Author: poetryfest

Rather an odd quirk of Death,
Whom few would call a friend,
That it persists as near as breath
In loyalty without end.

But with this friend we hesitate,
Uncertain of its touch.
We do not stop for Death nor rate
Its presence welcome much.

Yet Death’s appeal at times is clear.
It shuns no human ties,
And some to whom it has come near
Gain solace from disguise.

So maybe I’ll give Death a break
Whene’er I beckoned be,
And humbly for my new friend’s sake
Show best civility.

Before I read Lorca
My words were blunt swords for
Slicing rotted wood
Constructing
Rackety trellises
To fortify
Pathetic castles of sand
Praying never the waves
Or even harsh winds
Ascend to my feeble heights
Where from above with disdain
Cupid mocked
My juvenile sonnets of adoration
Before I read Lorca
My muses imploded
Like small delicate fish
Swimming in a shallow stream
Scatter
As a rude rock rapes
Their calm tranquil waters
Before I read Lorca
I had never truly lived

How do I introduce a poem? Let me count the ways.
One. With dramatic flourish, commanding voice accompanied by a
flurry of trumpets, a clash of cymbals, or should I say symbolism…
I step into the spotlight and proclaim…
Ladies and Gentlemen! Children of all ages! Please turn your attention
to the center ring and witness…Ode On A Grecian Urn!
Two. Maybe a sporting theme?
And in this corner in the white trunks weighing in at ten thousand lines
of verse! Putting the iambic back into pentameter…Paradise Lost!
Three. Perhaps a more sombre and severe pronouncement of the
arrival of the poem…
As I stand here today, I humbly request that you welcome to this
modest podium…The Wreck of the Hesperus.
But then you may ask does the poem need such a grand entrance of the
gladiators?
That perhaps a more casual and low-key approach would be more
suited…
Hey everybody, meet Brown Penny.
It makes one wonder if the poem even requires an introduction?
The poem has no ego. (This is not a discussion about the poet.)
And the poem is much stronger than the poet. For the poet is mortal,
but the poem, immortal.
Not marble nor the gilded monuments, Of princes shall outlive this
powerful rhyme.
Yes, the poet may die of consumption in a drafty garret…
Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of
the light.
But the poem lives on.
And lives on in many forms. Yes, all sonnets are poems, but not all
poems are sonnets.
So, I find my task of introducing the poem to be daunting.
But I should not worry, for the poem does not need me.
It lives. It breathes. It thrives.
Why, just the other day, I saw a mullet-haired redneck in a T- top Trans
Am listening to Free Verse on his 8 –track.
Or was that Free Bird?

The glowing window of knowledge and thought,

Illuminates with facts, ideas, and opinionated mental rot.

A stark light blue glow, poisons the eyes with fatigue.

Wears down the soul, with social outrage and intrigue.

Like a spirit from beyond, it leaves us waking, missing rest.

A portal of vampirism, poised upon our labored chest.

Attention so solid, so unbreakable a digital chain.

All in hopes to see something different in a sea of the same.

I should be tired, should be sleeping, but instead I rise.

To go find late night refrigerated, nourishment lies.

Now I watch an amber glow of light, as a plate heats heaped,

with pizza rolls, maybe fish sticks, my acid reflux to keep.

Now back to my rectangular master, resting in my hand,

perhaps as I eat, I’ll play a game, or listen to a new band.

Late night anxiety isn’t so bad with a dosage of lithium ion.

Feeding me it’s stream of thoughts on what to try on,

On what to eat, what to think, what other people are doing.

It’s simpler to not dwell on the evil wrongs that are brewing.

It’s an addiction, intravenous, intoxicating, digital cyanide.

Your likes, ad info, will be your legacy long after you’ve died.

But that’s alright, don’t worry about it, here’s a new meme.

Save it, share it, comment, like, and watch the new stream.

Entertainment, political satire or personal dumpster fires.

It’s a mental incubation, come join the online quagmire.

impossible heavenly blue

outlining the island beaches

a blue that into my soul reaches

skewing what I perceive as true

this crazy, sparkling, crystal hue

I’ve seen this sight and lost my way

mainland drudgeries fade and fray

waves create hazy rainbows fine

that steal a heart that once was mine

how will I ever get away?

l’hypersensibilité,
c’est être au milieu d’un océan
et vouloir ressentir toujours plus
provoquer les vagues
faire danser la houle
puis s’y perdre
s’y noyer
submergé par l’écume
surpris par le trop plein

l’hypersensibilité,
c’est nager dans l’océan
s’égratigner contre un rocher
s’éloigner, grimaçant au contact de l’eau salée
puis revenir à ce rocher,
se blesser encore
plus fort
plus profondément
après tout, on l’a un peu cherché

l’hypersensibilité,
c’est regarder l’océan
l’admirer au loin
l’envier
l’aimer
le détester

l’hypersensibilité,
c’est être l’océan.

