Author: poetryfest

© 2021 by Peter D. Bové

http://www.peterbove.com/

Ancient sorrows
From days gone by
In worlds we only dream of
Hues of shadowy stories
That bring us to our knees
Bewildered we reminisce
Of great heroic feats
I’ll send them to you one evening
In a postcard with postage due
Maybe then we will remember
The days when life was true
We’ll walk together then
And smoke our cigarettes
In the smoky marsh of memories
And know from whence we came
Longing to go back there
Teary eyed and blue

arlene s bice

it was a quiet, warm, sunny mid afternoon
they came cruising down the main thoroughfare
from the river end of town, trees overhanging
moving slowly, one bike after another
after another, on the shady avenue
Harleys in low gear, low rumble
black leather jacketed all, jeans
even the girls riding shotgun
in black helmets, high boots
to the far end of town still under trees
to Huber-Moore Victorian funeral home
bikes neatly parked all in a row

local police were alarmed!
“No, no” said Chief Phil
“no problem here. Relax.”
he knew what this was
friends paying respect
no gang war or rivals

respectfully they climbed the hill
across the wide, covered porch
stepped over the threshold
into the hushed. tiled foyer
sorry to be there, wouldn’t think of not

“Hey Mom” followed by hugs
young men I knew as 6 year olds
still sweet, tender, towering over me
a few saying Mrs. Morrison though my
name returned to Bice a long time ago
caring, hearts heavy, considerate

my son lay dead, drowning accident
impossible to believe
they all came to say good-bye
hug me one more time

a small reception was held in the hall at
Hope Hose Humane First Aid Squad
they were the same who volunteered
to dredge the whole day through
the bikers passed the hat
collected $400 to donate
to this caring group

we drank, we ate
everyone had a story
about Guy
he was that kind of a kid
who became a man
and left.

UNTITLED
©Chadwick Palmatier

Listening;
waiting, wanting, wishing
that it doesn’t hurt
or won’t;
ever.
I be the one
to learn, know, how
to cope.
Into a dream it becomes,
forever floating inside,
like a balloon.
Waiting to be popped…
I blow it up again.

Performed by Val Cole

[So, it began like]

So, it began like
I have a dream of the
perfect, lovely evening.

So, it began like
Well, hello.
Is this seat taken?

So, it began like
Why it’s for you.
—Thanks—smiling.

So, it began like
I’m looking
forward to
seeing The
Little Shop
of Horrors.
—So am I.

So, it began like
Boy, looks like you
really work out.

So, it began like
Yea, it’s an obsession
with me.

So, it began like
I wish I had such
a problem.

So, it began like
It looks like you’re
quite fit yourself.

So, it began like
I swim, almost
a meditative ritual.

So, it began like
—during intermission—
What’s your drink?
—I’ll have whatever
you’re having.

So, it began like
Vodka tonic with
a splash of grenadine.
—Fine by me.

So, it began like
—later—
stars bursting across
the galaxies—
I don’t live far
from here—I
don’t know why
that popped out of
my mouth.

So, it began like
No worry, I’d like
other things touching
that perfect mouth.

So, it began like
Let’s go
and I’ll make
you a double
at home.

So, it began like
Fine by me.
—eight hours later—
I say: Stay for
French toast.

So, it began like
Well, I could
just stay . . .

So, it began like
Fine by me.
—now twenty-seven
years and counting . . .

Performed by Val Cole

PRUSSIAN BLUE, by Antonia Hildebrand

There’s two ways of looking at Prussian Blue.
If you’re Vincent van Gogh you use it
to paint a starry night,
and the blue seems like any velvety night.
Rich, deep blue wrapped around everything.
The sky studded with diamonds,
the water striped with light.

But then there’s the other way.
Prussian Blue treats radiation sickness,
and you know you’ve stumbled on
another way of looking at Prussian Blue,
entirely,
when you find out that the US government
has bought vast quantities of this paint,
which is stored in a top secret facility.
All that blue, blue paint,
waiting,
for a dirty bomb,
or a full blown nuclear attack.

What would Vincent think of that?
Who would know better than him
humanity’s infinite capacity for self-destruction.
With his brain steeped in wormwood
and no friend but his brother Theo,
he knew all too well,
how human beings can set their face
against a different face.
How they can spurn and mock and attack
those who make them afraid.
As he made them afraid,
with his mad art,
and his love that was too wild,
too big for their small lives.

Antonia Hildebrand (c) 2022

Performed by Val Cole

One at a Time: For the writing class, by Bob Conder

One at a time, they drop in and say hi.
One at a time, they try not to die.
One at a time, they listen and write.
One at a time, they make the words tight.

One at a time, they listen and learn.
One at a time, to finish, they yearn.
One at a time, they explore their mind.
One at a time, the words they grind.

One at a time, they seek inspiration.
One at a time, they find admiration.
One at a time, to write; they will.
One at a time, their babies they kill.

Performed by Val Cole

Performed by Val Cole

Performed by Val Cole

Performed by Val Cole