Author: poetryfest

was it ever a crime
to love much
who is brave enough to judge
how one’s heart can
a martyr, yes, is deserving of more
but who has the audacity
to force one’s soul
into denying its truth

we do not question
how one can easily forgive
and the other, hard to let go
some of us can
some of us won’t

either,
respect is due

we long to taste freedom
in the floating clouds
yet still,
no one fully welcomes
the differences of lives
of minds,
of hearts,
perfection is hard to achieve
in a fallen world
that is to know,
in one season we fall from grace
and another we recover
and get back what has been lost

until such acceptance
is reached,
we’ll go around in circles
trying to prove which
is right and who is better

here, bowing to the standards
of a fickle system
the jury is guilty
of a biased verdict

but blessed are they
who see beyond the naked eye

(written by selahpoetry)

GENRE: life, justice, balance, equality, respect

August, white
without a cloud.
The heat

has sunk them
all. Shadows
wake like

lead weights
before the morning
falls, and

hang terrible
by every building
and stoop.

We are
reminded of
the heaviness

that precedes
the breaking
of

a branch
a back
a long

hard season
of growing pains.
Summer’s mouth

parched and
sagging, searching
for a cleansing

rain. The street
has marched
itself to dust.

Dry fingers
snap
beneath the trees

impatiently.
And I
wasn’t ready

for
the shaking
of cicadas, or

the crucible
of days.
The earth unstrung

between its poles
like a victim
on a rack.

So many bodies
starved
of breath. I

am ill-equipped
still green and
new. Variegating

in the hard light.
I was only just
beginning

when the cicadas
came and
buckled their ribs

to drone again
of love
and death.

Escaped.
Midnight.
Emotions accelerate.
He plunges dagger,
Cracks open,
Small tributaries meet at nose,
Then flow to delta mouth.

Hammer knocks.
Body Flops,
Distorted.

Thick black rope
Decreases neck circumference
Eyes bulge.

Revolver –
Aims towards prey.
Piercing Scream.
Hole in heart.

In lair
Targets displayed.
Intestines garland heads
Walls drowned in red.
Work finished.

Feasts voraciously.
Burps.
Sleeps silently.
Owl hoots.

By Sanjini Bhakta.

Once upon a morning mist
A vision came to me
A vision of what’s yet to come
Not done but yet to be

I wondered if the visions true
If what will be will be
If fate will be the ruling hand
And not left up to me

Man lives for his tomorrows
And great may be his name
He searches for fulfillment
So as not to die in vain

But if there’s no tomorrow
And fate has closed the door
Wander through the once upon
The times that are no more

For there you’ll see your yesterday
Today that was tomorrow
Man is but yesterday’s child
And time’s not his to borrow

Man was born for greatness
Born for things to come
Man has died in sorrow
His life’s work left undone.

One day in the past,
They took everything.
I would say,
They took their lives and went somewhere safe.
Like the rest.
Those who could leave the country did.
Those who stayed, some went to the North.
Some to the East.
Men to the South.
South to the war
War to the wall.
Walls of a cage,
Cage as a country!

Happy mother’s day mom.
Take us all with you again,
In to the Volkswagen, we used to have.
Let’s put it all behind us.
These bombings of the blood
Instead,
Let’s bomb the rain.
That’s what we need.
Everything is dry.
Our land is cracked.
And the lake is gone!
Time is frozen,
Here and there.
It’s all repeating Mom,
Over and over again.
Live in a circle.
Circle of the earth.
I’m scared as hell.
I want to be like you, one day!
Mother of a child,
Feed her happiness,
From my blood,
Rooted in the soil.
Like the picture of you and your firstborn child.

Happy Birthday sister,
You are a mom,
Growing a child.
Let her play into the dust.
Like the rest of us.
I’m still scared,
Our soil is tied up with the oil
Oil brings the war
War as a witch
Witch of the darks.
Tell me this now,
Will everything be alright?

