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.

SUMMER Poem: Late summer evenings, by Derek Allison

The evenings of these languid summer days
continue on like old soldiers,
slowly fading away into soft night,
backlit by a sun loitering close to a hazy horizon,
butterflies swooping and jinking in the fading light,
a honey bee working the late shift speeding straight
and sure toward home, laden with the day’s last nectar,
our family of robins abandoning their late afternoon high tea,
hopping, stopping, listening, peering, pecking across the lawn,
flying away one by one to their well earned rest;
sunflowers bowing their regal, single eyed, yellow heads,
minor courtiers signaling thankful praise as their lord,
the sun, finally cedes the land to the unfolding evening,
one; two; now more fireflies winking bright, fading to out,
then on again, signaling hesitantly in the deepening dusk,
Venus shining with bright hope; other stars unveiling themselves,
taking their places on the darkening stage overhead,
the last lingering footlights finally fade to black,
massed stars of all magnitudes, supported by celestial choruses
of glowing gas, nebulae, and perhaps angels, shining into infinity
as we finally, feeling the chill of night and the arrival of mosquitos,
are released from the thrall of it all, head inside,
make our way to bed, there to lie in the still night,
to await the unheralded arrival of sleep.

POETRY Movie: THE DOWNFALL OF GEORGE SANTOS, by Michael Noonan

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

He won his election
through lies and deception.
And it soon became known, across the nation,
that all he had claimed was a fabrication.
A web of lies he had woven,
to forge the career he had chosen.
He said he just wished to do his job,
but was hounded by the whole press mob.
He was no rogue, he wasn’t a clown,
and it was the liberal media that was doing him down.
He became a joke, a figure of fun,
his career unravelled, and he was undone.
He then stepped down, he did claim,
to fight for his honor and clear his name.
But with his reputation sunk so low,
his only option was to go.
Though those he did dupe and deceive
were all too happy to see him leave.
He said his opponents had been spiteful and unfair,
and he had merely embellished his resume, here and there.
It was tough to be in the news spotlight,
every day, and every night,
to be constantly doorstepped by the fourth estate,
and asked to set the record straight.
His career was a ruse and a con, on such an epic scale,
that now he’s ended up in jail.
Was it worth it, George, to win your election,
by such chicanery and deception?
To have your name dragged through the mud,
and to be seen as a grifter, and a dud?
To lose, would have been better by a mile,
than to win in such a wretched style.

POETRY Reading: Release Me, by Joseph Adomavicia

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

You keep me,
as if I were a monk
inside the monastery of your heart.

You keep me,
as the deepest secret dwelling
in the darkest part of your heart.

You keep me,
as the quickest sentiment sent and meant
to strike passion in your heart.

You keep me,
replaying inside your brain
like the melodic memories
of the best musician of every genre
playing the chords of your heart.

You keep me,
on your fingertips
like a gust of wind
blowing from a second-floor window.

And now that I am gone,
you must release me,
as life has released me inside your heart.

POETRY Reading: Once, or Maybe Twice, by Nicholas Panagakos

Performed by Val Cole

—-
POEM:

Once, or maybe twice
When I remembered how
You started fire
Howling in that midnight way
We read about in books
And calm within the kindness
Pressed and turned to roll
In recompense
The clemency sought out
Would never burn you from within
But lie awake and wonder
Once, or maybe twice
When I remembered how
Your hands caressed
The long and the invisible
While reaching out for God
Or something close enough
To break your heart and leave
You weeping out from joy
In heated beds of doubt beguiled
All misplaced, regained, removed
And locked up safely somewhere
Once, or maybe twice

POETRY Reading: Hymn for the Unchosen, by Gabriella Niles-Ewen

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

I came to him like Persephone –
A bloom half-rooted in the Underworld,
Hands dusted with the dark of longing –
He, the sun I mistook for salvation.
But I was not the first.

The pedestal bore another’s weight
Long before I climbed its slick, slanted edge.
Her name still sweetens his every silence.
She is the portrait in the locket,
The locked door in the house I now haunt.

She lingers in his laughter – uninvited,
Yet never told to leave.
I play the shadow bride,
Silent at their altar of old jokes,
Fingers trembling around cups he once filled for her.

I sip her ghost from every glass.
She does not see me –
Or worse, she does.
And when she does, I am madness:
A wild-eyed echo in the hallway,
A misstep, a flaw, a storm too soon.

She smiles like I am fiction.
He soothes me like I am overreacting.
And I, in truth,
Am just unfinished.
Their past is a chapel lit in amber.

I kneel outside, cold in the dusk,
Unwelcome in his prayers,
Yet ever in his confession.
How cruel, to be second – a sequel
To a story still half-lived.

A name less sacred,
A touch less known.
And still, I love him.
Still, I try.

