Author: poetryfest

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Standing in Line. Eyes front.
No acknowledgment. Robotic recruits
Uniforms pressed. Knife-edge creases.
Summer sunshine. Corona causation.
Shoes shone. Reflective leather. Bows tied.
Tarsal protection. Cobbled, with a mirror image.

No one speaks. Wordless. Mute.
Personal thoughts? Dubious!
Typical English. Restrained. Controlled.
Vehicle now approaches. A two-tiered behemoth.
Military Green-hued. Land-locked missile.
Troopship travel. Ever advancing.

Rubber eating asphalt. Esurient bugger!
Be-capped captain of the vessel, front right aligned.
Serious, concentrated. Steers to our loading bay.
Shuffles begin. Slow, but steady as she goes.
No smiles, no colloquy. Simply shuffles.
Tuneless accordion doors slide open.

Onboarding. Pass showing protocol.
Welcoming officer, cold. Indifference abounds.
I bid him “Good morning, Sir”.
A practiced scowl retorted. Disparaged.
At last. Now, as one with the tacit team.
Herd comfort. Recognition. United.

Conquer the stairs to level two. Privileged deck.
Seating rare in this terrain. Semi extinct. Scoping panjandrums.
Hunters all. Survival of the fittest. Perchance
Target identified. Crosshairs locked on. Homing in.
Document case launched. Laser accurate. 
Target secured. Touch down. Seat meets seat.

A window glance confirms movement. Forward motion.
Speeding. Burning gas. Ice caps thawed. Globe warmed.
A juggernaut hurtling. Chasing time. Mach 1.
Soon be there. Raging anticipation. Pulsation. Momentarily.
My private happy place. Mon endroit heureux.
Secrets to be shared. Jointly enjoyed. Canopied euphoria.

Emerald canopy infiltrated. A virtual, verdure veil.
No others stir. Oblivious to nature. Unseeing. Unappreciative.
Sunlight on dappled leaves. Rays converse. Au Courant.
Morse code messaging. Covert contact. Mine alone.
I revel. This is MY time. Although time’s halted. Frozen.
Enter the single Silver Birch, stoic in a realm of Horse Chestnuts.

That Betula Pendula taught me so very much.
We communicate as I glide by. Subliminal sign on.
Actual logging in. Mental discourse
I query if he is sad, lonely.
“Alone, but not lonely!” He continues.
“You visit, Flora and Fauna drop by, the sun, the wind…So blessed”.

Certain about the canopy?
“Absolute certainty. It’s the pain”
Trees do feel pain?
We accelerate past. Strain for the last words.
Glimpse skyward. The sun still messaging.
No branches touch the top of our vehicle.

Words float over the engine’s roar,
“Yes, we all feel pain”.
“We all feel love. Like you, we avoid the Via Delorosa”
Over and out. Communications link lost.
Until tomorrow. Jusqu’à demain mon ami.
A smugly smile steals across my face.

Eyes tight shut. Blind celebration. Yes!
Virtual high five. Fist bump fantasy. Ultimate pctureless selfie.
Ephemeral ecstasy. Cerebral celebration.
Furtive observation. Other travelers oblivious.
My secret secure. Locked up tight.
As tight as a very tight thing. Key concealed.

Terminus looms. The canopy, a rearview mirror throwback.
Glorious morning. Another miracle. One of many already today.
Cradled once more by Mother Nature. With absolute proof.
Loneliness is a mental state. Alone, exclusively physical.
Disembarking. Stepping out. Eyes peer heavenward.
Pupils contract. Gratitude expands. Thankful.

Thankful I have learned all living things have feelings.
Thankful for complete acceptance. To be trusted. Intimate inclusion.
Meandering through the milling throng. Trudging. Diluted enthusiasm.
To the daunting building on the hill. A bastion of cruelty.
Supposedly of learning. Dark, foreboding. School.
A manifestly different journey ahead. Purely, a real mental state.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

the dream
the reality
the ghettos
the insanity
the inhumanity
look at the world’s state
poverty
look how power rapes
could I take
dirty water under
the poorest living conditions
still praying, hoping, wishing
dreaming of that new day
dreaming of equal opportunity
how can I not cry for the world
look at everything it’s doing

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Let’s take a walk
You said.
Okay, I said.
And here we are
High above the East River
On a pedestrian walkway
On the Triboro Bridge
Hiking from Astoria
To Randall’s Island
As rush-hour traffic
Streams by.
I hate my life
You say.
And I know
You’re not joking.
I wonder if you’re
Thinking of jumping
And what I would do
If you did.
It’s a long way down
To the tug
Pushing a barge
On fiery waters
As it disappears
Beneath the bridge.
Should I grab
For your arm
And probably die too
Or simply admit
I want to live
And let you fall.
It’s late afternoon
When we finally reach
Our destination
Descending a cement
Stairway that deposits us
Onto a parking lot
Near the Manhattan
Psychiatric Center.

