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.

FABLE Poem: The Shadow and the Light, by Renz Chester Gumaru

In the realm where shadows stretch and bend,
A light and a shadow met by the river’s end.
The shadow, so long, yet never complete,
The light, a flicker, both tender and sweet.
They whispered their secrets, side by side,
“I know, I know,” the light sighed, “we cannot hide.”

The shadow stretched, reaching far away,
As the light flickered, yearning to stay.
“I know, I know,” the shadow spoke low,
“We search for truths we’ll never know.”
Through mirrored paths, where edges collide,
They sought the answers they couldn’t confide.

And though the light was sharp and bright,
The shadow knew there was no light.
Together they journeyed, both full of grace,
In fractured skies, they found their place.
A dance of silence, a song of dreams,
“I know, I know,” they echoed in streams.

For in their bond, so fragile and true,
They discovered what they never knew.
As fleeting as the morning’s glow,
They rose, they faded, but still, they flow.
In the end, they learned through loss and pain,
That shadows and light were never in vain.

FABLE Poem: The Wolf and the Walnuts, by Max Bufkin

A Fox was happily hopping down the forest path,
When it came across a great big Wolf,
The Wolf’s head was drooped over its chest,
And it was crying silently to itself,
It appeared as if it’d been crying in the same spot for a very long time,
For a patch of flowers grew at its feet,
Watered by its tears.

“What is the matter?” The Fox asked.
“I wish I were a fox like you,” The Wolf replied. “But I was born a Wolf instead.”
“Why would you wish for such a thing?” The Fox asked.
“Because it is what I am meant to be.” The Wolf explained.
“I feel it in my bones, and when I talk with the stars,
The thought of being such a creature makes my heart burst with joy.”
“Well, if you think you’re a fox, then you’re a fox.” The Fox said.
“But I do not look or talk like a fox.” The Wolf replied.

At this, The Fox angled its white-whiskered face,
Toward a tree branch suspended over their heads.
“Do you see those walnuts growing on the branch?” The Fox asked.
“The shells are rough and hard, but the insides are soft and delicious.
I care more about what is on the inside of things, for there,
One will find the most flavor.
If, inside, your heart truly tells you this is the way you are meant to be,
Then, it is the way you were meant to be.
No matter what your shell may look like.”

“But to say that a wolf is a fox is quite silly.” the Wolf said.
“What if the other animals make fun of me?”

“Then they will have only tasted the bitter shell,
And will never get to enjoy the deliciousness of your soul.”
The Fox explained.
At this,
The Wolf smiled and raised its shaggy head.

Together,
The Wolf and The Fox began to walk down the forest path,
Their tails intertwined.

FABLE Poem: Ballad of the Billy Goat, by Adam Freeman

The Farmer built a picket fence to surround the fields within
He build it many years ago to keep me far from him
He built it near his house beyond the foliage and dense
And there he eats the flesh of those who live within his fence

One day, I say, i’ll tear this fence but never do because
The broken fence is built again but bigger then it was
But everyday I’ll try again to get beyond its hold
So I see the world the way it is and not the way i’m told
And even if its build in ways that keeps me in its spell
If every day it learns to change then I must learn as well

One day the fence is chainlink
And so I learn to climb
One day the fence is made of stone
And So I chisel at the lime
One day the fence is forged In steel a moat to line the rust
And I never learned quite how to swim but it seems today I must

The house becomes a castle, a painting from a stain
With jewels to line its outer walls the bones still hold its frame
Some days I’m made to craft the bricks that build upon its height
But for the days I’m forced to build it up I’ll knock it down at night

Outside we grow the gardens, to preserve the world around
But chrysanthemums don’t clear the smell thats rotting in the ground
The others they step on the stench and suffer at his hand
They feed the man their kids, to pay and to live upon his land
But the grass is getting thinner and still more we’re told to yield
So dare the farmer cross this line I swear i’ll run him off my field

Still some days my horns are silver
But are heavier than lead
Some days my hooves don’t want to walk
Yet I carry on instead
Some days I can’t remember the reason that I fight
Then I look upon the farmers throne and I know i’m doing right

FABLE Poem: The Final Fight, by Justin Prine

In the fading light of a weary day,
A man stands firm, through shadows play,
His heart a drum, steady and loud,
Facing the storms, beneath the shroud.

Each breath a battle, each step a test,
He feels the weight of the world on his chest,
Memories flash like sparks in the night,
Fueling the fire for his final fight.

With scars like stories etched on his skin,
He fights not for glory, but the strength within,
For love ones lost, for dreams not yet dreamed,
In the depths of struggle, hope still gleamed.

The echoes of doubt swirl thick in the air,
Yet he draws from the courage that’s always been there,
As shadows converge, he raises his hand,
Determined to stand, to make his last stand.

With one final roar, he charges the night,
A blaze in his heart, a warrior’s light,
For in this last moment, he knows he’s alive,
And through the darkness, his spirit will thrive.

