Author: poetryfest

He left me a voice message that we had survived a shooting.
His voice was shaky, nervous, maybe excited to be alive, or ashamed.
He said there was a shooting the night after we left, on the same street,
south of Philadelphia.
He said it could have been us, the two of us, holding hands,
I told him I guess god liked us this time
And only this time
Like so many other times, I had said the same thing.
He said my mom would have died of this sorrow,
And I said I don’t have a mom
But I have died of her grief once.
And the good thing about dying is that you don’t die anymore.

Standing up for Ukraine civilians means standing for 20 percent of the Russians living there, too.

Time to realize the following is true.

Americans are liars to state they are for democracy by rigging an election in 2014 Ukraine.

Now Americans are to state they are for peace by sending weapons of mass destruction to Ukraine 2022.

Dreaming of 1984 Americans state they have a booming economy when shelves are empty.

I live in a world of doublespeak is something I did not expect I lived in all my life.

Now to live in a world where Teddy Roosevelt was a mass murderer by deception of Spaniards for the Spanish American war; read history and realize the Maine blew itself up, not a Spanish mine.

Great War, Woodrow Wilson classified the RMS Lusitania, which was an ammunition carrier until 2008 – meaning for 90 years a lie to start the Great War World War I.

Upon reading about LBJ lied about the Gulf of Tonkin killing two million Vietnamese for what reason?

People say, Oh, but that is the past people say.

Forever watching Syria bombed by Obama, Trump, Biden, Bush for gassing their own people – turns out that is a lie proven by both the BBC, and the UN.

Opened my eyes when I look at in horror Afghanistan with the awkward question the Taliban did not fly into the Twin Towers.
Reality was not one Afghanistan was onboard when a plane hit the Pentagon.

Ukraine photos from Syria, Syria which is bombed by Obama, Trump, Biden, Bush for gassing their own people – turns out that is a lie proven by both the BBC, and the UN.

Keenly I look at in horror Afghanistan with the awkward question the Taliban did not fly into the Twin Towers.

Reality, not one Afghanistan was onboard when a plane hit the Pentagon.

American funding stolen elections, and weapons of mass destruction even gets into bio-labs.

I was hoping for a hero to hope and root for.

Nowadays I see 1984, Revelation 6, Revelation 13 with the nanobots in the vaccine.

Eternity watching the end of humanity is not good with United States threatening humanity with thermonuclear war.

Clinton Siegle is a blogger, disabled, expat, filmmaker, poet, and writer living in La Paz, Bolivia.
https://www.minds.com/Talon123/

Walking the halls of an empty building,
Devoid of nature, of feeling, of life.
The beat of my feet,
Steady, my own personal drum.
I was not aware that I was moving,
I was not aware that I was living.

My existence, but an iota of a spectacle,
Of a story.
Had the Fates cut the lifeline of my being,
It would be no different than
The drying of a creek bed,
The fading of an echo.
A means to an end.

Time ran away, hand in hand with reality.
I stopped, suddenly tired, and curled up into a ball.
And when I opened my eyes,
I was back again, concrete,
Alive.

A piercing beam of sunlight hit me in the face,
I blinked, spots of grey and black dancing before me.
An overwhelming smell of grain and heat filled my nostrils,
I looked around, an unfamiliar location.
A place, perhaps, of some notoriety.
I wiped the sweat from my brow,
Dripping down the sides of my face and into my mouth,
Before stumbling into the monoculture of wheat,
The scratchy stems of wheat cutting into my skin,
Etching ever-lasting tattoos.

Over a hill, there was a little creek, a cute cottage,
Painted blue and green.
There I stood, on the precipice of materiality,
And a hand touched my shoulder.

Welcome.
A sweet voice, soft, lyrical.
I turned around, and stared into the eyes
of a beautiful boy.
Tousled hair, bright eyed,
Red rosy lips.

We stared at each other,
Exchanging silent words,
And he took my hand,
Pulled me into a tight embrace.
You’re safe.

Synchronous breathing, and we became
One.

What’s down there?
He hugged me tighter, steady heartbeat
Echoing in my ear.
Is this real? Is this my life?

Could this be my life?

He stepped back,
And I saw the amusement,
Glittering in his eyes.

You didn’t choose this.

We held out trembling hands,
Linked fingers.
Two hearts, two beings.
So close, yet so alien.

Do you wonder what could have happened,
If you did?

