Author: poetryfest

Little Havana,
my parents call it
Northeast Coral Gables

My landlord is Cuban
and Jewish
Juban—
which means he has two gold chains
one of them is real
the other is re-al

A single-family home
divided into six units
for the thirty-six
of us

No alarm clock
every morning at 8am
it’s ¡quiquiriquí!
even the roosters speak Spanish

Panoramic views
of all the ventanitas
I can order at the window
through my window

Up all night
thinking of a colada
that I didn’t share

Tossing and turning
on the toilet
and that was without milk
a cafe con leche
might kill me

body am an academic. You can tell from my good grammar and proper punctuation. body am an academic who values his name on awards more than who he is deep down. body am an academic that only writes in complete sentences . Because in the 6th grade body was told by my my writing teacher to never start a sentence with the word “because”, because it is BAD and body do not want to be bad, because body am an academic who values material things like metals and certificates that just become bent and crumpled in the corners of my closet that body am really still hiding inside of with all of my stuffed animals having a tiny little tea party just for as, because that is all (was all) that mattered then, but now is now and there is no changing the now, because body am academic and body value success in the normal way that everyone before me did and everyone after me will.

At dinner body asked somebody to pass the salt and pepper because this meal is bland that body have consumed since childbirth. body am academic and body demand interesting flavors of life, in which body will live to the fullest, learning all. But body guess nobody heard me, or they do not want to share their flavor, so body am still eating, or not eating because it is all the same eventually. Yet, body am an academic and body demand for things to be different for me, because body am special, because body do not fit in those boxes and it probably is not worth even applying in the first place, since we know nothing about you, and your GPA is just slightly lower than what is truly remarkable. And still body am here writing this essay that could never possibly represent me, but body try anyway because body am academic and body value success.

Maybe it would be better if body started with a quote, because academics always start with quotes to make them sound smarter and like they know something beyond themselves, but really it just feels like body know more about other “academics” than body do myself, so body don’t really know. Maybe body should tell a personal anecdote of pain and sorrow because body have plenty of those, but no, because body am an academic and body must highlight what body am worth, not what body have overcome, because there is a difference and body would be pretending if body knew what they wanted to say or even if it mattered what they wanted me to say. “BE STRATEGIC” and never misspel for even a second and then your life as an academic is pardon me but body have grown like a weed, down the disposal with the
eggshells and childhood lies.

body am not just an academic, body am an individual first, and body want to help the world. How can I, as an academic, challenge the system from within its gears [rotating endlessly]. To dislodge frameworks of thought but only partially because we still rely on this system to hold us up. body am an academic not a revolutionist! Thus, body must use big boy words and complex sentence structures such as; follow your heart, and there will be no more debacle.

Yes, um body will have the salad please, but only the lettuce. “Only the lettu”. Yes only the lettuce, please let us feel the icebergs shift in changing temperance and the humble crunch of soulless bodies under my yellow teeth. body am an academic, body demand excellence and body do not mean to be harsh. You are not what body am looking for. We regret to inform you that this is not the proper way to write an essay and it doesn’t make any logical sense even for a creator like yourself.

I’m kept my witts down below
In a sewer of this rat race
Christmas Day trapped me in a porno
Staring at myself in a window
Is this year going to slit my throat
My shadow follows three times
The size of me I fell off the gorilla tree
Sometimes I pound my chest
Then I look around no one
He definitely gets
Sometimes I pound my chest
Like King Kong…
…Scharted My First Time

My friends, thoughtlessly, said they
Dined on steak and mashed potatoes,
Not thinking of the bill or retribution

Afterwards, the owner approached
And said, “But what about the check?”
But Jerome reported that he only laughed

And answered, “After all, old man,
You’ve got a nice business here –
And a famished man has got to eat!”

My friends quickly made their exit
And drove off without a care –
They already had their stomachs full

###

Oh
How could you do
This to me, who
Has loved you so long!
Oh the disaster!
You ran off with our pastor
And that’s not all too!
When you ran,
you took my heart
My money; most expensive art;
But:
What
turned my heart deep blue:
Was that you took-
You awful crook!-
You took
My Specially Trained
Kangaroo.