hypersensitivity,
is being in the middle of the ocean
and wanting to feel more
provoking the waves
making the swell dance
then getting lost
drowning
submerged by the foam
surprised by the deluge

hypersensitivity,
is swimming in the ocean
scratching ourselves on a rock,
getting away, flinching because of the salt water
then coming back to that rock
hurting ourselves again
harder
deeper
after all, we were asking for it

hypersensitivity,
is looking at the ocean,
admiring from a distance
envying it
loving it
hating it

hypersensitivity,
is being the ocean.

The time before was not worth writing down,
I was uninspired, demotivated and often felt like a frown,
The thought of the future made me feel lost and tied to the ground,
But then you came along and I finally felt found.

You gave me something entirely new to care for,
I look at you and feel like I want to be more,
A feeling so amazing I hope it never goes away,
But when I am quiet just remember, these are the words I want to say:

I want to be your mountain,
Solid, steadfast and strong enough to bear both of us,
Regardless of time, I will always be there for you.
I want to be the anchor that keeps you steady,
when you start drifting away.
When you cry I want to be the columns that hold you up,
So I keep a brave face.

I am just now realizing that time is short,
So I want to spend every waking moment with you.
I stay awake stretching out time,
So that we will have more of it together.

You have given me so much,
More than more than i ever could have asked for,
The needed step to look reality in the eyes,
To see the light above the clouds,
The lost key to free the fullest of my being,
The missing piece I didn’t know I was looking for.

All these things i desperately want to repay,
So when you feel undeserving of the things i do for you,
Just remember,
You taught my heart how to sing,
For you, my love, I would do anything and everything.

“Lie still now, soldier”, the Union General said,
As he knelt down beside the boy’s bloody, wounded head.
The dying young lad, no more than fifteen, if a day,
Wore the blight of cannon, from being in its way.

The General swallowed hard, to fight back the pressing tears,
Before he gazed upon his soldier, now less his limbs and gear.
“Is it b-bad?” the soldier asked, in a voice filled with fear.
“Not at all,” the General lied, knowing the boy had not a prayer.

“You’ll soon be headin’ home,” he continued in a whisper.
“Back to your mammy and your pappy, and your favorite dog, Kipper.”
The soldier forced a smile and then closed his swollen eyes,
“Why Sir, I think I see them! Looks like ma baked me two pies.”

The General shuddered knowing, the lad’s folks died years ago,
And the dog named Kipper– killed in an avalanche of snow.
He only knew these things, since he had taken the boy in,
As this dying soldier’s father had been the General’s next of kin.

“This bloodshed has to stop!” the General roared and shook his head,
“Did our boys grow up together just to shoot each other dead?”
“Must be something I can do!” he snarled, rising to his feet,
To be silenced by a bullet as it grazed across his cheek.

The soldier took a breath, his head fell back- eyes open wide.
The General took his sword and laid it by the boy’s side.
“Go on home now, son,” he said, “back to those you love,”
“And give them my regards; in fact give your pa a shove.”

Just then, in the distance, he heard another soldier cry,
“The South has just surrendered as stated by a Union spy!”
The General stood up slowly and brushed off his dusty knees,
Wiped away a single tear, and called out to his company.

As I walked to school one day the rain fell from the sky
So I ran into a vacant home so my clothes could dry

The only thing inside was a time stained wedding dress
Inside a dusty closet with an old wooden chest

It had been there for years time had not moved
a dream filled hope chest that never came true

It only took a minute to break a fragile lock
and open all the things someone wanted lost

It was full of old memories and personal effects
The unfinished dreams inside a LOST HOPE CHEST

I never made it to school that day but I sure learned a lot
From a vacant old home time had forgot

I still see the pictures and the letter that I found
I took nothing with me but some things you can’t put down

Just some old memories and personal affects
The unfinished dreams inside a LOST HOPE CHEST

Humans have done a lot of progress,
Still humans are oppressed depress.
Due to poverty out of hunger die people a lot,
Still humans against humans conspire evil plot.
We have developed good thought,
Still silly barbaric fatal wars are fought.
We have learnt many aspects unknown,
Complex mysteries are yet to be known.

Life is to live and enjoy, not to fight,
Life is to feel and share, not to compete.
Break the boundaries of all nations,
Make it equally free for all humans.
Humanity should be our religion,
Saving humanity must be our mission.