergeant at the desk.
His eyes filled with tears.
“I wish I had a son
Who loved me as much
As you must love your dad,
But son, you can’t take
The rap for your old man.”

“NO!
Wait! You don’t understand.
I DID IT!
My father is
INNOCENT!”
I created such a fuss,
They brought my dad to hear my pleas.
“The boy is LYING!
Now take me back if you please.”

Destroyed,
When I heard the judge delcare,
“Guilty of murder
Death in the electric chair!”

I went to visit
Once only.
Two hours
Before he was to die.
His head was shaved
Two hours
Before he was to die.
He looked so different
Two hours
Before he was to die.
He looked at me
Two hours
Before he was to die
And only love was in his eyes.
Two hours before
He was to die.

“Dad, why didn’t you just tell
Them it was me?”
Silence…
My God he hates me
I cried and cried.
Then his foot
Tap, tap—tap, tap
Clink, clink, rattle, rattle, clink
Went his shackled chains
Then…his voice…
Soft…
Full of love…
Nothing but love,
“Because I wanted you to know
How it felt to have someone die for you.
Now, my dear, dear son,
Live
Like
It!”

POETRY MOVIE: THE FINAL FIGHT, by Justin Prine

Editor & Visual Design: Steve Rizzo

Narrated by Val Cole

Produced by Matthew Toffolo

From the writer:

The Theme of the poem is about how a person is fighting with something whether it is physical or mental, but hopefully they can find the courage within to face those problems head on even though it may be difficult but use those past memories good or bad to come out on top and never have to fight it again.

ELEGY Poem: even fire can’t stop my love, by Shania Allen

in memory of my grandmother and my great grandmother’s house

even fire can’t stop my love
for you.
burn my mother’s house down but
ill still be around–
for my family.
my love is greater than any natural disaster
my aura lingers on this earth
for eternity.

even fire can’t stop my love
for you.
burn who i was
that don’t matter anymore–
the picture remains unphased
my love overpowers the devils work
my face is instilled in dreams
for eternity.

even fire can’t stop my love
for you.