Author: poetryfest

Illusions of misery,

cascade the shelves of my mind.

Delicately, I intertwined another thread of this mysterious existence,

hoping she brings me petals on Sunday.

I fly over the white big house,
ten miles from the wood floor,
flying naked, flying true, feeling blue.
I ask myself why was this house taken,
tough i was a little girl when i left it,
¿what happened to the big Elm tree?
¿who will embrace it?.
And those big windows
sacred mirrors,
they opened my perception to other worlds,
ghosts, flying objects, and six head dogs,
and the red piano playing Chopin
Nocturne no 11 .
My friends came at night,
and sleep over the brown carpet,
we would smoke and burned it,
orange holes,
where the worms from the garden came by,
and eat cookie crumbles,
they’ll keep quiet ,
they knew the red wine piano concert would begin,
and not even the ring of my mother´s bell
would stop it.
I kept flying,
the wind brought sentimental colors,
whispering yellow ,
craving red,
and my father’s favorite blue.
I saw the fig three,
it has grown so big and healthy,
i could taste the sap without touching it,
it has a different flavor,
like sunday morning in the dinning room,
like Christmas candles burning with apple salad,
like ping pong table full of dishes.
The armadillo who stole the most succulent figs,
smiled at me,
he would knock at my window every October night,
with his pointy fingers,
and watched full moon together,
there was nobody at home then,
just Angela.
Angela, my sweet dark hair angel,
she would stay at night,
watching me sleep,
bitting her nails, and then spitting them out.
One day she left,
and I still can smell her pink sweater,
the calmed warp of my childhood was gone.
I saw a Halloween costume,
running trough the hall,
playing hide and seek,
laughing and yelling,
to an empty suitcase.
who is he, i tought?.
Oh! my brother,
who after twenty years ,
still wears that costume.
But the house was big enough to expand small bubbles of soap
Into big conciousness.
And I kept flying,
it started raining;
i felt the fresh smell of pottery,
a calming lavender tea,
for my illumination shadow trip.
Trough the silent wind and my wet wings;
I could saw a cone head boy,
surrounded by a circle made of toy cars,
record player in silence,
and beautifull curly red hair,
that’s the way I want to remember him,
He, and his big smile,
playing darts in his balcony,leaving home at seventeen,
cocaine teenager.
Wait! no,he was my caring brother, we used to play,
(i’m lying)
We all reunited in the kitchen, french toast for dinner,
TV on, and dogs barking at the door.
The unicorn I used to talk as a child,
is the moderator for dinner arguments.
I saw myself sitting at the table,
I looked so calmed,
renewed,
everything seemed to pass by so slowly,
I only watched, and breath,
gently breath,
no more shields.
I´m a woman now, golden flesh,
bubble bath at night, and red wine in an elegant shrine.
And You:
you came by like a true road with no questions,
day by day,
soul landscape,
new, gentle and strong,
like the singing of the crickets at night
and the transparent glass of joy.

It’s dark in here.
I thought I liked it, once.
This was where I wanted to be, for so long…
I need to get out. I can’t.
Please, please just let me out…
Walls and doors. So many doors.
But they won’t open.
Not a single, wretched one.
This room is huge. When did it do that?
I’ve lost track. Door after door after door after
Door after door after door after…
All closed.
All locked.
No way out.
My light is dying…
I’m hungry. This room will not feed me,
Like it fed so many in the past. Selfish room.
Maybe if I just lay here… maybe in time one will open.
If I just lay here… maybe I’ll forget why this happened.
What I did to end up here.
I wish I could talk to someone.
These doors suck at that. They don’t tell me anything.
Maybe… if I just lay here…
I hope I can remember them,
What their faces looked like.
I can’t wait to see them again.
When one of these doors opens…

– Kody Kozak

Deep in the caverns of a narcissistic heart, I have
fallen for your elegance.

The way that you wear those tight, short frilly
expensive things—poured into fabric like the dye that
defines.

What would I do for you, to get you? To keep you to
slay you, then lay beside you—awaiting any signs of
movement from you. Awaiting your wake.

As you yawn and stretch—laying your head on my
shoulder in such a fashion, maybe pretending that
you’ve been doing that for years. You hold me close
and whisper a lie—saying that you wish to never ever
leave my hovel. But your man is waiting for you at
home. I offer you something to eat, and you decline as
you shower in hot water and no soap. You are dressed
in a flash and out the door—no kiss, no hug no lies.
As I peer through the blinds, I watch you tap your
foot while staring at your watch. Waiting for the #2
bus.

Today is Tuesday.
The Sun is bright but the air is a bitter cold – my head feels numb – stomach pains
The hotel is cheap, but the employees are overly sweet
They get too many grumpy people, I think
I sleep in my clothes, with my shoes on and my bag packed – there’s no time
As fast as the moving truck will fly through bat country – stopping only for gas and piss

In front of me is two thousand miles of uncharted territory,
an impatient family who use the phrase “Settle Down” – like a lot,
too many unspoken words and broken promises
Behind me is four years of self mutilation, a dying dream, and a virus…
The horizon endless in either direction
Three hours of sleep and a vicious head cold that may or may not be…
smothering my hands in Vitamin C and gulping down hand sanitizer – wait
Where am I? What day is it?

Today is Wednesday. New Mexico.
Crossing state lines, time zones, political hunting grounds and feral fanbases
Every mile marker I think of the thousands of acres, the millions of people,
countless stories I’ll never know, never explore, never understand
From the very country I call home – we are all strangers

The journey feels longer when you don’t know where you’re going
Harder to breathe when you’re always running from something
Dry sandy air screams through the broken A/C vents – makes it even harder
the changes in altitude and temperature pummel my beaten body
I just wanna get home – but what will I come home to?
Dream killers and lessons on the working class
“You belong here, not over there”
“You tried/gave it your best/it wasn’t meant to be/now you can get a real job”
Never accepted, and I’m just supposed to accept it?
The cowards final stand, the last temptation
You ever get the feeling you’re trapped in someone else’s story?
Had to stop for some fresh air – reset prospective
But man – you can’t beat that view

(c) 2023 SJF/JQK

Jack Kennedy’s legacy is alive and well
In the twenty first centry
Still going strong.
His life was full of temptations
Because he enjoyed
All the trappings of the rich.
Even so, he was courageous
And was never afraid to speak his mind
As well as setting almost impossible goals
Including landing a man on the moon.
His popularity grew so large
That he achieved savior status.
Unfortunately, the good tend to die young,
But he left behind many of the liberties
We enjoy today like civil rights
And space exploration.
He was our first superstar president
And there will never be another like him again.

Dated
Dated –27 times before I proposed,
Dated –1920s vintage wedding dress you wore,
Dated –1983, song we danced to,
Dated – 1/2 the jokes your father told,
Dated – 6/7/22, our divorce…

Genre: Sad, Relationships

Winter is welcomed in all her glory
To freshen the world and cleanse its story
Her breath is icy and fingers cold
She sometimes sculpts, grasps and moulds

Families and friends warmly gather and share
Hot soups, and jumpers, skis and fare
Winter mornings dawn cold and fresh as ice
For skiers they’re joy for fishermen strife

In northern realms She sculpts pure white cream
By evening this turns red, purple then green
Gently She paints the world with dew
She cleans and She shakes, whisks and makes new

Her timing is perfect for beast, flower and foe
Some of them sleep others always on show
Her departure is quick as Spring warms her hands
Soon Winter is forgotten as She departs for Other Lands.