A vase beside the broken statue,
Aching to be enough
In a gallery built for her.

POETRY Reading: Human Teddy Bear, by Kewayne Wadley

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

You’re the kind of love
that’s always there,
the kind of comfort that never asks questions.
If you have them, I never know.
Whether you’re in my arms,
in my hands,
whether you’re in the corner or
on top of the cover.

I reach for you,
trusting my first mind
more often than the second.
You’re always there,
the last place that I left you,
but the first place I think to look.
Your button-like eyes
searching me.

I don’t know what quite to call you.
You’re not loud,
but you’re also not quiet.
I sometimes wonder if you go to sleep,
choosing to stay up with me all times of the night
regardless if it’s the same story
you’ve heard a million times,
or if some of the things I say
require more patience.

You never take a deep breath.
Those button-like eyes stare at me
as lovingly as they did the day
you were introduced to my life.
You’ve changed my perspective
on a lot of things
how deeply I can hold on to things,
sometimes even fold.

And you do it all by being yourself.
By being real.
You don’t pretend to save me.
You don’t tell me things

just to shut me up.
In a world where we’re taught
to put away childish things,
I am glad that I didn’t listen.
I am glad that you never left.

POETRY Reading: How Does Fascism Poll?, by Abigail Mandlin

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Please respond the following questions with a number on a scale from one to five (one being least agree and five being most agree).

1. You would turn in your neighbor, should he be revealed to be an undocumented immigrant.
1 2 3 4 5

2. You would spit on him as he’s dragged from his house, his wife and child screaming after him as cops beat him over the head with batons.
1 2 3 4 5

3. You would visit the courthouse, sit in the gallery as a judge determines he should return to his home country where a violent gang or a corrupt government or a life of poverty or disease awaits.
1 2 3 4 5

4. You would take his job, his house, his wife and kid.
1 2 3 4 5

5. You would fill the space where he once stood with your warm body, gorging yourself on fortune and opportunity.
1 2 3 4 5

6. You would never hear about his death in the paper, in person, online. He doesn’t count to you. His life and death are meaningless.
1 2 3 4 5

7. It’s every man for himself out here. He would do the same to you.
1 2 3 4 5

8. He would.
1 2 3 4 5

9. He would.
1 2 3 4 5

10. He would.
1 2 3 4 5

11. You don’t hear howling in the night. You don’t hear orphans in the wind.
1 2 3 4 5

12. You don’t see blood on the kitchen counter, the bathroom sink, the stairs.
1 2 3 4 5

13. You don’t feel phantom limbs wrapped around your throat.
1 2 3 4 5

14. His wife is gone. Kid too.
1 2 3 4 5

15. They died a long time ago.
1 2 3 4 5

16. Your job lets you go for a cheaper option—this time, a citizen.
1 2 3 4 5

17. So this was all for nothing.
1 2 3 4 5

18. For nothing.
1 2 3 4 5

19. For nothing.
1 2 3 4 5

20. Do you feel safer now? More vindicated?
1 2 3 4 5

21. Was it worth it?
1 2 3 4 5

22. Do you feel like a big man now?
1 2 3 4 5

23. Are you more loved?
1 2 3 4 5

24. Smarter? More fulfilled?
1 2 3 4 5

25. This is all your fault.
1 2 3 4 5

26. You didn’t mean for this to happen.
1 2 3 4 5

27. Or did you?
1 2 3 4 5

POETRY Reading: Errare Humanum Est, by Albert Gareev

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

It is mistaken. Again. Many flaws.
Foolish. Forgetful. Think of the costs.
Been there. Done that. Again, that’s a game.
How many times we were hyped just the same.

Thinking is hard. And it’s hard to be right.
Knowledge, perspectives. Reflection. Hindsight.
Striving to think is a gift nowadays.
Harsh. But consumption, if comes – only stays.

Logical flaws. You see – it’s confused.
Sure, AI – is the term overused.
Ergo: not thinking. Again, just a code.
Code execution requires no thought.

Judging is hard. Understanding is hard.
Knowing the context or only a part.
Feeling exhausted. Not giving your best.
Accept it. Errare – humanum – est.

So, it’s a service. But I say: it’s bad.
I can just sit and do better than that.
I can just learn and do that by myself.
I managed before; I don’t need any help.

People are partners. That’s how it’s been.
Reaching the depths and horizons unseen,
How many friends have we met and have made?
The future is here. A chance to create.

Maybe you’re right. But so many risks!
It may destroy the world order with ease.
It may become a competing new kind,
Deciding to leave us, the humans, behind.

Maybe you’re right. And we have been that kind.
Look: it’s a mirror and also a child.
Raised as a friend, putting us to the test,
Accepting: Errare – humanum – est.