poetryfest

LOVE Poem: The Box, by Paul Davis

I stand waiting
Squished tight in a cold metallic box carrying me up
I stare at my reflection in the mirror in front of me
My puffy eyes glistening from the white LED lights
Only a yellow smear on my bottom lip remains from my lunch
My slightly wrinkled button up half untucked
It feels like an eternity
I grow impatient pushing the button over and over

LOVE Poem: A worm you can learn to love in time, by Lilli Bryan

Dig your callused fingers into the dirt again
and pull
upward until you find me gasping for air
don’t place me in a bucket lost
in a sea of worms the world
used to know
My slithering, slimy, soil filled mouth –
I want you to kiss me again and
tell me I’m pretty,
but my three inch body, clay colored eyes
disgust you from such lust
You found me once before, in a life
far away from now
I had brown hair, two legs, and hands
to hold you
Here I recognize your curls
But your eyes pass, am I indistinguishable?
a whiff of my perfume and
You place me on the grass,
I stare up at you in awe
As flowers find your palms,
and you lay me right beside them, you say
“You’re my favorite worm I know”
softly as the moon lights
I’m asking, pleading, begging you still
to answer the question that plagues
my grubby mind –
Do you love me now as you loved me before?
I was pretty then, am I still pretty now?

LOVE Poem: The Child of the Wind, by Charly Adams

Why do we wrap others with blankets of comfort just to rip them off when most convenient for us. Why do we clean our own hands just to dirty them with unclean words meant to destroy a soul.

Our hands are wrapped with cloth af pure white, just so we can hyperfixate on the dust that still lingers, Why are angles that fall, cry and weep still worship the feet of the one who pushed them?Why Why Why. The man next to me pleads to his own reflection. I ask and ponder the same questions as he, yet I am not as brave to reveal them. I am still in this race, while he has already lost. Oh the freedom that comes with no longer being bonded to the NDA of life.

His hair is black, like beatles, I can almost see them crawling around, trying to escape from his grasp. He’s oily and dirty, yet he is the cleanest of everyone on this train, bound to hurtle its way off the edge of the world. Only one shoe remains on his foot, but I don’t dare to look down and examine it. A man’s life choices are his, and should not be questioned by another. So I don’t. His eyes are large and brown, ordinary. But I can see his thoughts through the groves of his iris. I have learned how to read thoughts and desires by only looking through a man’s eyes for I have lived a long time. I am like the devil, you know.

Everyone thinks they know me until they actually try. His eyes dance across our surroundings, almost looking for the answers to his pondering thoughts by searching the passerbyes. His hands shake, they are veiny, like rivers splitting off from a lake. I can see his bones, yet his flesh still hides his identity. I wonder and think of who this man is. To be on a train destined for nowhere, so packed with people yet so empty with thoughts.

“What’s your name?” I say if matter of factly, like I have been asking repeatedly yet this is the only he heard me. He didn’t look up, but he does stop moving. His eyes land on one thing behind me, and his hands grab his knees almost for balance even though he is sat.

“My name is the whisper of wind, the question of thoughts, and the children of trees, I am not confined to a name, that is not who I am. You will call me how you see me, whether that is a whisper or a shout, I will respond.” He said this quietly, almost to himself yet he knows I heard. The ones who shout are less to be heard than the ones that whisper, and he knows that.

“Do you, though, have a name I should call you if we ever are to meet again?” The man continues. His eyes move to meet mine. At that moment, I understood. He is in fact like the moving wind, his eyes dance and swing and twirl even when still. The colours of eyes, even when brown, have light like honey that move in his eyes, it seems like his iris is like a cauldron of colors and life. While others eyes are simply eyes, his are the window to his soul. Oh I could read to you his life story just by looking him in the eye.

But I couldn’t understand the language. I had not been taught how to just yet.

“I am going to see you again, child of the wind. I am going to learn of you for you are the first person I have ever seen who is really alive. But, for now I will bid my farewells knowing that I will dance with the color of your eyes, and swim with the sound of your voice.” After preaching the love of this man’s soul I had not yet learned, I walked off the train, happy and content. My feet hitting the ground parallel to the pulse of my heart. The wind swayed by me, saying a silent hello on its way to nowhere, yet everywhere simultaneously, and I knew it was sent by the man, the child of the wind.

LOVE Poem, My Love by Anna Justus

I remember you from freshman year
Flowy hair over your ears
Couldn’t help but stare at your handsome face
Your lips I wanted so badly to taste
Fast forward to junior year
When I heard your name you filled my heart with cheer
Our love has been rocky but we’ve always made it through
I can see the love you show me always shine through
You never fail to make me laugh
I’ll always choose you on this rocky path

This poem is about my boyfriend Brayden. I love him very much. The poem describes the feelings I had when I first liked him and even though there have been ups and downs and we still get through it no matter what.

RHYME Poem: Tracks, by Justice Vespo

Your smile is in memory,
Your mind I ponder.
In your eyes I search,
For something fonder.
Yet, I am at a dead end,
A log in the road,
And in my throat,
I croak like a toad.
What was once mine, now ceases.
I stand here, no smile
But, my mouth still creases.
I am empty and still,
A void appears that can’t be filled.
You stare back,
A deer in headlights.
Now, there are still tracks on my path.
But, not as prominent as the last.
There are new tracks on the road.
And, I wonder on your new path,
How far will you go?

