Author: poetryfest

Glass shattering, Fists flying
Cries echoing through the walls
Blood stains, Ice packs, hot baths,
Thirty 911 calls

Lie after lie, same song, he has control
Long shirts, make up, sunglasses
My eyes are swole

He once hit me so hard
I swore I saw God
So I reached out only to be struck again
By my King, My Homie, My Lover
He told me we’d be like Chucky
Till the end

I got tired of giving chance after chance
Looked him in the eyes and said…..No more!
I’m suppose to be your Queen, Your wife
Not your Bitch or your Whore,

Last time I was hanging in the balance
between the sky and the floor,
And that’s when I knew I had to leave
Because either me or him was
Knocking At Heavens Door.

Leisurely hallucinating, under the spell of 211,
trying to ignore them hopeing for heaven..
Slight fears within, afraid of loud cheers..
Trying to hold down these malt liquor beers..
Shakeing and trembling, too subtle for belief
Vague sounds here and there, not feeling the relief..
1 o’clock nearing by, happy as i can,
Trying to get down that 211 can.
Sitting on my perch, while everything hurts,
Sip by sip, I attempt to drown my sorrows,
hateing for today, and dreding my tomorrows.
Hearing my name called, by the willie willie birds, muttering to john, since i cant form words,
Depending on subtle sanity, returning to contempt
State, wishing for a dollar with noone in site.
so dreaming is a gift, but i deny so,
if only i could make, these dam birds go..
Calm is comming soon, sitting behind the store,
as my whole body’s weak and my legs are sore.
Upchucking violently, heartburn is a burn
it’ll be a long night, as john takes his turn,
Sip by sip, we live by the sword, as john Barleycorn
Keeping us worn. Nights getting dark, the visions are
Easeing, but its not over, as me and john know the reason..
Dont talk dont move, sit there in silence, only gulp after gulp
Its a hard reliance.. Praying to rid my body of the toxics,
John says hes fine, taking a look at his pockets..
Eager to subdue all of the nerves, another whisper from the willie willie birds.. Alcohol is poison, from which we pray,
Pain easeing slowly, as we pass through the day..
Night is promising, people seems more pleased, we ask for money and tell that we need, too much liquor, such a patrons delight, if they knew how we felt, they wouldnt put up a fight,
Tequila’s too much, and we dont care, to tell u the truth, we’ll subtly dare.. Relaxed is good, as the voices arent mad, if i could give up, the insanity would be bad.. Sipping to gain control, thinking its so cool, as Johnny barlycorn has us like fools.. Walking to the woods, to find a lying spot, trying to duck from the big city cops. As my life is dredged, I have memories of my comfy bed, I look over to john, as hes praying to be dead
I broke out a cry, hurting so bad inside, the intense pain isnt on my side..laying there broke and all day long, asking strangers for money so we can just get along..
Quarter and dime, small beer and wine, crying to pain that’s ruining my mind.. Humbly recoiled, with thoughts of despair if i had it my way, i wouldnt dare..
#Thistooshallpass
#whateverhappensitsonly12stepsout

GENRE – Love

This poem is a memory,
About something as beautiful as love.
And this poem is also my present,
After the doom’s day.

I was happy, back then,
Life was good,
I was fine.
And my mind, a chaotic rebel.
But then, love,
Offered me peace
And how could I have spurned it.
It eased my mind,
So, my heart fell.
It doesn’t anymore though,
Like it’s galvanized in black matter.
Absorbing every bit of feeling
Making me more dead than alive.

I told my love,
About how I wanna name my daughter
After the goddess of wisdom,
And asked him to have one with me.
He smiled timidly,
Showcasing his perfectly carved dimples.
It was easier then
It is harder now.
It was sweet then,
It is immature now.

Love painted my sky brightest blue
With a tinge of orange,
As he always says,
It signifies warmth.
And now I feel colder than ever.
My sky is midnight blue now,
Or a little bit more darker sometimes,
But atleast it’s real.
Not warm, but real, and mine.

All this felt more like a daydream now,
Started with the most pleasant feeling in the world,
Ended up being my worst nightmare.
I wanted to sing laurels
Of our magnificent love,
But all that really came out
Was the cry of decadence.

They say,
Every time someone breaks your heart,
There is a chance in some parallel universe
That they don’t.
I wish for this to be true, sometimes.
Somewhere, where I didn’t screwed it up,
Somewhere, where my love cared a bit.
I really wish,
For that somewhere.
Where he didn’t just smiled,
But said yes too.
Or somewhere, where we never met,
Somewhere, where love isn’t this hard.
Somewhere, where I can breath,
Without feeling this pain
For my long lost love.

Having a fascination with time is like having a fascination with death or a monster who dresses as the
innocent.

A fascination with time is like being caught in a trap of intoxicated mortality.

The idea of the endless having an end

And the decay of a whittled stump, bewilders the mind.

A problem so complex no man could solve it and yet so simple an infant could understand it.
W
hether it be engrossed by the ticks of a clock or fending off the demons of age.

Time gets you all the same.

She’s like a ghost forever haunting and forever taking.

She’s like a generous friend who gifts love and care.

Enraptured by her beauty and betrayed by her destruction

A fascination with time will get you nowhere.

And yet here we are, watching the minutes flittering by

Waiting for the next deadline
For the next hug
For the next kiss
For the next love
For the next friend

We are all fascinated by time all the same.