II.

We’re both too tired
To turn around
And walk back
Over the bridge.
The only other exit
Off this island
Is a narrow
Pedestrian overpass
That connects it
With Manhattan
But to get there
We have to cross
The grounds of the
Mental institution
And blocking our way
Is a guard in a booth.
You’re reporters!
He shouts at us,
Trying to do
Another fucking expose!
No, we protest,
We just want to get back
To the city so we can
Take a subway home.
He pats us down
And searches our bags
Then grudgingly waves us on.
It’s early evening now
And large bright lights
Come on, illuminating
Everything surreally.
We can clearly see inmates
Through plate-glass windows
In 1ow, ranch-styIe buildings
Watching TV.
If it weren’t
For the barbed-wire
You’d almost think
We were in suburbia.

III.

Beyond the last building
The underbrush thickens
And the asphalt path
Is cracked and broken.
It’s pitch black —
A hot, humid night.
Indistinct shapes
Dart into the bushes
In front of us —
I take out
My Swiss Army Knife
All two inches of it
And flick it open
Just in case.
And, like that
We come upon
The other guard booth
Burnt out
And abandoned long ago.
I’m not feeling too good
But you grab my arm
And motion
To a string of lights
Rising above the trees
And I realize
It’s the footbridge.
As we step onto it
We’re almost swept away
By a wave of humanity
Swarming from Manhattan
Onto Randall’s Island —
A never-ending procession
Of shopping bag ladies
Sneaker kids, junkies
And sodacan collectors —
And we the only two leaving
Tired and relieved
And even perhaps vaguely
In love with each other.

Performed by Val Cole

Poem:

If only I could see

with a mind without

Distractions.

what would I see

would I see me

what would I do

would I take a knife

and then take a life

would I see

clarity

Would I be

Free

Or are the distractions in our

lives the only thing keeping

us : alive, awake, moving, and Breathing

I Care not to Care

but by not going there

Am I impaired?

a Pair of pears

leafy limbs, barky trunk.

dangling tucked

Together

the two

Their branches Bonded

and

the

Bonds of time

simple as a pear

unravel when we Sleep

we escape

Reality when we sleep

Why steep in sleep

Revel in a bottle

waggle and wiggle

giddily giggle

Your awake,

drown

Your senses to sleep

Don’t Be Weak

Don’t Sleep

Keep to your feet

Drink and you can

Sleep Then

Forget

I forgot if it was

worth

Remembering

anyways.

Is any of it?

Worth anything?

at all?

Can it be true? Or, is it a rumour?
Boris has said we can come out sooner!
don’t hold your breath but could it be happening?
Is it to stop the economy collapsing?

Can’t even begin to hope it’s true
After everything we’ve all been through
we may be back to normal by spring
before we are well and truly unhinged

What do we do? How do we act?
are the odds against us stacked?
Can it ever be the same again
No one is certain a 100 per cent

we’ve been a long time in isolation
with no human contact or conversation
will have to learn new social skills
and come off all our anxiety pills

We’ll never forget the start of the twenties
Panic buying and toilet roll frenzies
The incredible science behind our jabs
Working wonders in their labs

It makes you wonder did this actually happen?
It’s hard now really to imagine
Pfizer and AstraZeneca the big tech brands
Our lives literally in their hands

We’re now getting jabbed in all sorts of places
Sharp eager eyes behind masked faces
So very lucky we live in a place
affectively saving the human race

This strain is bad enough – it’s been stated
It’s the new ones coming which have mutated
If we don’t eradicate it from the face of the earth
I feel the fatalities will be far far worse

we now see the light shining at the end
It was hard at first to comprehend
we have to wait – it’s been really tough
that day can never come soon enough 💕

Of the many pastimes, that I play at sometimes
My favourite thing is the writing of rhymes.
I’ve fiddled with riddles, since I was but little.
A bad one’s a sad one, a good ‘un fair chimes.
I grill and I thrill, as I bend to my will.
It’s fruity, it suits me, it’s lemon and limes.
Unbidden, the words spring to life in my head.
I grab one, I stab one, before they have fled.