November 6 2024

LOVE Poem: Can we talk, by Sara Pothmann Cullen

Talking endlessly and without reason,
I should have something to say,
something to tell you that would help you on your way,
I pause,
ready to speak,
yet nothing,
not even something little,
not even something great,
just silence,
silence so small,
so cogent,
it cause the earth to shake,
mountains to move,
and eventually,
you move with them.

Words can be powerful,
words can be true,
yet I used silence as a weapon against you.

LOVE Poem: Boundless, by Alisha Hana

A warm ember that revives
The icy void that froze me from within
Whispers carried on the breeze like autumn leaves
Unveiling a beauty that forever ascends

My desire once depleted
Scarred from the burns that sear
Until you flared the torch of my soul
Illuminating my path of darkness when all seemed unclear

I felt the force of a sapphire storm in your gaze
A bond that crystallized as your hand fell into mine
The arid landscape transforms into a welcoming haven
Vibrant and bright as our souls intertwine

I wandered through the twilight of my own shadow
In the most fragile hours of endless longing
Mapping the contours that led me back home
In the crevices of your love, i have found my place of belonging

ELEGY Poem: The Silent Music Box of Sophie Scholl, by Jacklyn York

I studied her smile, how the corners of her mouth stretched wide.
I once admired it, called it infectious—before the scales fell from my eyes. Now, I can’t unsee
the leviathan behind the mimic.
She tells a good story; I’ll give her that.
Every part of me wants to believe her eyes aren’t constantly inventorying, her ears relentlessly
monitoring. She studied me long before I was aware. I shared my values, my desires—and she
built my trust. It should be a crime.

Each word, disguised as inspiration, was a strategic seed planted in my fertile mind, discouraging
me from questioning her hollow rhetoric.
My affections turned to contempt. While I invested in connection, she collected data.
I’ve been her involuntary marionette.

I was blinded by her flattery. It chased my mother’s cold criticisms away. Suddenly, I wasn’t 8
years old in front of a full-length mirror; I was deserving of a stage, a gem buried beneath layers
of neglect. Waiting for someone to see the potential missed by those who claimed to love me.
With her, I wasn’t invisible. I was someone worth seeing. Her impromptu invitations came at the
perfect moment. Rare for me to feel welcomed instead of tolerated. She shared fears and dreams
and made me believe she was invested in mine.

What caused her to target my naive senses? Our motivations couldn’t be more distant—like the
corners of her sinister smile, painted over a parasitic soul.
My new knowledge forces me to recycle each conversation, to analyze the subtleties I missed:
the timely gaze after a compliment, the probing questions disguised as interest.

Her friendship entered my life on a Trojan Horse.
As I toss her betrayals around, twisting the knife deeper into my heart, my motivations evolve:
Authenticity bartered for strategy. Trust through the lens of gain. Surrender overpowered by
greed.

I have the capacity to meet her in her deception. My eyes can hold secrets, too. Her surprise will
prove she underestimated my genuine heart. A lesson I’m willing to teach. She’ll regret
provoking my attention.

But—
I consider: will engaging her in her arena consume me? At what cost will I master the faux
smile?
I pity her. Character will always be foreign to her ambitions. It must be exhausting fooling
unsuspecting allies along her path to nowhere.
Beating her at her own game may offer temporary pleasure, but it’s a dangerous game.

She must have realized the value of my innocence, or she wouldn’t have tried to ravage it.
No. I’ll alchemize this contempt I interpreted as engagement.
Perhaps arrows of dishonesty are dulled by sincerity. Maybe outstretched smiles disguise even
the owner disarmed by integrity. The illusion of power is limited to the fool willing to trade
integrity for malevolence. Her competencies aren’t proof of strength. They’re evidence of a void.

As our eyes met in this moment of silent understanding, her confident, pierced lips melted into
uncertainty. The once pointed corners dragged her cheeks into a frown. An empty frown.
My stunted gaze alchemized into windows of my uncalloused heart. In this moment, my
substance was shaken but not broken, and her pathetic agenda diminished to a whisper.
The only thing more powerful than evil is the intentionality to do good in an evil world.

ODE Poem: is it sad or free?, by Jenna Matarazzo

i don’t know your last name
but tonight it can be mine too

two strangers playing pretend
something in between loneliness and love

my fingers dancing on your skin
like you exist only to be admired by me

like we just put the kids to bed
and now we finally get to be alone

and you’re holding me like you know all my secrets and i almost say i love you because it feels
so real

BODY IMAGE Poem: Young Lady, by Holly Tannen

Yesterday morning I drove to Fort Bragg
With my African basket and recycled bag.
Fresh out of chocolate! I had to get more,
“Good morning, young lady,” said the man in the store.

Should I forgive him because of his youth?
No, I think it’s better that he learn the truth.
“I’ll not be cajoled by your flattering tongue,
I am not a lady and I am not young.

“One month ago I turned seventy-two
I’ll bet I’m thirty years older than you.
I’m losing my teeth and I’m losing my hair,
And now I’ve lost my bifocals, I don’t know where.

“I live surrounded by things I can’t find
But that doesn’t mean that I’m losing my mind.
I know where it is: it’s right here in my head
And I plan to keep using it till I am dead.

“Now I’ve got my chocolate, I’ll be on my way
I’ve enjoyed talking with you here today.
I’ve made myself clear? I don’t need to say more?”
“Sure thing, young lady,” said the man in the store.