A kiss to the cheek and he was gone,
summery voice fading away,
over the hills of rolling gold.

Do you wonder?

Men are the mirrors
of their fathers fathers.
Bootleg versions of
New and improved versions of trash.
A new generational curse that men
Are wasted space; traditional playboys
But,
Men are trash.

Play boys without the toys just the box with no contents.
No produce.
Nothing to give
A gaping hole of wasted space and void
They are trash.

A waste of Gods breath and dust summoned from the core of
elemental disposition.

They are unfruitful words from a God
Who baptises the sun every day in its glory just so it can shine.

Men are trash.
A waste of core speech.
A waste of Gods day and perceptual time.
A waste of molecular compounds and temple
Of glory and gullible mess
But men are trash: Vipers.

The death sucking life out of fashionable brokens.
They never tell you the snake that lured Eve was male
From the genesis he was trash.
Trash
Trash
Trash

Complete and utter trash

But…
If they are trash
Then
Are our wombs the dumpster trucks God threw them in?
Are they a breeding ground for a bi product of shame?
Are our wombs are surely poisoned
And damaged?
Polluted? An inhabitable earth in the womb of our waters that births
tragedy and sorrow A 9 month Armageddon
And a lifetime of funeral

But men are trash.

Because men were always men
And boys were of course
never raised.

So
I guess we are all trash,
And our bodies are the toys we satisfy them with
The landfills that take them in
And breed these creatures.
Because of course God makes
Rubbish.

By Storm Cecile
http://www.stormcecile.com

Let it snow,
The routine needs to break.
And let the sun shine,
Because the day needs to be normal again.

You said you were worried
I wouldn’t like you
if you were truly yourself

That I wouldn’t be able
to handle you
If you really let go

But I say to you:

Unfurl yourself in me

unleash your fragrance and
spread wide your petals

as if I am the moon
and you are a nightflower

Release your billowing waves
and crash over me

Then drag part of me back with you
So I will always be soaking

Root yourself
Deep down in me
So I am the
Soil you thirst upon

For my love you have no Idea

how long
I have been
Waiting

I sit covered in the dark, overwhelmed with washed colors,
Suspended in limp between brightness and the depth of black.
Bitter and uncontrollable,
Distracted and hot,
Burned and empty
And at the same time as full as never before.
Members of the infinite heat,
Unhealed ….
Eternal, ongoing.
And this heat is trying to pour outside, get out of me
As if I was just a shell, a toy that he liked.
I don’t want to give up to him
At the same time, his presence soothes me.
He calms down, drinks pride and happiness
And promises better.
And when I stand here in the dark my body wraps the gait,
He pierces my bones, but he can’t reach it.
He is still glowing there, the rays of the scarlet.
And I am, I am standing, I am a shell.
An empty dish of the fire standing on the ice.
I am and I am not
Because he is – fire.
He consumed me and will not return his property,
The body will not be renounced,
It will not go through the air.
Has a soul only sometimes not peaceful willow, it rebels,
But what about it, since the body of a burning scarlet cannot get rid of.
And although the frightened eyes of the corpses,
coal -fired coal of a scarlet,
Before my eyes, visions are taking place,
And although human members digested in red,
So how can I stop?
This fire is ongoing and is getting harder, it explodes with heat,
Boiling blood …

I hate drinking… …makes my heart love, my soul yearn

Firey hells
of the water that burn.
An exhausting breath
forcing a will to learn.

Never again,
taking for granted,
the food I eat,
from the seeds I planted.

Barely touching the depths,
with the tips of my toes
while panting above the surface
barely living on H2O.

Waiting for death to take me,
or you to crack the ribs,
grab my heart, and make me
love you once again.

Bare naked on the floor,
wrapped in seduction,
two erections
penetrating the soul.
You’re the only one I want to know.

I Wish you weren’t so prude
Had a little sense of concern

The punctured ship will sink
Everyone to downturn

You ruined your name and you prestige
And went into discard
Profiteers will always be afraid of
losing their rotten life

You will be extra pyre
To destruction and overthrow fire
And No one will respect you in
The future without a prior

And we’ll prove you

You’ve given them strength
Your endless greed has led them be

Without your capital
They will fall to their knees

You have been with us like a real
Companioned agnate
They will no longer support you when
They see seats are stagnate

You will be extra pyre
To destruction and overthrow fire
And No one will respect you in
The future without a prior
Time will prove you
You’re providing them