Author: poetryfest

The elegance of his faults challenged only by birds singing in nearby trees
The ghosts of poets from days gone by come to haunt him
Who is this troubled soul lost in a world of cumbersome awakening?
In shadowy inquisitions of the mind?
Of the heart?
Of the soul?
The heart of all mankind weighs on him now
As he considers the epiphany that has just occurred
Where should he go?
Whom should he tell?
So, he walks along the path he has found in the desolate woods near the crazy stream
A stream that never appears to slow down but rather crashes and crumbles rocks to the bottom
of the sea many miles away
There was a time many years before when he would have stopped and listened to the crazy
stream
Gushing by in torrents of energy from high above the hills of time
When he could hear it speaking to him
But no more
Now he is floating in a sorrowful reverie not even he, in his wisdom could fathom
Much less explain
Words begin falling like a torrential rain in the Congo
His shoes now soaked with puddles of thought as he marches to the rhythm of free form jazz
Clamoring from the speakeasies of his mind
Like wild trumpets of angry angels in the sky
Soon he will be drowning in them and he knows it
So, he runs
Runs like a thief in the night bullets whizzing by his head
Then he leaps
Leaps with all his might high into the air like an acrobat of wonder
Making children scream soaked in popcorn and sawdust
But still the words keep falling and now the wind begins to howl
Causing the raining words to smash hard against his face
So, he runs ever faster
Runs till he can run no more and stops
Stops to catch his breath his heart pounding in his chest
Long uneasy moments pass
When he opens his eyes to find that he is alone
The demons have left him for the moment
But he knows they will return
They always do
No more can he hear the birds singing in the trees, but the stream…
The crazy stream rushes forth relentless, so he chases it
He has to catch it and ask it what it knows
He has to know
Tell me, he screams at the top of his lungs
Still heaving by his escape from the darkest demons he has yet to encounter
He falls to his knees and weeps
Weeps like a child whose puppy was squashed by a train
Now a collection of the fondest memories in blood that he cannot remember

I don’t think you know me sir
I take calculated risks
You were examined, measured, observed
Before I proceeded
Love to me is one of the greatest risks
Constantly watered
with luxe conversations,
dreams of happiness,
acts of chivalry
I bloom
To bloom out of my bud and expose my petals to the elements I need to be sure
Sure that you won’t blow me over
with your ego or starve me of air
Sure that I’ll feel your warmth
and our troubles never drown me
But wow… I seem to never be able
to outsmart love
He always comes dressed differently, finds a way to creep in and disguises himself as ideal
And I open and I fall
I try to retreat back to my bud
Instead I feel each petal leaving me slowly
Leaving me bare
I can’t undo opening up
I fall apart instead

Hooves hurl havoc on heathland.
Manes and tails whirl with the wind.
Their wide nostrils snort
As the horses cavort
Plumed perfect as fishes are finned.

They rollick and roll in a whirlpool –
Palomino, pistachio, pink.
They fight with delight
As the day becomes night
And the sky turns from paper to ink.

They rise with the sun in the morning.
They canter and caper and prance.
Not they compliant
These Genoese giants
Whose glee you can see at a glance.

They throb like the waves of the ocean.
They shudder with joyous content.
They wrestle and writhe
So blissfully blithe
Then slump down when evening is spent.

They don’t stop ’til sunlight is over
To retire to their crushed-bracken byres.
But make no mistake
They’ll revive at daybreak
With that furious ferment of fire.

I checked into the same serene cool room where you stayed in, Sugar
Kane
Hotel Del Coronado, off of the coast of California and its glittering
bay
I opened the window to honor your presence among the soft white linen
sheets that you laid your body upon once
I checked the drawer to make sure dust hasn’t settled among your long
lost forgotten ethereal fingerprints that I adore so much
And the beach still looks the same as the last time you’ve been here
The sand’s tender grains brushing upon the soles of my feet, somehow
knowing that I’m here because of your trust in me
The sun gently giving me a hot red smooch on my face, warning me to
not be under its presence for too long if I stay
While I lay, I think about the cold pudding in my room that you used
to order every day from the kind hotel chef who didn’t know your name
And it will probably melt by the time I get back to rest
I walk back barefoot, my sandals in my hands towards the days end
when the sun sinks into the west
I know that you never truly fell in love with anyone, Sugar Kane
That’s why our feelings are mutual on this very day
They stem from the fact that our tropical souls are caught up in the
storms of never-ending pain
That’s why I came here to seek answers to questions that you couldn’t
find
I’m still searching for them to understand why and how
And for anyone who came after you, stuck in the same primordial limbo
of crisis to find existential happiness in Del Coronado
They are no longer here
That’s why I stay in the very same room where you had your melting
pudding drip on the white linen sheets
Where the midnight breeze cools off the sunburn on my cheeks
Where existential happiness can be found not by looking or seeking it
but simply by living
A happy child cannot be sad if he has everything he wants
And that reminded me of the inner beauty that you possessed
The beauty that you didn’t seek but that bloomed like a flower from
within
The beauty that was not recognized in the times that you lived
So, I leave the pudding sitting near the window sill, facing the
beach
The ocean singing a sweet symphony just like you did
The same old musicians playing their instruments on repeat
You are never forgotten just as with others, sometimes only
remembered when circumstances are altered
I checked into the same room where you stayed in, Sugar Kane
Hotel Del Coronado, one pudding to taste

Life is not merely a game of chance,
It’s yours to shape and mold, you can be whatever you want to be in
constant reality if you accept the responsibility
You can stand tall,
Dare not to fall, persist, insist, and you will win,
Use all your tools; get the knowledge for deeper understanding over
and over again.
To you is given the wisdom and the power to decide,
You can’t afford to hide; you’ll eventually be faced with looking inside.
There you will see the divine presence within thee,
And know that you can be whatever you want to be,
In constant reality.
Do you want to be healthy, happy, and have prosperity?
You can! Don’t you see, God is in thee, it’s energy to be whatever you
want to be!

