Author: poetryfest

In having everything and nothing to do all at once,
this mother strips herself bare
of dignity. I do what I have to.
The happy meds I fed my mind this morning
kicked themselves in
far past the buzzed feel-good uprights
landing amidst a stadium of Zombies.
One of the Zombies reared its head
and took my place,
crept into position
behind my un-sobered mind’s wheel.
In search of a milkshake
an already meaningless jaunt
A request from the back seat
It’s not a matter of yes or no –
Just duty.

Numbness plays its sweet victory over my limbs
My mind – a broken stop light
Flashing – but nonfunctioning –
A purposeless machine
like the broken ice cream maker
that greets us at the drive thru
as it has various days before
with the same answer
‘Not working’ they say
Day after day
The insanity repeats itself
hoping for a fix.

In the end, what does it matter to this
purpose waster
Zombie walker
duty deliverer?
Around and around this mother goes
Doing everything but nothing at all.

–Leslie DuFresne

Dancing on the razor’s edge

No mind

No body

Zero point

Shunya

Free falling in space

A fractal of light

A crystal skull starts vibrating

And shining iridescent

Never seen before

Patterns of light

Seeing through the eyes of Goddess

A lens of purity

Of Majesty

Of Dignity

Of Victory

Morphing into a hybrid

Human angel soul alien

A new hue-manity

Where sovereign wisdom reigns

We loved silently
It was eternal
Felt like our souls
Already knew each other

It was unquestioning
With no hope no desire
Separated by
An unbreakable frontier

We looked into
Each other’s eyes
Felt the touch for
One last time

Placed our love
On the burn of fire
Our journey stopped before
We even cross the aisle

In the hope of
Meeting again
Someday, somewhere
The wait was eternal

I knew the day was coming
After all it is the way
But I still can’t believe the time has come
My son went away today.
It only seems like yesterday
When I first held my baby boy
And from that very moment
I knew he would bring me joy.
From birthdays to holidays to games and such
The things I remember from memory lane
If only we could go back in time
So we could do them all over again
My Son Went Away Today
I hope he knows I love him
Love him with all my heart
And maybe I wasn’t always there
But I tried to do my part
And though I know it was his time to leave
Again because of the years
That won’t make me miss him less
As I try to hold back my tears
I know he’ll be happy
Experiencing the university way
But you have to allow me to be a little sad
My son went away today.

I killed myself last night

I murdered any doubt or fear I carried upon me like a kindergartener on the first day of school

I was the fool for too long

Smiling while lies and storytelling was sat in front of my door

I smile no more to incoming pain, I stand firm in confirming my liberation

Yes, I allowed him to use me up; I used his love as my therapy session, releasing frustration from physical and mental masturbation

Yet my cumming wasn’t enough to bring new life into our coming together

So I am ready to weather the storm in pure form, single, making each day a success

Each moment an accomplishment of what I am doing to better me in order to better my children, in order to better my community and those who listen to me

Last night I buried my sins and put them to rest

I acknowledged my wrongs and have moved past my past

I am ready to be the driver, the deliver, the provider, the informer of my life… I am reborn, I am set free, and I am alive and ready to live my wildest fantasy! Breathing…taking that first step…one day at a time

A killa of false hope…. Secrete Emotions

Proverbial towels weren’t allowed
In fifth period art class rules.
My sixth-grade teacher rarely smiled.
His firm but gentle voice
taught me to search my world
for excellence in life.
He led my class through narrow halls
toward hope at Mrs. Turner’s studio.

Art unveiled a world of promise
and my imagination soared.
We practiced all the fine techniques
and found new ways to cope
through art around the world.
To try again and strive
until we found our style—our voice—
until we faced the hurts that hid inside.

Perhaps that’s why I liked the world
of happy painting with Bob Ross.
The beauty in his little world,
His peaceful unmasked smile,
brought tools to carve my world,
not hide my scars within.
I feared the secrets and my tears.
It’s clear, gray shadows cloaked my childhood home.