I see you now,
You three-or two;
-Just two, without the kangaroo-
Or three, if you include him too;
Or four: my poor heart makes one more;
All of us-I mean all of you-
Are riding into a sunset, ooh.

Just you and him,
And me and you,
And a wellworn
Didgereedoo*

And of course,
-That’s not a horse!
It’s way too cool:
it’s our specially trained
but-who knew? so cruel!-
Kangaroo.

Now I am not a bitter man,
But dear it does seem cruel;
After all that I looked past,
To do this last thing too:

[spoken:]

I forgave you
When you strayed with my best friend
My catchers’ mitt
A vat of organic peanut butter
Some Filipino acrobats
And a cockatoo-
Hey,
I thought it was just an amour fou!

But now I know better
Since I got your letter.
It was a picture of You.
With Bob,
that swine with whom you flew,
And worst of all,
What hurts of all,
It’s true-
In the middle of the two
of You
is …. Jim:
My Extremely
Specially Trained,
And Ungrateful,
HardHearted
Kangaroo!

By Peri Lyons, The Poet Who Understands. -Sort of. 2024

When, pray tell us a fart not a fart?
Not the dusty and dry type
That rip you apart
Nor the silent emissions
That clear out a room
Or an elder’s eruption
That presages doom
A fart’s not a fart as you know my dear man
When upon it’s completion, you run for the can.

I’d rather talk to a pornstar than a poet.
Poets are confusing, emotional, and lazy.
And then there are people on social media.
I’d rather talk to a shitting dog than a person on social media.
Every person on social media makes me want to jump out of a window.
People who make videos on YouTube are boring and lazy.
This new wave of youtubers who have chickenshit minds must be turned into scrambled eggs.
They have nothing interesting to say on youtube.
All the videos make me want to jump out of a window.
And then there are the little crying babies on Instagram, tic toc, reddit, Twitter, 4chan, etc.
Ahhh, it feels good to release my wrath on these social media fuckers.
Sometimes you have to write like an asshole to entertain people.
The poet will forever remain in the golden castle with a silver pencil.
These youtubers are now talking like philosophers.
Anyone who talks like a philosopher is a monkey driving a car.
Philosophers are very good at sounding smart.
And anyone who sounds smarts uses a bunch of bullshit words that I can care less about.
I’d rather talk to a shitting dog than a YouTuber.
I’d rather go to a mental hospital than be on social media.
I’d rather talk to a sandwich than a philosopher.
I’d rather talk to a pornstar than a poet
I don’t want women to love me.
I don’t want men to love me.
They’re both gross and smell like eggs.
And they make me sick to my stomach.
When someone is loved too much, they lose all sense of hate.
Hatred is powerful when beautifully expressed.
The man who hates his mother can do a lot of things in life.
The woman who hates her father can do a lot of things in life.
Who’s to blame? The creator or the children?
And the worm that crawls up an arm will keep crawling.
I want to suck on your farts and bleed out your shit.
It doesn’t matter how many books you’ve read.
It doesn’t matter how many movies you’ve seen.
It doesn’t matter how many TV shows you’ve watched.
It doesn’t matter how much money you make.
It doesn’t matter what job you have.
It doesn’t matter how much music you’ve listened to.
It doesn’t matter how many men you’ve had sex with.
It doesn’t matter how many women you’ve had sex with.
What does matter is that you pick up your dogs poop and throw it into the trash.
I can make a straight man turn gay.
I can make a gay man turn straight.
I can make a lesbian fly in a plane.
But I have better things to do.
If you are accepted and liked by everyone then life becomes boring.’
Fall in love with appearance, then you are only left with a boring personality.
Fall in love with personality, then you are only left with an ugly appearance.
Some men are all penis, no brains.
Some men are all brains, no penis.
Men can become whores by being too sexual or by reading too many books.
There is no winning or losing when you are a whore.
At a certain point, a man will cut off his penis and feed it to the dogs.
This is the true testament of a man.
Do deaf dogs bark?