It was July 2021
and raining all-day

I was sitting at my home
Drops are coming my way
Should I go out or not
The confusion stayed

Mind shouts “Oh No”
But heart wins
By the way

I ran downstairs
Alone in the whole
Walking smoothly on the green
Blooming, budding, fresh like snow

My heart pours out
I feel alive
Desire to seize
The moment as my whole life

Smell, feel, touch and sound
I am a rain child

https://vimeo.com/579723154

What I Thought I Wanted

Have you ever wondered who you would be
Without your profession, without your role
Without a position in life that holds
The you, that you know to be in this world
The you, who you think is important
The pearl
That is singular?
One and specific?
Identified by name and position?
Even if sometimes less than terrific?

When I was young
I thought I wanted to be a doctor
Until, one day, I tried it out
Imagined myself clad in white
A stethoscope hanging
Proud
Around my neck
My gait would flout
Essential place
In the ranks of humanity
Curing sickness and other calamity

I imagined the feeling of being equipped
To help in an instant
While life could just rip
The weakest and strongest
Right out of your midst
Interrupting the flow of expected unfolding

And then I would rush to the scene
Bag of tricks that was holding
The cure, or a balm for the suffering and pain
Irrelevant if I knew the ailment’s name

It seemed as a doctor my life was essential
Even in the face of disaster potential
Yet then
A sense of entrapment arose
And my dream turned bland
Before my own nose

So I thought why not try this, once again
But this time choose the wildest game
Irrespective of required skills
That would allow me to fit the bill
Of any, most desirable, exotic profession
Maybe nuclear physicist would be
A suitable passion?

I tried it out, imagined my brain
Amazingly filled without restrain
Understanding the laws of this world
Unimpeded
To know this reality?
What else could be needed!
And then?
Once again the blandness appeared
An inner straining against a role
I feared
To be held inside and somehow defined
By a something that was not the truth of my mind

Again, I proceeded to the next excursion
To define myself with speedy incursion
Into what must be the truest calling
Tried out the most cherished, enthralling
Exciting endeavour
I became a pianist
Inhabited music
However
To my greatest surprise
The same constriction appeared to arise
Maybe painter, composer, or artist were right?

It was simply hexed
From deep inside a resistance
Not slight
Nor tame in the least
Arose to fight the beast
Of identity sought in the various items
Offered by life to appease the frightened
Sometimes apparent soon after birth
Irresistibly seductive because of its worth
Because of Truth peeking through
At its finest expression
Its explosive magnificence of artistic passion

So I searched and pondered this question of “me”
Of who I am in the midst of the glee
Of creative exuberance that flows like magic
Sweetest response to life
Even at its most tragic

Do you know what I found
In the midst of this journey
Through the land of bland?
Of following hints of the One Divine hand?

Do you know how delighted I was
To recognize Truth
Suffusing the titles I had searched since youth?
The titles, professions that could not describe
The essence I searched
Underneath all of life
The essence of excitement and blandness as one
Do you know who you are
When your titles are gone?

When retirement looms
Your colleagues cease fawning?
When your roles have expired
Your demise starts dawning?
Are you ready to relinquish
Identity’s myth?
Are you ready to know
The Truth of all this?
Are you ready to face
The Truth of your being?
With nothing left to impede your seeing?

Probably best to check it out
With life in full swing
Search, investigate
Before
On a whim
The quirks of life
Take you quite by surprise
And you find yourself
With doubts on the rise

A wise man once told me:
Beware of the ladder
You climb all your life
Then get sadder and sadder

‘Cause you found
That in search of more and more “me”
The ladder was perched
Against
The wrong
Tree

©2016 Fella Cederbaum

Her last smile, by Mustofa Munir

when the clock of civilization has lost its sense of time
she perceived the world without knowing its malicious darkness,
a lonely young girl died many times
before her death when
she was gang-raped by some beastly men,
suffered many days and months,
she delivered one day a baby girl,
that day on her baby’s little hand
no crescent moon had reached,
no star dropped from the sky,
no one tolled a bell from the distant cathedral,
no song was in the air, no artful flute was blown,
the girl cast her unseeing look at the society
that mocked her, betrayed her!
she smiled at her baby, the God smiled too,
her rhythmic heart blended with a harmony
that brought a perpetual benediction in
an ambience of elysian quietness!
without any anguish her mind was in a festival,
there she heard a hymn with deep allusion
she was longing for,
tears rolled down her cheeks,
she closed her eyes!

–Mustofa Munir

BEST FRIEND, by Debbie Fersht

A child puts her doll to bed. Tell me a story, says the doll. You always say that, says the girl. Tell me a story, the doll repeats. Go to sleep you two, says her father from the light underneath the bedroom door. You’re my best friend, whispers the girl to the doll, hugging it as she falls asleep. The doll grows bigger from all this love, its feet hanging off the edge of the bed. You must stop growing, says the girl, so we can stay friends. I want a glass of water, says the doll. Lights off you two says her father. The doll gets up early, eager to get to work. I’m hungry, says the doll upon arriving home. Let’s play a game, says the girl. I want to go to bed, says the doll. Exhausted from the day’s events, the doll turns off the bedroom light and quickly falls asleep. The girl lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Stop that, says the girl to the doll’s looming shadow on the ceiling, covering her best friend’s body with her favourite yellow blanket. A short struggle ensues. Go to sleep, says the girl. You always say that, gasps the doll.