Stumbling around after an uncomfortable sleep,
to the closet I meander to get dressed for the day.
I finger each outfit, carefully… pondering what to wear.
The weather has turned chilly,
and I realize that suddenly, it is November.
All of the previous conversations
that I had with myself in the spring,
came flooding back to me as I came across the dress.
The dress that I promised myself to lose a few pounds before wearing,
so that we could go dancing again like we did last summer.
Oh, I lost them, alright, then gained them back times two.
You see, it was like summer never happened this year.

I began to think about all of the dresses
that didn’t get to be worn,
not just from my closet of silly excursions,
but also the important things.
My eyes grazed a black Ralph Lauren
that had been hanging there a year.
I should be preparing to wear that little raven dress
on stage for Christmas, as I did last year.
Alas… there will be no concert this winter.
I thought of all of the black dresses, then the men’s tuxedos,
the formal gowns that will not be worn in celebration or symphonies.

The thought of the tuxedo sparked the missed
moments that should have happened, my brother’s wedding, to
name one. I was so looking forward to the pomp and circumstance,
the festivities of watching my younger sibling get hitched.
Yet another moment put on hold.
The black dress also made me realize that there were funerals
I most likely would have attended, had things been “normal,”
had things been the way that they were “supposed” to be.
Moments that will never come again.

My children are growing so rapidly, and seemingly,
faster than ever this year.
I think of the uniforms that weren’t worn because the older two
didn’t get the chance to work their first summer jobs.
I think of the dances they didn’t get to dress up for,
or the sports teams they missed out on.
I think of the swimsuits that lay dry and unworn, and the pale
skin we all now wear.
Halloween costumes, not even taken from boxes,
or decorations for that matter, as we weren’t about to take any chances.
I can only pray that winter will go quickly,
that the pandemic will leave as abruptly as it came.
I can only hope that next summer, we can take full advantage
of our closets.
I can only hope, that we will still be around to be able to.

Some of us won’t.
Some of us will be emptying out closets of loved ones,
the dresses they will never wear again.
Some of us will never have the chance to watch our children grow up,
or watch loved ones get married, or hear them sing in a choir.

I haven’t stayed in this entire time out of fear, just so you are aware.
I stayed in because of love.
I stayed in because I wanted to keep my children safe, my husband safe…
I stayed in because it helped to keep you safe.

As for now, I don’t mind the dresses hanging in the closet…
because I have a future to look forward to.
I can only hope that it remains to be so in the coming months.

Is all of this inconvenient? Is it sad?
A little, but I would rather be a little bit sad and a tad
inconvenienced than to be mourning the loss of the people I love,
just because I wanted to wear that dress.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

From within it stirs
Barely moving, barely awake
Its breath misting, steaming, warming;
Slowly it stretches
Reaching out
Its tentative touch
As fragile as floss spun glass
Crystalline, beautiful and alive.

Sentience claims it now;
Aflood with rainbow strands
Splashes of love
Chromatic, chaotic, clarity unconfined;
A symphony of angelic chorus
Innocent and perfect in its purity.
Its fractalline beauty unrivalled in grace.

Heart thrumming
No longer pulsing alone
It has twinned, paired –
Alone nevermore.
Touch as soft as a cloud’s caress.
Gentle, calming, soothing, safe.
It is all of this and so much more.

Performed by Val Cole

come clouds
now that we are ready
eclipse our too planned joy
tomorrow we will plan again

today’s already gone
along with childhood
back into the vaults
of would be might and when
grey clouds
blue clouds
peach sky
willow tree and rain

tomorrow we will plan again.

The way you sway
as the day winds away.
Cruising past old memories on the fast lane
through asphalt paved highway
with rolled down tinted windows of our silver grey 1988 Chevrolet Biscayne on this sunny Holy Sunday.
I love the way you play;
explore my carcass, be my x-ray.
You are the blue flame igniting my corpse on the brink of decay.

It is a shame today has came
to it’s length, for me this is the end.

Stuff me with sawdust; lower me onto an unnamed grave.
Forget me and you’ll be better off, okay?
Anyway, yesterday is far long gone, I’m afraid.
As my world becomes dim, I pray you are the last memory I feast on. Imprisoned in my brain, you’re my final prey to fade.

Forgive me, I am deranged!

I do not foresee what I may say!

Please come back, please hold me dear in your embrace. Please, ____.

Last night, I opened a door to
another room of the house. There, I
found a man.

A man that wasn’t there.

The risk, the error,

the mourning sorrow,
the horror, the terror,
the lifeless hollow.
Will I be there, to be born,
entirely, in a new morrow?
Ambiguous life, stained in an empty
memory. Hunting the shadows of my
thoughts consuming the nights and
days across.

The minute that won’t follow, the
myth ‘n the confusion of this mellow,
the unknown, the prison… my only
Gollum.

Trapped inside dreams,
I, myself, could not bear,
while digging a lost place throughout
the fragments of my space.
My soul slips away,
looking for a dream to return,
a place to belong.
Shall I ever see the light in your
eyes one day?

He is neither moving nor stagnant.
Not alive nor dead. Neither closed
nor far. Not tired nor resting. He is
timeless, and time itself.
Together, we lived many lives, and we
are also living many lives in this
life. When the stars stop shining,
and the world stops spinning. When
everything turns dead, and death
awakes us. We might then stop being
together, alone, and alone forever.
Embedded in ourselves, until life
stop screaming at us for not doing
what it is meant to be. Not living,
not see, not pursuing, not building,
not be.

“Be nothing”, I shall say! Then you
will know what ’tis to exist and not
to exist, inside me.

– By Catarina César (Portugal).
Dedicated to Zervell Chicas.