1

Drop me off in the wilderness
By the river shore where we were before
By the abandoned shack by the railroad track
Slow down and I’ll jump out the door
And find my own way back, I guess,
From the valley of excess
And the Land of 10,000 Dances
No one can say I never took chances
The answer to all your questions is yes
I lost every game from checkers to chess
Can’t blame it all on the hands I was dealt
While I was tightening my belt
Nothing to do now but live with less
In another location
Drop me off in the wilderness
Call it a vacation

2

Or an excavation
Digging up an ancient mess
Remember when you begged to be
Dropped off in the wilderness?
What a scamp you were at 69
Sexting an heiress to millions
With a slithering tongue
Palavering a pubic kiss
In the throes of throttling bliss
Across the fields of intimate internet texts
From yesteryear, and yet.
That led you back to the sheer cliff
Of time, to pay a final debt
Another bad bet
You were so stressed
You wanted to be dropped off in the wilderness

3

Drop me off in the wilderness
Slow down and I’ll jump out
You said, but I digress,
No one needs to know what this is all about
I never saw you disappear
You were never there, never fear
The tourniquet is tight around the wound
The bleeding stopped, the nickel dropped,
The end is coming soon
Not soon enough to call your bluff,
You had me at hello
But nothing stayed the same as it was a long time ago
You were on a different plane, I was on the ground
The motel walls were paper thin, we couldn’t make a sound
You were like a little bird falling from a nest
When I dropped you off in the wilderness

-K. C. Wilson

A sensation of nerves melting,
Mentally breaking me down,
Release my soul inside its cage,
Am I a dream, or am I a memory,
Am I with you, or am I without reality,
Like a drummer beating my heart and dragging my breath,
The clock ticks, and ticks, and ticks,
So is every moment gone vanished forever!
But then I blink and he is here again,
Watching me through the window,
How could I run inside this cage?
My dreams are paralyzing me again,
I wake up and see it over again,
Again, I count twenty heartbeats fewer,
Twenty heartbeats lost,
Who is the one, I am finding?
Who is the one, I am hiding?
The anger is my pain, and the pain in my vexation,
The vexation makes me angry, and again the pain follows…
I need a light followed by a sound to be the clue.
But as an unsolved riddle,
I open my eyes, and it’s all gone,
Then there is a sign, which brings the sound and everything turns into Darkness.
I couldn’t cry, Mama, I couldn’t complain,
I couldn’t stay, and I couldn’t leave,
I couldn’t be satisfied,
I just can’t run from my mind,

Can I?

As a child I remember small farmers
Being depressed at some times of the year,
With climatic conditions uncertain
Turning hopes of their harvest to fear.
Whenever they cursed the bad weather
As the elements failed to rescind
My father, with wisdom, would tell them:
“There’s a brightness at the butt of the wind”.

When teenage ambitions got twisted:
My identity crisis would loom.
Rejection and fantasy mingled,
Resulting in pictures of doom.
Then………the Power of Good to the rescue
To counter each negative trend.
My thoughts would somehow be diverted
To that brightness at the butt of the wind.

Chorus;

When the weather of life it looks hopeless;
And dark clouds with disaster seem twinned,
Remember that God will send sunshine.
There’s a brightness at the butt of the wind.

When the storms of anguish are beating
And I’m lashed by the gales of defeat
When the forecast of life holds no promise
It’s still not the time to retreat
A fresh glow appears in my vision
Like a night sky by bright stars sequined.
Then I know then I haven’t forgotten
That brightness at the butt of the wind

At last when I’ll see the horizon
And that mist (self-deception) has cleared
I’ll ponder the journey before me
And confront all the things that I’ve feared,
Expecting a turbulent crossing
As the Clergy point out that I’ve sinned
But knowing that Salvation is certain
By the brightness at the butt of the wind

Chorus.

(c) Mattie Lennon 2005

Another night, another disappointment, another no-show
Despite all my best efforts–here I sit alone
“It could be worse,” I tell myself as I stare down at my phone
2 nights ago we lay in bed–after I agreed to stay
You told me it was nice my head lying on your chest that way
We woke the next morning-you dressed and left for work
I roamed your apartment- it was spick and span–but I still found some dirt
She’d scribbled out her name on your refrigerator door
A girl I’d heard you mention at least a couple times before
“I’m out of here!” I told myself–picking up my stride
But I realized I couldn’t be too upset cause you were never really mine

-Lyndsey Coleman

who is this man who wears fifteen

who blinds us in his white and red

there are no records left to shred

always generous, never mean

covered in mud and squeaky clean

how can mere human be this strong

a different kind of godlike brawn

lightening quick with a chieftain roar

when others fall he just gives more

it’s a Patrick-colored dawn