They won’t go away, they’re determined to stay
And dance, in a trance, in a sashay display.
The rhyme in the stanza, for me is the answer.
Each Haiku that I do, a bonny bonanza.
A bee in my bonnet, as I sing my sonnet
To use it, is music, to lose it is chronic.
I’m impelled to, compelled to, I must do, I need ter
Search, nay research, for some rhyme in my meter.

I’ll play all the day, for some words that just may
E’en shift me, uplift me, a roll in the hay.
It’s easy, it’s peasy, it’s what poets do
It sneaks in and peaks in, while I’m on the loo.
Sometimes sensational, oft inspirational
Frantic, its antics, my Little Boy Blue.
I’m in it, to win it, I don’t often bin it
When my wit, is unfit though, I might have to thin it.

If I get marooned, in the mid-afternoon
By a girl in a whirl, or a dame in a swoon
Have a nail in my pail, catch a thorn in my prune
Anchor my Tanka, before it balloons.
Then I mean, to be seen, to make it a rule
To read to the readers, my audience who’ll
Say Hobbo’s a laddo, he’s nobody’s fool
He’s sunny, he’s funny, the drool in my pool.

So for humans with lumens, with light in your pen
And actors with factors poetical, then
Stop fighting, get writing, through dictionary roam
Desire to inspire us, and sire us a poem.

Submitted by Hobbo of http://www.hobbospoems.com

Ions we use to impress an electrical current that others will ride, making the current become an event, feeling alive.

First impressions sometimes give people drive but seeing things on the surface can at times be a disguise.

The pressed ions explode and become vaporized, hopefully leaving remnants that will not keep blinding your site.

Beware of the current events you choose to ride, the slope can be slippery, and you can slide.

Slide into what lies beneath and see the things they were trying to hide.

The truth will always come seeping through from the inside.

Remember, what you see on the surface sometimes is far away in distance from what resides, so use your frequency to check out the vibe.

http://www.inheritthebeautywithinblog.com

A year has passed
Times have changed
The world stopped…
Then kind of started again

A year has passed
Keeping our distance
Washing our hands
A new sort of normal

A year has passed
Did we learn?
Apparently not enough
The numbers still grow

A year has passed
No job, no money
Government funding is slow
Bills to pay still come fast

A year has passed
The struggle is real
Life goes on…
But only for some

A year has passed…
The pandemic has not
The future is unclear
But we still have hope

http://www.JoLinsdell.com

I search for you.
I look you up in this world,
Amongst the footsteps of time,
And I try to remember
How it feels not to be
Longing for love.

I search for you.
And the snowflakes fall
Like the petals of a flower
By the end of autumn.
Like the petals of a flower
From the summer of my heart.

I search for you.
I enclasp the petals of love
But I know those petals are
Snowflakes of the winter of my body.

I search for you.
I still hold in my palms
The melting snowflakes;
And my love is lost
In drops that keep on dripping
And hit with hollow sound
The earth of this world.
I search for you. But you are nowhere to be found.

© 2021 Carmen Silva

Why is it that the good times never last?

A home of aqua, as organic as it gets,
warm, wholesome, wonderful and wondrous.
An enclosure of bliss, a place of love – no, no, a place
made of love.

Suddenly, out of nowhere,
like a thief in the night,
like a menacing phantom,
it comes,
the end of hospitality,
the earthquake,
the catastrophe.
It’s like the fate of my own personal planet Krypton:
I’m sent off while all behind me falls to pieces.

I travel to the light, unwillingly,
It’s so very intense and much too bright.
The big squeeze into another world that seems way too large
and wide and weird and alien.

Well now, this cannot be right…

I try to mourn my loss in silence when some bastard slaps me for no good reason.
Ugly faces smile at me like idiots as the last link to my safe haven is forever cut.
Crying seems the only sober, sane and sensible course of action left at this point.
And boy do I cry. I let it reap, I don’t even give
a shit. I’m wailing and bellowing away for all it’s worth.

Abruptly, I’m lifted,
I am embraced
by hands that hold me tightly
and safely upon a soft bosom.
Unlimited love emanates from this person that looks upon me
with the sweetest of smiles and I can’t help but melt into the embrace.
Hell, this is not such a scary place after all.