When the dust settles and silence reigns,
He’ll leave behind echoes of laughter and pain,
For though the fight ends, the spirit ignites,
In the heart of a man who embraced his last fight.

FABLE Poem: Witchcrafte, by Autumn Shears

Matilda was the witch’s new apprentice,
Rosamel looked for someone whose soul was atramentous.
She lived in Brittleberg forest gathering fungi,
Hurring about, the witch’s hour was nigh.
Without enchantment nor permission did they speak,
Matilda told them off, the girl was not meek.
They told a tale of the moon, who hated those cats,
They feared the moon would not come back.
By eve the next day, she had caught those felines,
and into the cauldron as she did the lupines.
This was an act the witch did not sanction,
She warned that her deeds were akin to abaction.
They argued as Rosamel put horses in the stable,
The girl fumed; compromise was not on the table.
“Know this young apprentice,” the witch warned,
“An impulsive witch will not be mourned.
Abstain from heeding unsolicited fears,
Or one day you may harm someone’s beloved dears.”

FABLE Poem: The Wolf and His Red, by Qween Bean

he curse has always been there, deep inside my being
I’ve always been good at hiding it, keeping it from fleeing
But then she came along, my dearest Red
And now, the thought of her fills my mind with dread
Not fear of her but the fear of her safety
I’m afraid of what I would do to her. I can’t ever be too hasty
The thought of hurting her shakes me to my core
And I’m frightened by the thought of her being covered in her crimson gore
My little Red means the world to me, her presence calms me
Though it also ignites the monster inside; the creature she can’t see
Everything about her drives me and the beast insane
Her fiery hair, her silver eyes, even the freckles on her skin does something to me that I can’t explain
Her voice is like honey. So smooth, sweet, and leaves you wanting more
And God, her laughter is one of the many things I adore
Her scent of all is as intoxicating as her eyes
Like Lillies and ambrosia, and apple pies
I don’t know what it is or even why she has this effect on me
But what I do know is that I want her more than anything…but I can’t help but flee
I know well enough that if I let it free she would surely perish
That the wolf inside would tear apart the one person I strongly cherish
Is she a dream? Or is she for real?
Oh what I would give to hear her pleasure-filled squeal
To have her writhing under my frame and begging for more
And to feel her clawing my back and cry out like my own perfect whore
I wish to taste her apple colored lips and her tender sun-kissed skin
Would she feel like a dream? Or like a deadly sin
It doesn’t even have to be the full moon to feel that monster trying to come out
Making me growl and snarl. And let out a frustration-filled shout
Holding her hand as we walk along the road
Her tiny, soft hand. Fingers plump and round
I wish to kiss every single finger and make my way up to her lips
To look her in those beautiful eyes, my hands on her hips
I want just one moment of tenderness without that beast trying to escape
So instead I just stand and watch her pick flowers; in her crimson cape
They say that even a man whos pure of heart can still change into a wolf at night
When the wolfsbane blooms and the full moon is bright
Whoever said that was right. All they said was true
Because whenever it does come out, it’s her it will pursue
And when I’m away from her it only gets worse!
And the lingering memories of her figure and scent can’t keep containing the curse
Nights filled with lustful dreams have me growling and tearing everything apart
From my thirst for her very presence, and the loneliness of my heart
But no matter how much I want to have her and claim her as mine
I can’t bring myself to do such a thing; all for this ravenous canine!
She may be a woman, yes, but there’s still a hint of innocence in her still
A fair dame with the heart of a maiden. As lovely as the Daffodil
Her eyes hold a hint of innocent wonder and she still dances happily in the rain
Yet she also holds pure desire in those eyes. Something that still invades my brain
All I can do though is protect her from those who carry ill will
To play and use her, for the pleasure and the thrill
So when she asks me to accompany her on her walk to her grandmother’s house
I will hold her close and securely from those that wish to remove her blouse
I know she feels the same as I do, those feelings of the purest love
But I can’t let her know the monstrous lust that inside I shove
And yet even when I try to run and gently move her away
I can’t help but lean into the kiss; so sweet it makes my figure sway
I feel my teeth and claws grow sharp as blades
As we both share our passionate kiss there in the forest shades
She sees me change yet she doesn’t run away in fear
Instead, she lets me take her into my arms and hold her near
My darling Red is so small compared to my monstrous frame
And so queer we are together, the Wolf and his firey Dame
She can bring both the good and the ugly out of me
And as I let the wolf out, she refuses to flee

LGBTQ+ Poem: Requite, by Isidore Poros

I have never trusted the ways in which
people hold others
So closely.

I always feared I would be smothered
under the weight of affection
or responsibility.
Some sacrifice I never thought I could make.

But, in the end
I was the one who clawed at my ribs
every night,
gasping for air in the dark,

So depraved.

My feet would walk me to your door.

I worried over the lines in your face
How they deepen and shrug
mapping a chart across your brow.

A constellation of time passed,
a consolation for times to come.

I carved some of them there
right there
where your mouth goes askew.

Keep them
Please, keep them.