And then I saw Christina’s world.
Distressed, she beckoned me to hope.
Bright sun-kissed meadows doused in rain
stirred freedom to create.
I climbed inside her world
of courage to escape.
Such brave attempts to claw at graves.
Unmasked, I struggled with the painting’s truth.

That’s when I found familiar roads
that led to sanctuary friends.
And healing flowed like mountain streams
as melancholy rose
inside this tumbling world.
Would staying home bring light?
I tore again at rusty chains.
Confused I searched and fought for something more.

My throat scraped thin and cries unheard,
at least that’s what I thought of God.
The mirror of my youth lay fogged
Yet present day was bleak.
The ugly muted world
The sadness and disease.
Should fear or dread define this time?
This year perplexed my heart weighed Covid’s threat.

My arms grew tired of mad debate
To wear a mask or hide away.
But light broke through the storm online
God’s love poured down like rain
And offered me His world.
Argument garnered rest.
Hope showered me and buried fear.
Rejoice! I welcomed peace. My faith increased.

Now, I look back into the past
at all the times I painted worlds.
Did Wyeth know his art could heal?
I drew a breath and sighed.
Dear Wyeth’s hand designed his world,
but Jesus found my voice.
His healing saturates my life,
My choice as God brings art to shine through me.

Everything I felt inside,
behind tall walls where I would hide
decades of pain, in which I try,
to wish away, forget, deny
Became a storm so dark and hollow,
where no one ever dared to follow
It came at once, a flood of years,
blasting out a million tears
My core it shook, my mind thrice rattled,
of demons unearthed from centuries long battle
With breath that quickened, chest impaled,
rage and sadness doth prevailed
My heart had stopped, my eyes unclear
Pain itself had rested here
No sword or shield, yet still I tried
To muster up a last goodbye
Clenched tight fists, I stumbled through
The absence of love that I named…you.

Science has proven that Energy is merely transformed.

Everyone makes the transition of being transformed into the next energy….sustaining Life and Death….the Neverending Circle. A cycle, similar to the science of the rain cycle or the seasons. Souls come down to Earth as babes and cycle out via Polihale. Souls lighter than air; as wind or condescension is to a cloud. Souls drift effortlessly back into the arms of The Source of All Creation and cycle down again, like rain, once the time is right….& so the cycle of Life and Death continues….Ever a journey, not a destination…Lifetimes learning the lessons of Love

I seize the day with you, my child
I’d like to stay with you for a while
But there’s work to be done
And I’ll be gone today

I’d find the words if they flew on by
I’d catch and throw them to you, I’d try
Yeah, you know that I would,
but now… it’s time

Grace,
I can’t wait for better days
I was always built for the chase
I’m the one who lives on trains

Grace,
I can’t sit and wait for peace
You’ll be fine at the home, you’ll see
Eat their toast and drink their tea

I seize the day with you, my girl
We seemed to flow with our balloons
Holding hands in the haunted house
Oh, today went by too soon

Shush now, when the morrow comes
You’ll find times in yesterday
All these memories and plays
Oh, not a waste among them

Grace…
I can’t wait for better days
I was always built for the chase
I’m the one who lives on trains
Grace,
I can’t sit and wait for peace
You’ll be fine at the home, you’ll see
Eat their toast and drink their tea

We were meant to be together
Meant to stay this way forever
But the train will say goodbye.
Now, the tracks may lead wherever
And I’ll see you… maybe never
Know my heart’s yours as yours-is
Mine.

In the wind I see the whisper of a name I cannot feel. A name I grasp to notice a name to help
me heal. It moves beyond my touch it seems so far today. The whisper becomes faint, I fear it
goes away.

In the rain I hear a teardrop built on lies and shame. It falls in pools of loneliness it cannot see
the name. Drifting in an emptiness other teardrops speak. None can taste the whisper of the
name they always seek.

In the storm I build a shelter, a haven from the pain. Tears seeping through the cracks spelling
out the name. The name I need to make me whole, the one I cannot read. The one name that
can save my soul, the only one I need.

In the tempest I sense an answer to everything in life. Within it bitter teardrops cut deeper than a
knife. I’m far too lost and broken the name I cannot see. But if I chase the fleeting whisper it
might come back to me.