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.

NATURE Poem: The Cardinal’s Promise, by Karis Rosen

In the dreamlike solitude of the frozen forest,
trees dormant,
landscape colorless,
ice chandeliers glittering like crystal on every slumbering branch,
a cardinal sings to me.

Red-crested and beady eyed,
vermilion in the shadowed topography of the impending solstice,
he is making a promisecheer! cheer! cheer!
He trills with gusto,
at home amongst the hardy pines.

The darkest hour may be yet to come,
but what follows night is always day

NATURE Poem: achillea underfoot, by Moth Bennett

careful now, sweet fawn, to place your feet
between the mossy beds where our scented
heads nod with dusk’s satin breath.
we crawled through granite and mire,
with writhing vines to nd you, to see you.

adorned in dead leaves – snapdragon, lavender, wild strawberry,
ddlehead, dandelion, coltsfoot and fragrant bedstraw
we watch your steps, dappled and rustling,

and pray for a sunbeam as the bright undersides
of ferns are furling up in the fading light
pale birch and willow spines stretched to the river in thirst,
silvery leaves kissing the cattails and marshgrass while ag irises
utter violet and pale yellow nearby

every smell is of late summer, heavy deep earth
blankets of clover, hot cicada hum trembling across
spiderwebs that pattern cloak and dress with their delicate lace.

tree roots meet each other across secret paths to share secrets and
the woodpecker’s muted hammer
is splintering a dead tree’s corpse – then your gaze
(or a springing hare, perhaps)
startling him into a sudden urry of redtipped wings

underfoot – a vine of pearlescent morning glories
with petaled eyes closed, a spatter of chicory among the tall grass;
this forest, blessed by gaia, rich with wildowers, pink yarrow,
honeysuckle, and wild rose, their leaves full of fragrance

within a secret shadowed green place on a mossy bed
my tiny ivory owers hang like glowing candles among the shadows
and i know i will be plucked into a soft death, delicately;
so grateful to be the one you desired,
how beautiful the gleam of your eyes when you rst saw me

you turn your head – shadows slicing
your throat, making a hollow curve to rest,
a place to put my petaled tongue against every bareness of you

i am left on your ngers, sticky as you crush me
drag my scent across your breast,
through your tangled hair –
the long shuddering breath that lls you with love
and ghosts and the smell of decay, afterwards

cleaned away – smeared on sun scorched leaves
your stumbles break fallen pine branches
i oat around you, moondrunk –
your bright laughter sparking ints in the coming dark,
down the overgrown path, your body stained in loveliness.

NATURE Poem: HOME CAMP CREEK, by Stephen Barile

A thousand giant red Ponderosa trees,
Jeffery pine, Douglas fir, Incense cedar
on the hillside of the Sierra lake
hold up the depthless sky.

When the air refuses to move,
it becomes hot in the forest shade.
Heat arouses circling flies,
mosquitos’ hover in dark places
for the promise of a meal
when the temperature is right
and cool enough.

The creek is fixed
of dense white-granite.
Snowmelt in the furious race
at the speed of gravity;
large foaming droplets
flying through the air.

Water shatters on the rocks
filling the sandy pools
for fingerling trout.
Running water overtops the bank.

Manzanita and Madrone flourish
In constant wetness.

Standing next to Home Camp Creek,
The stream is golden in midday sun.

The piss-ants swerve over speckled
plutonic rock on the fringe,
black water plunges over
a fallen tree across the creek.

I think I hear my father
over the rush of creek water.
His unmistakable cough,
hidden, yet recognizable.
The moss on the trees
are the ruts in his face,
lines around his green-eyed,
sad expression is there.

Flexing her black wings
in showers of mist on the wet rock,
the butterfly sails across
fluttering up the gorge, the stream.
No need of a bridge or trail.

Cutleaf daisies grow in a patch
of dirt and sand,
in the haphazard place of stone.

NATURE Poem: I Feel Hope When I Look at The Sea, by Aurore Sibley

The pelicans soar so close to the water as the waves come
into shore, over and over again, their rhythmic melody
all crash and foam and gliding wing together,

The purple flowers of the ice plant are blooming again,
despite what the papers say, despite the accelerating
warming of ocean and land, and the fires, and the heat,

and the floods, and the terrible wars, especially the wars.
I expect that the ice plants will go on blooming, even
after human life races to its inevitable close, but yes –

the pelican, who looks as though he’s been around
since pre-historic times anyhow, will remain, following
the curve of the water as it rises and storms, flying away

from smoke and ash and high winds. The animals will adapt
as they are able, and the mean violence that humans inflict
upon each other will vanish, and the whale may yet endure.

NATURE Poem: Living Through, by N Nitha Fathima

in my earliest memories a neightbour takes / a glance at my grandfather’s house / remarks at how green it is / my grandfather has a green thumb / the plants thrived with him / my grandmother talks about how in the ages past ripe mangoes fell of the trees / children hurrying to gather them all / they say now some trees flower late / fruit even later / back then the kanikonna would flower in time for vishu and the jackfruits would be over by monsoon / and on some days i am grateful the jackfruit fruits for longer so that i can taste its delectable flesh even if i’m late in my
homecoming / on other days the rains flood the place and ravages everything / leaving / only tattered bits behind

i have only ever travelled with my family to the mountains which are india’s link with madagascar [i]/ i can recall graves and dry land and cacao trees with boards of “do not pluck cacao seeds” / and ponds / and drinking water off the stream, the forest is so delectable and lovely i can taste the loveliness in my mouth when i am under its canopy / under its care / and there i am protected and safe and the wind howls and i know it might flood again but / for now i hold the peace of that moment and everything is alright

tomorrow it will not be the same / the forests with lianas curling around its branches will be razed / and there might be less moss and less green and everything will be gone / somedays i want to curl up in my bed and weep / i will weep over my non-human kin i never got to know / take a turn in the forest and be awed at the sight of something i wouldn’t have encountered before / i would say hello to the new thing but now the world is burying so many creatures in its stratified layers and i won’t have the chance to meet them all / for a moment the weight is too heavy to bear and i want to say hi / and / i want to breathe but it comes out as a cry / a choked sob / and i realize / i’m encased in soil

NATURE Poem: WHAT WE ALL FAILED TO LEARN, by Myles Farley

The Earth is at the head of the class
Her words are lost among the students
dull roar drowning out
lessons lost on generations of unintentional apathy

Frolicking on a playground unaware how deep
their steps drive into the dirt
Dehumanizing nature to its face
Forceful upon its will

Concepts unheard and forgotten
That we are smaller than our egos
Merely a part of the world
almost unknowingly in a symbiotic relationship

Insane is what we have proved to be
Reputation of failure to learn
that we cannot escape
what is to come