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.

HORROR Poem: The Reflection’s deal, by Jayde Fontana

I stared at my reflection, exhausted, full of rage.
Placing my hand upon the mirror, I begged to end the pain.
“Perhaps I may be of some help, and we may both be assuaged.”
I was startled to hear the little voice, it must only be in my brain
“Look ahead, for I am real, at least while you are near.”
I looked into the mirror, And lo, it was myself who spoke.
My own voice filled the room while my lips held still with fear.
Within the mirror’s smooth glass, my reflection awoke.

“Hello my twin” the mirror said in a high and hopeful voice,
“Tell me what troubles you so.”
I groaned “Oh!
How I envy you, you know not my strife!
For I am burdened with horrid choice! All throughout my life!”

I held my head within my hands and sobbed again once more.
My reflection asked:
“And why should choice cause such pain? And make you feel so poor?”
I looked at her through bleary eyes and said through muffled sobs,
“Choices only bring me fear and dread.
For when I make one incorrect, it haunts me until I feel dead.”
“I would not know, for I make none. Reflecting you is my only job.”
“For that my friend you’re lucky.” I stated in reply
“I could say the same to you, and yet you still cry.”
I looked into the mirror and asked “whatever could you mean?”
“You have the gift of life” it said “without you I cannot be seen.
I cannot choose to feel joy or despair; the only time I do,
Is when we face each other, and I’m forced to copy you.
And even then I know not why, we may laugh or cry.
I know not the reason for anything I do”

I wiped the tears from my face, and stared into my own eyes.
“Oh how I envy you” I said, “free will is only a burden to human lives.”
The reflection stared back and said, “Perhaps we should swap places,
I can claim your human life, while you reflect my faces.”

I reached out toward the mirror, as another hand emerged.
I felt myself grow flat, as my skin was purged.

I looked upon my own flesh, who laughed with joy and glee.
“Oh how great it is to finally be free!”
She moved her new flesh hand, causing me to do the same.
“I shall make our choices now, to spare you from your pain.”
I felt the same joy she showed, yet I could not not reply.
My reflection turned and walked away, as our relief made us cry.
I walked toward the mirror’s frame, and saw nothing ahead.
I stepped into the void, and felt a great dread.

The next time I saw her, it was not quite as clear.
I was walking within the windows of old shops by the pier.
Next to me were several others, reflecting the busy street.
Repeating all the actions of those who walked in the heat
Some giggled, some cried, some spoke, some walked, and some sat.
Some wore long flowing dresses, while others wore large sun hats.

I walked again into the darkness, wondering where it would spit me out.
I emerged distorted, feeling rounder as I looked up at myself.
My reflection picked me up and shoved me in her mouth.
She put me back then repeated again and again.
Eating as she spoke with somebody else,
I felt my lips repeat her but I knew not what I said or felt

The next time I emerged I was lying down in bed,
Within the white glass lamp that sat just near her head.
“For years I’ve envied you,” she said as I mouthed back to her.
“I’ve hated you for having what I did not, for making me suffer.
Now I am finally free, while you are trapped just like me.”
I wanted to scream, to beg her to let me out,
But I had lost all control over my own mouth.

DEATH Poem: SPEEDBALL by Ruben Mejia

CHRIS FARLEY. 33.
FOUND DEAD IN HIS APARTMENT BY HIS YOUNGER BROTHER.
CAUSE OF DEATH: Speedball.
HIS LAST WORDS: “don’t leave me.”

JOHN BELUSHI. 33.
FOUND DEAD IN HIS HOTEL BY A GROUPIE.
CAUSE OF DEATH: SpeedbalI.
HIS LAST WORDS: “just don’t leave me”.

if you live fast, you burn quick.
just don’t let the laughter die down.

JEAN-MICHEL BASQUAIT. 27.
FOUND DEAD IN HIS HOME BY HIS GIRLFRIEND
CAUSE OF DEATH: Speedball.
QUOTED AS TO SAY:
“they say the drugs are killing me, but when i stop using,
they say my art is dead.”

hearts on canvas.
consumed, until nothing remains.

PHILIP SEYMOYR HOFFMAN. 46.
FOUND DEAD IN HIS BATHROOM BY A FRIEND.
CAUSE OF DEATH: SPEEDBALL.
QUOTED DURING HIS FINAL DAYS AS SAYING:
“if i don’t stop now, i know I’m going to die!

RIVER PHOENIX. 23.
FOUND COLLAPSED OUTSIDE THE VIPER ROOM
ON HALLOWEEN NIGHT.
CAUSE OF DEATH: SPEEDBALL.
HIS LAST WORDS: “bob, i don’t feel so good.”

it’s okay to die.
i’d rather it sooner than later.

but dear god, don’t let me die alone

Death Poem: Death of Mother, by Samantha Gordon

my father is holding me,
i cannot feel.
my world is distorted,
nothing is real.

my brother is crying
i cannot see.
i’ve clawed out my eyes,
and i’m down on my knees.

my mother is gasping,
for air she can’t taste.
her heart is slowing,
oh what a waste.

of laughter and sunlight.
of nature and mother.
of resilience and freedom,
one daughter to another.

my ears are ringing,
in a false key.
for the rest of my life,
i’ll wish it was me.

NATURE Poem: Moonlit Stillness, by Eliina Pajunen

Evening, when the shadows deepen
their embrace, when the land

bids tender farewell to the sunlight
psychedelic inch by inch, and some

begin our rest, others waking or flying to go out in awe,
in play, or on the prowl, the mosses on the rocks

and the fern in the wood begin their nightly dewing,
the delicate drops of reflection may they never fail

to delight the early risers. The mosses which quietly, humbly,
keep to their essential function, that of the same nature

as that of the stars and the orbital paths
planets glide along in workless industry

moving as not toward a goal, but in submission
to process, as if they also know

that the universe is founded in love, that the same
gentle force which undergirds the migration

of sparrows and the phases of the moon
is love, more fundamental and just as lovely

as anything like a kiss. And the little stresses
I weep on seem nothingness, when under the moon

on a log in the woods I look, and looking realize
that the essence of things is love and the reception

of love, and the fruit of love,
which is change. The mosses and I are kin.

NATURE Poem: THE SAGA OF THE MOCKINGBIRDS, by Diana Switter

Prelude:

A building site is chosen
In a row of bushes

Act 1.

With a flurry of wings and constant loud cries
The area is cleared of unwanted spies
By stealth they take turns,
one sentry
one hunter
A twig here
A string there
Nothing too new
Nothing too big
Any scrap handy will do
Beware intruder you are sighted
Big or small it matters not
Prepare for attack
Once again the gathering can commence
With a new avenue to confuse
Interlude:
After days of hard work
Neighboring birds are given a respite

Act 2.

The protection of the mother and her eggs is paramount
A constant harassment of crows begins
The parent is relentless against these giants
Whether diving or chasing, zigging or zagging
Their massive talons are no match for an enraged guardian

Act 3.

The waiting is over
The babies have hatched
The vigilance continues
No matter where an intruder is
On a branch
On a wire
On a rooftop
He is not safe
Feeding becomes an art form
Gather
Deliver
Gather
Deliver
Gather
Deliver
A big juicy worm dripping from beak
A mouth full of grubs dribbles down the neck
Back and forth never resting
Babies cry with ravenous hunger
Vigilance continues

Act 4.

Babies abound and growing
Exploring their world
Questing for food
Learning to be vigilant
Postlude:
An empty nest
Crows can live in peace