Author: poetryfest

(read from bottom to top!)

gods.

to the portal of the

“Approach the peak.” We nod, we plod

Summons us to step, not pause,

The summit beckons, she-a force-

The hazy horizon mutes our course

Immune to missteps-losses, love;

While from above, Olympus shrugs,

eternity

The boulder pushes to
uncertainty

* ** WITH pitch black

A Poem without “E’s”

Words unfold upon aboard,
Spools unspool within labyrinths hiding in our minds’ dashboards.
Arbors’ ash with nothing but unclad wood
Void of spring’s furnishings sits within snow’s mounting snood.
Polar air—Oh what a bully!—digs at roots to sully
That soul within not its cully.
Piano music, violin, floats upon warmth and joy,
Noon through to night, ahoy,
As howling winds knock at doors,
Its icy unforgiving cold kiss upon harbor’s bay with roar.
Magical things, rich in song,
Sung day thro’ day with scupp’r’nong.
Ask this boy about how kinships form in boats far off our coast.
As dark long days pulls its ripcord, and songbird’s arrival still a ghost.
Our DNA, our history, unify within all dragon caps,
That brings war upon our brimming boat’s vats,
And arms and hands hold tightly against a storm’s razor cutting thorn,
Last day’s pain now thoughts upon its windy mourn.
Today’s sun upon horizon lights up our island dorm,
Bow lifts and falls, forward bound to island born.
Sugar candy, nuts, potato skins, Irish drams, ham, and duck rich in gravy,
Await moo-boo diamonds within this navy.
Black patch upon our clothing honor
This mankind to god of lightning, storm, rumbling sky, Donar.
Morning rush, and birthday wish, oily words nugatory bound,
Knit a path from past to now, full of pounding liquid all round,
And words in story books call out its sordid shifting ground,
In which young wisdom is popcorn fantasy, and mythos unfolds, all told,
In an old man’s mind championing it as if its Acapulco gold,
No log post writings nor yardstick standards mark its formula,
Only probity and assumptions, standards within a ninja pinata, not a Urochordata.
History swings to victors, taints its canvass,
By prodigy artists’ brush on a 3-D flat kurtosis status.
Buy? No, not I. My focus compass taps first dibs wisdom upon an abacus clicks.
Cha-ching! Moolah, hard cash, gravy, dough, coins, spondulicks, I’m gonna fix.
Apart from luck, that lady has swag,
Watch and chain I want no snag.
Witch all about, stay in your location,
Allow us to approach our final station.
Worn out hours pass by until our boat docks and unloads,
Cacophonous gulls squawking at this crossroads,
And all family and kin stand out.
As wood burn in diggings; puffs climb from its roof snout,
Roof o’r our noggins and out of harm’s way,
Rich in family’s amour, warmly and happily, I watch spray at our bay.

Covid Life
This world is new now
Trying my best to survive somehow
Taking things as it is and moving on now.

Covid Life
Millions die because of misinformation
On something that can easily an in and out situation
We must get together to become one nation.

Covid Life
Men and women as society are not used to being apart
Media makes sure that being together is essential
Causing stress and danger for someone’s mental.

Covid Life
Taking time for responsibility and be selfish is a modern trend
A trend that can have people get together and mend
Someday this virus will come to an end.

Pablo Martinez 9/7/21

This is a poem dedicated to those

Men and women who cannot help but follow

The unspoken meanings of their soul;

who will search or soar until

They unite their personas with their innate

Motivations; and

Whom will continue soaring

Throughout their vintage ages.

Toward the man who sings to the tune of

His or her own persona

Who understands the unspoken

Meanings of a jumbled heart;

And who listens to those inaudible

Words of the earth which cannot

Be found upon published

Printed pages;

And utmost to those who harbor

The drive to seek out their

Most innate motivations;

The kind that compelled Eagles

To soar so exquisitely

Throughout their long-lived,

Vintage ages.

As soon as I kissed her,
the sun came down,
mending my heart,
and melting my frown.

Eyes piercing,
all a glow,
with a longing for me,
wanting me so.

Captivated by your stare,
seeing in my sleep in your lovely hair,
and images of your warm embrace,
though you’re not here,
my visions race,
of you,
of that first time I kissed you,
as soon as I kissed you.

As soon as I kissed you,
all was lost,
swept up in you,
damning the cost,
to be part of you,
lost,
in you.
Racing now,
is my soul,
to see you again,
I don’t care how,

Remember the dance,
remember the trance,
we were in,
as something more powerful did begin.

I see you now,
but am alone
You’ve brought light where only darkness shone.

to be close to you,
I close my eyes,
then feeling dizzy I realize,
I see you,
in a blurr.