In the time of the virus flu,
Social distancing was the thing to do.
So for the rest of his life,
He stayed away from his wife.
Even when he buried her too.

What she died from no one knew.
So to make sure it wasn’t the flu,
He exhumed his wife,
And it cost him his life,
For he too soon died of the flu

The Friday after turning 22, I met him.
A tall 6’3” gentleman.
He looked like a reincarnated confederate soldier.
The Jasper in Twilight kind.
Light blue eyes that matched his face mask.
He introduced himself to my sister and I.
I forgot his name immediately.
He leads us to the clinic and explains the agenda.
Cleaning and x-rays for my sister.
There’s an issue though.
He thinks I’m the mom.
Instead of correcting him, I go along.
I feared they wouldn’t proceed if I wasn’t the mother.
So I’m my sister’s mom.
Makes sense.
He asks some questions regarding her hygiene and health history.
I answer and say my concerns.
He nods along then takes her height and weight.
Everything looks good.
Until I begin to have a coughing fit.
Choking on my own spit.
Not Covid, I swear.
Dr. Jasper looks at me concerningly and asks, “Are you alright?”
I pat my chest and give a thumbs up.
Obviously, I’m doing fantastic.
Still concerned, he asks “Do you want some water?”
“No no no. I’m fine,” I fake a smile and assure him that I’m okay.
He gives a small nod and then gets geared up.
They commence with the cleaning.
He remarks that my sister has great teeth.
I comment, “I invested in a waterpik.”
He then says, “Oh really? I’ve never used one.”
I then ramble about how great waterpiks are.
Clearly, I’m nervous.
And a mom.
Somehow, I turned myself into a waterpik advocate.
He then focuses on my sister’s teeth and cleans them.
I chat with some dental advisors who recognize me.
They also believe that I’m a mom.
At this point, I’m not beating the allegations.
This charming, mid 20s man thinks I’m a young single mom.
Keep in mind, I’m 22.
Like the Taylor Swift song.
Once my sister’s cleaning is done, they go to take x-rays.
While that happens, I imagine my whole life with this man.
Living in the suburbs in a cute white bricked home.
I have his child who has his baby blue eyes and my black hair.
A picture perfect life.
A picture that has a rose colored filter.
The child grows up and our presumed marriage becomes strained.
We simply fall out of love.
Our child leaves for college and we decide to divorce.
No hard feelings nor hate.
Just reality and stats coming into play.
“Ma’am,” he calls out to me.
I immediately snap back into reality.
He tells me that my child’s, aka my sister’s, teeth are all swell.
There’s one tooth that they’re keeping an eye on, but nothing too concerning.
I nod and get lost in his eyes once more.
What a fool I am.
In an hour, I’ve managed to fall in, out, then in love again.
I began to question the divorce from my daydream.
I wouldn’t have filed first.
That’s for sure.
He concludes that our appointment is done.
I get up from my seat and my sister/child does the same.
Just as we’re about to leave, he looks at me one more time.
“I’ll walk you out,” he says.
Now listen.
There’s one entrance and one exit.
It’s not like we’ll get lost.
He didn’t ask but rather commanded it.
That’s probably why I filed for divorce.
So we let him walk us out.
At the door, I give him a thanks and a smile.
“Sure thing,” he says before going back in.
I turn to my sister and say, “How do you feel about having a new dad?”
She rolls her eyes and says a snarky comment under her breath.
As we rode back to her school, I rant about Dr. Jasper.
I came to the conclusion that he’s also deeply in love with me.
It’s a shame really.
He’s in love with a 22 year old single mom with a 15 year old daughter.
Poor fella.
At least my delusion is satisfied for today

The summit played tricks with the sky,
Each step made it seem less nearby.
Each bend seemed the last,
But nope, not so fast—
It kept playing hide-and-seek, oh my!