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.

FREE VERSE Poem, by Taylor Palomares

I want a love like
flames that don’t die.
It’s rich embers crackle
while they watch the sunset.

An ideal date would start at the
Broad Museum, where Notorious
B.I.G. took his last breath;
Because he would know how much
90’s rap is my thing, how
Tupac and Biggie are
“My top two artists of all time”
How Ice Cube makes it my top three
He would remember how much
I admire Biggie’s vernacular &
Tupac’s poetic voice

It doesn’t take much to make me happy.
Flowers for no special occasion,
not just a way of saying
“Sorry, I fell asleep last night”
“Sorry, totally went over my head”
How does one just forget
about a person’s existence?

Walking home I took a deep nosedive into
The sidewalk pavement. My already bruised,
Wounded legs continued to walk 1.7 miles home
With the non-existent response on repeat
No music necessary.

As previously said,
It doesn’t take much
to make me happy. Maybe
I’ve allowed that type of
Treatment I despise…
Would always say,
“I would never allow”
At what point do you just
Stop
and
let
go?
?Maybe, it’s simply because
what has happened to me,
the way I’ve been treated by
people in my past¿
Even by the ones who have
no other choice but to love you.
They always find a way to
make me feel incapable of
giving nor receiving a genuine
exchange of emotions.
I want a love that could
not be contained
That seeps through the tiny
Cracks and Crevices belonging
to the doors that enclose
my heart’s walls.
I don’t just want,
but I deserve a love;
We all deserve a love
that doesn’t need to
explain itself, nor be guided.
Like some sort of
Love for Dummies.

Someone that remembers how
many sugar packets you prefer
when asked. That never has
to give you a sad, simple
“I’m sorry” that they
don’t even mean. One
that awaits the day they
get to give you that, gitty,
butterfly feeling. Like someone
knocking on your heart’s door.

My friend asked me what I wanted,
What I looked for in-
love? My response was a genuine
love. A type of
love that awakens me
from this fog, we call
life. To fill my gray summer days.
I want a love that never feels
cold. Warmed by the flames
that cease
to die.

WAR Poem: MERCY GOOD, by Hayden Carter

Do you know the tale of a girl named Mercy Good?
Born in prison’s sullen walls, and died between them too.
She spent four months a wailing, ailing, disregarded babe.
As swiftly as she choked on life, she met her makeshift grave.

The townsfolk denied her name- both first and last, they did.
For hope and mercy, fair and good, had long been tossed and rid.
Her mourning mother prayed to God with woeful pleas unsung.
For even He knew by week’s end, she too would be hung.

A magical world where infant girls see only walls of stone.
A magical world where hungry earth can feast on infant bones.
A magical world where seasons pass, yet never change the soil.
A magical world that grants us few the gift of guilt and toil.

SCI-FI/FANTASY Poem: The Modern Priest’s Prayer, by Alan D. Abbey

As I stand before the video altar
With millions watching me
And the animals waiting in line
To be sacrificed to You, Lord,
I utter these words of prayer
Beware therefore that you imitate not the doings of those
Whose tongues are polished by craftsmen
And themselves laid over with gold and silver.
The priests secretly convey away gold and silver
And bestow it on themselves.
Their faces are black with the smoke that is made in the house.
The things that are sacrificed to them
The priests sell and abuse
In like manner their wives also take part
But they give nothing to the sick or to the poor.

CRIME Poem: FUNKY PREMONITIONS, by Cassandra Ferro

You visit me like a ghost that is not yet dead,
scavenging for unclaimed patches of skin,
twisting your head, tilting your voracious
curiosity, impavid, wondering why I wonder, why
I let you eat from me; truth is, my only comeback
is poor quality drinking habits and an attachment
to vices far ill-suited for your impeccable taste. You kiss my
mouth open, my legs open, my secrets open, and
when I’m about to pour my miracles all over
your pale chest, an insidious thought plays
in the corner of your eye– and you doubt what
it was all for. You then proceed to evaporate like a
betrayed mermaid and I

cling to the dagger piercing these bones.

CRIME Poem: Poetic Justice, Jonathan Goldman

T’was my last caper, a risky but weighty score:
Safe dial whirred, door popped at speed,
No chance to focus, time to take a shot,
In n’ out in minutes, so why’d I get caught?

Cops cuff’d me, then questioned me, but I didn’t break,
The files stashed, they couldn’t charge me,
But wasted no time planting seeds of doubt,
“Somebody’s been talking,” they casually dropped.
If one of my crew snitched, I’d figure it out.

A close pack we were, tied by our trials,
Traditions oft’n lie, so I drilled down deep,
Only four knew the plan, a rare conceit,
Can any leave alive? Most bloody receipt.

My bag man, they call’d him the Butter Knife,
Never let a mark win, cunning ran rife.
He made the contact, he secured the score,
When asked, “Did you let me get caught?”
He refused to answer; Cross off one more.

Mac was the best driver–always got away,
A life lived too fast, no pause or delay,
Never stopp’d to think, rather chase the toast,
At the meet, I asked, “Why’d you ghost the heist?”
He made a run for it, so his corpse must roast.

Fat Tony wasn’t just a handler, but a made man,
My mate, he was–unlike Mac–consistent as sin,
` He did a dime for me, uncheckered loyalty,
But ne’er made the exchange, body floating out to sea.

None to squeal; the Feds couldn’t charge me,
Covert info, Fools gold, the law couldn’t bar me.
Then a congressman bid—more than info bought,
Money is evil, but censorship got me shot.