A rush of feelings,
long lost to me,
are all awakened suddenly,

Music blaring in my head,
being with you in my bed,
Young beautiful one,
you’ve captured me,

Feel the raging river crushing me,
moving me,
washing me, with feeling for you.
I remember you,
that night with me,
Passion rising steadily,

I can see you now,
with me there,
Your face, your hair,
your body bare,
your eyes,
your hands holding me,
touching me,
carresssing me oh, so gently.

As soon as I kissed her,
I was lost.
So strong,
I fell headlong,
into a raging sea,
A sea so beautiful, You!!!
a beautiful mystery.
I’ve asked God why,
as my heart does cry,
Why? Why are you another’s?!!

Something powerful there between us,
I think you feel it too,
something beautiful,
something me,
something you…
spinning the soul that burns anew,
fires raging in love with you,
my queen, my wife, my life is you.

Butterflies do not fly very high.
They grace forest and canyon and sunny woodland glades
play on streams of light
splashing through leafy canopies.
They rise and fall.
Pass into shadow and out.
Delicate
even the light might bruise them.
Is that why
they stay close to the ground?
Are they loathe to test their wings
because they might fail?
What made that one think she’d falter?
Who told her to stay low?
Someone concerned
that the beating of her wings
might cause a hurricane.
Or that she might achieve
the full potential of flight
Touch the sky.
Climb above
The sky was never the limit.
Just a page to write on.
And yet, butterflies do not fly very high.
Even when we could carry each other up
with the collective wind
of our own beating wings.
A defiance against those
who would have us stay low
Rise.
Beyond the sky.
And if it pleases
bring forth
a fucking hurricane.

Funny how
they call them wakes
when clearly those whose lives
we hail
are very much
(at least) asleep.
Hardly, though, with him.
—–

Were nights he paced the path
between,
from yonder
toward the riverbank
…a nervous lope,
slow and nimble, loose and swift..
then bounding
shadows mad at moonlight,
rounding back to me.
—–

Umbrella open
overhead.
Perhaps afraid
the drops would melt the
mist that bore him
float
…or weigh him down,
a puddled mass of
mud and shoe and ulster
coat.
Maybe fearing drips were blessed.
Hallowed rain to
scar his skin
if flesh and
bone were still
a means by which
he held his soul within.
—–

Only once he tried
the door
…light and friendly,
easy taps like
someone late for lunch..
contrite and shy and
soft of fist.
—–

Peering out the tiny hole,
I saw but tree and hill.. the fog..
concealing all the rest.
And jumped when felt
the wood press in
as someone willed the
knob to turn
…swinging slow at their behest.
—–

Slammed it shut and
locked the bolt
and angry
banged the oaken frame.
As sooner than my hand pulled ‘way,
pain from wrist
to elbow climbed
…kin to ache of spading grave.
Whilst knelling bells from
nearby church,
tolling,
cursed the
blighted earth..
Stratum
shook beneath it when
it very nearly
buried us and maybe him
alive, again.
—–

Feeling, then, the zephyr wafting,
all my windows open wide
when whisked a whip of wind through sill.
Curtains weighed like
leaden wool,
heavy with the rain
..hung still.
A voice upon me, sweet the whisper,
“Evening John,
‘tis lonely there..
—–

“Pack thee light for never wet
…of parched ablaze with pyre dry.
Away with me as living yet.
“Same for you… as woke was I.”
—–

Performed by Allan Michael Brunet

—–
–
Prayer of Loss

Oh, Lord, please take away my heart
and tear the foolish thing apart
and put it back again, I pray
so cold and hard that none
may find a way
to enter there again.

Excuse me, Sir, for this bold request
but I must have your very best.
Despite tones too hard to bear,
give this soul your best repair,
but leave it empty.

For emptiness conceals no pride
to be destroyed when a man must divide
from the one who means the world to him.
His hopes, his dreams becomes dim
and he loses her…

Performed by Allan Michael Brunet

Aaliyah, by Pete Borreggine

All throughout my life,

I’ve searched for love alone,

A quest I made to find that love,

Was something I would never know,

For years I’d wonder where true love was,

And why it had forsaken me,

Years of turmoil and being left alone,

Had told me true love for me was lost,

Then, in the twilight of my life,

An angel appeared before me,

Her wings spread wide and golden hair abound,

With eyes that pierced my soul had given love new hope,

A breath of life came over me,

As she spoke my name out loud,

It was like love was new and young again,

For I knew it from in the crowd,

Aaliyah was her name,

A name that gave me life,

Her love began to grow with me,

As her way would be the light,

Aaliyah was her name,

And her love was fresh and new,

For she was the key that was the flame,

And unlocked a love anew,

All these years of loneliness and strife,

I yearned for a love so true,

And finally, here before me stands,

An angel of love, who knew,

She slowly took my hand in hers,

To guide me along the way,

Where she and I would be as one,

And take away the gray,

My heart now knows what true love is,

For Aaliyah holds the key,

To the remaining years I have with her,

Is the wonder of love I see