Author: poetryfest

When the Sun decided to sing their praise
The Moon jumped up from its lonely craze,
And the Universe turned its only gaze.
They came, They Jumped into the dying fray.

Down they came into foreign bodies,
Soul vs Soul, life vs life, never ending tsunamis.
These divine stars took on the mission, to Save the Human Race.
To combine their collective tapestry Lace.

On top of the greens and under the trees,
In darkened skies, with nothing, no lights.
In broken homes to broken battlefields,
Anywhere that was left with spite.

These Divine Stars, these helping Spirits,
Would call upon the power within themselves.
The power of gods and goddesses,
To withstand the Fights and tribulations they will encounter Ahead.

Changing and healing the humans, one by one.
Fighting the stagnant ones, one by one.
With Light in one Hand, And Love in the other,
They all grabbed their hearts, and channeled Ascension .

They all flashed as bright as they could,
Twinkling with their lives on the line.
They all held love in their hearts,
All holding onto that energy, All as one.

Every Soul, Every Human, Every star
They all laughed, and smiled.
All now changed, all now grown.
They held their heads high, All Wild.

The planet is now saved, the humans unscathed.
The Universe happily raved.
The Divine Stars had Paved,
The way for life to stay maintained in this domain

Blood states
shattered fates
fractured flaws
entwined
Through severed chords
and haunted eyes
that trace
Jars holding scars
zip spines and cruelly bind
sorrow’s that grip the numbness
Find their place.
The snow crashes down
hatred’s bitter frost aligns
Decency fades
and farewells echo
clear Moonlight distorts confusion’s
web unwinds
Beneath the sun lost paths reappear
Illness ravages
fate in dizzy days
we mourn
Rights and adversaries lost
through disbelief and smoldering haze
systems burned we comb
Monty’s haul
a king’s misguided
reprieve
In loss and desolation
we bend hell set on
Being within our Heart’s shattered destiny
now who’s free? Be.

If you invite me in, I will come.
I follow you, lured by the promise of coffee.
The scent of it fills my nose,
Earthy, nutty, and sweet.
I watch you work, grinding coffee beans,
brewing the drinks,
and pouring milk into mugs.
I take it and it is hot in my hands.
I blow on it to cool it,
watching the surface of the liquid shiver under my breath.
I take a tentative taste,
and the bold, tangy blend explodes across my senses.
There is no sweetness,
yet I savor it to the last sip,
knowing that I won’t taste this blend again.
This isn’t a coffee I’d drink every morning,
and I have that at home already.
As sweet as what you gave me tastes,
I know I’ll regret it if I accept another cup.

Imposing series of three iron gates
Like a labyrinth of lost hope
At the entrance to
The Luther Luckett Correctional Complex
On this perfect spring day
I’m not sure if the gates,
Like the burgers at White Castle
Were designed to keep people in or out.

Assigned to go to the prison,
To interview an alleged car thief
For an insurance claim I was handling,
I was searched like a bag at the border,
I had no guns,
I had no knives,
I had no drugs,
Only my pen and legal pad
Which I wasn’t even sure was legal,
In this place where nothing is.

I was led to poorly lit concrete room,
With steel tables and benches
And wondered to myself,
If I was the one who would be questioned.
The prisoner was led in,
In an orange jump suit
He was probably happier to see,
The prison guard at 4 am bed check
Then he was to see me.

I wasn’t a cop,
I wasn’t a snitch,
I just wanted to know,
If he took the damn car.
It turns out that I didn’t need,
My pen or legal note pad
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you,” he said.
He pled the Fifth,
And it was a short conversation,
Which made no sense to me,
The claim was a civil matter,
Not a criminal one.
Like a fly in a sticky strip,
He was already in the place,
He was trying to avoid.

I left quietly through,
The series of iron gates
That opened and closed,
And moved traffic more efficiently,
Than the McAlpine Locks on the Ohio River
Moves barge traffic.

It is part of America
That, like the euthanization room
At the animal shelter,
No one wants to see.
As I exited the iron gates
I wondered if I had died,
I pondered my eternal fate,
As I studied the opening gate
Clicking like a roller coaster
At King’s Island,
Try as I might,
I didn’t see any pearls

I did not ask you to build me this way
I did not ask to come back from the grave
My brain has thoughts that my tongue cannot say
I do not like this second life you gave
The only reason that you worked this trick
Was to sate your own curiosity
A doctor who works with the dead is sick
No miracle – just an atrocity
I’m not my own, I’m just your science pet
A wonder you can display for the crowd
You don’t consider my wishes, not one!
I’d like the chance to be my own asset
Yet I am branded “monster “ not allowed
To be myself. I am not anyone.

I know what I should feel
But my eyes are dry and dusty
And the sunset is surreal
I swear I’m not a psychopath
I swear that I can feel
I picture you a monster
That’s what you ought to be
But monsters don’t hold hands
Monsters don’t cry and flee
You’re better off not human
You’re better off apathetic
I’m better off weeping and screaming
I’m better off pathetic.

too many
to count

these books
practically endless
sea of blankness
neither discovered
nor excited

nowadays
many
turn away
too much responsibility
for even
one
sentence

justifiable
only by
the inability
to create
which
everyone can do

it’s the fear of
standing out
in a field
during a lightning storm
a spotlight
from the gods

the fear of
standing out
on a high wire
above
the streets
of people everywhere

the fear of
standing out
on stage
shutters
open
close
flash of
bulbs

isolated
yet surrounded

surrounded by
need of assurance
without judgement
surrounded by
expectations
no failures

surrounded by
self-doubt
lack of drive

it is
on you
to do it

so most
leave
pages
blank

no one dares make a mark

they wish they could

but one
braver
will do it
they say

without sympathy
to themselves
they ignore
their capabilities

when the
writer
artist
poet
architect
scientist
teacher
trash man
comes along
they will
put the spotlight on

they will give you
the unicycle

they will give you
the metal pole

they will give you
everything they
are scared to have

and then
will wait
for your failure
to confirm
their fears

but

if you challenge
their expectations

if you challenge
their gods
of submission

if you challenge
the fear
the balancing
the weight
the blindness
the fall
and
you rise
above it all

then you will
succeed
when
all cower
you will
fill the pages
they leave behind

you will create a story
they wish they could

and then
you
can tell them to pound sand

When I knew you last,
we were Japanese
and I loved you.
I saw your face for the first time
on our wedding day.

In this life, it is cold and damp and April.
I am transported back in time
through a portal as ordinary as a red Mazda
to when your arms were new to me
(they’re still new to me)
and your kisses hypnotized me
(they still hypnotize me).

One day in the back of a library,
you leaned over me,
plucked a strand from my life,
replaced it changed.

You read to me from your last book of poems
called my town “Pleasantville”.
Was it a curse or an incantation?
Ever since this place has been black and white.
I have been wandering the streets
trying to find something bright,
a poppy, a playground ball, a traffic light.
I get distracted by the sound
of something clanging in an alleyway,
by crumpled newspaper skittering
past on a dry wind, making a sound
something like wheezing.

I would give you my breath
but I keep getting lost trying to find you.