poetryfest

Read Poetry: Desert Lamentations II, by David Oscarson

I would rather spend time on this desert landscape watching the clouds roll by overhead than try to understand the roots of society spread out all over the earth.
With all the distractions of modern society we are losing sight of meaningful lifelong satisfactions and good conversation.
There seems to be a select few who are attempting to influence our lives with the assistance of technology while leading us down pathways with unknown or unfavorable consequences.
They are not keepers of the flock, but merely interlopers who are gaining unwanted influences over our lives through their covert actions.
Will these select few lead us into dark places from which there is no return, and is it too late to turn back from the courses many of us have taken?
It is up to us to determine where this digital future is heading, and take appropriate action.

Website: http://www.djoart.com

Read Poem: MISTREATED, by Gladys Muturi

Mistreated
Every day I sense the ignorance from you
Every hour, Every minute, Every second
Madness and disagreements become a warzone
Me vs. You
Who will win the title
Taking the toll of this passionate love we had
I felt dead inside
Every time you put me through hell
Each time you make me yell
When will time tell when you will treat me better
Better yet never
Your envy attitude is forever
I hope the next one will mistreat you the same way you mistreated me
Excuse me while I leave for a new start of life
So damn tired of your lies
I need to revive my life
I have wasted so much of my time
I have always thought you would be mine
Why didn’t I do something right?
Every time you stay around you don’t want to be around
You keep your mind in the clouds
When am I ever allowed to open my heart to you?
To you, I am just a material girl to live in your lonely desires.
To me, I am just a broken girl who wants a knight shiny armor who admires me,
Loves me and Cares for me,
Am I meant for you?
Enough.
Mistreated.

POETRY READING: Passing, by Paul O’Donnell

Performed by Allison Kampf

Passing, by Paul O’Donnell

So much is broken
I despair
he says passing out from lack of air
It was no more than a passing dream to think
the passing of a law could mean passing through the past
The inciting incident, the protagonist’s resolve to repair
ignorance fear and anger living side by side in liminal space stretched.
Searching for the prophylactic fountain to wash away despair
Farfetched
But passing laws passed through the fragile membrane made of the
dreams of gilded fossils giving
no more than a passing glance
with few words passing between them.
How could it not be broken?
Only the words Black Lives Matter, matter
No forgiveness can be asked. Forgiving is an act of power bestowed
granted by the weak with feelings of remorse
Atone is at and one
there the difference lies.

POETRY READING: Gritty, dangerous doll, by Kirsten Warner

Performed by Allison Kampf

Gritty, dangerous doll, by Kirsten Warner

I forage for her, the doll of my disappointment

a spray of brittle twigs
a faggot of fallen fronds
crusty sticks with lesions of lichen

crouched over, calling up my ancient sister.

Then it is only a matter of seeing and she takes shape.

A forked branch and spindly legs start running,
over-wide arm-span
shock of invisible fingers
guts hanging out
circulation unspooled
half a skirt of flax flowers,
all bundled together
leaving a strong stick where her head will go.

Overnight she stands sentinel,
my doll of disappointment,
through my sleepless 4 AM and discarded novels.
My insides agitate like giant kelp in a blowhole.
Somewhere a strange crying
but each time I get up the whimpering stops.

In the morning the pillow is wet.
I’m flimsy yet my ache weighs heavy on the bathroom scales.
I count my losses in the vanity’s distorting mirror.
It feels like something died. Like I never had a chance.

I craft her head from crumpled cellophane
and glinting, spooky transparency,
attach a savage halo
consider lengths of yarn the violent red of secobarbital
but she’s done. I nurse the day

while she fossicks in the underneaths
grubbing out contagion,
cursing humbug and sideshow
drowning out the comfort of friends
muttering spells to turn my gaze away
daubing herself with horse manure
full of grass seed that will eventually sprout green.

POETRY READING: Black Night Sky, by Paula Shaffer

Performed by Allison Kampf

black night sky {genre: fear}
paula shaffer

there is a fear my son will die today
because his skin is black as night

black night sky

that darker fear that whites so dread;
how dare my son dare to breathe,
dare to live

reach for the sky

play by the rules so self-confined;
the “talk” is clear as constant rain,
that reminder of fear each time you leave
your brown skin marked as sin

auto-rejected from the day of birth
your dark skin the color of Earth

i grieve for you with constant fear,
i cry for you when you leave,
i apologize for those ugly clouds
that rue your day, existence’s theme

racism so deep, it never bends
its darkness cast because of skin

i grieve for sons who won’t come home,
laid to rest in a pit of degrade

civil unrest because of skin
unleashes fear you won’t obey

and one more black boy dies today

his last words: i can’t breathe

POETRY READING: Leopard Club Love, by Franco D’Alessandro

Performed by Allison Kampf

LEOPARD CUB LOVE

by Franco D’Alessandro

I’ve loved you like a leopard cub from the day

You stalked into my classroom -flip-flopping

Around the circle of desks- staring at me,

Wondering aloud: “who the hell is this guy?”

You were a problem child I wanted to solve;

So I picked you up and carried you in my gritted teeth,

Slapped you around with a tender paw until you fell into line.

You were just like a lost leopard cub, separated from family,

The one that had a twin but needed to be on his own.

We’re leopards, you and me -social, secretive, and solitary.

But when I spotted you alone,

Laid out -paralyzed- on the ground,

I lept down from my classroom tree

And roared onto the field, to protect you, my cub,

Who, somehow, unreasonably, seemed a part of me.

You crashed like a meteor, at 14, into my life

On that too-hot September day and began to wreak your happy havoc

In a stagnant place that unknowingly longed for you.

Like Odysseus readily recognized his long lost Telemachus,

We knew our souls knew each other.

I still don’t know why I chose you -and you, me-

To let in.

When you asked me to “bring it in”… I held you for that first hug,

I suddenly knew that what life, loss, and lost love

Had long denied me, destiny had laughingly fulfilled.

You were a missing piece I pretended wasn’t necessary.

You accepted my almost barren, childless heart -I thought unworthy of a son’s love.

But answered prayers have a way of walking into

Our empty rooms so quietly.

Your trust I’ve cherished holding;

Pieces of you I carry like secret treasures unfolding.

You -not of my flesh but of my soul;

That silent prayer that -in being answered-

Made me whole.

POETRY READING: Turning the wheel, by Melissa Chaconas

Performed by Allison Kampf

Turning the wheel, by Melissa Chaconas

we are close our car doors
in anger

we shop in frustrations

we give up hope all the time

we remember in primordial love

We run around in

costumes, masks,

we are stuck

we walk hard

we clean hard
to make the pain
disappear
dwell in a
place
in the bottom.

POETRY READING: Mantra Of A Bridge Builder, Lucinda J. Clark

Performed by Allison Kampf

Mantra of a Bridge Builder

I am a bridge builder.
I build based upon where I travel

I build on happy days and sad days:
I have built during times I felt I could not— and possibly should not—go on.

My bridge building is based on following a road;
a dominant thought
changes in my worldview.

Added to each bridges structure are things I have seen,
things I have heard,
things I have read.

Ideas I have opened and closed my eyes, heart and mind to.

The length and strenght of some of these bridges are undetermined and,
much too far away
for my mind’s eye to reach

only the passage of time will determine.

Each bridges purpose is to open new gateways,
passageways
and give opportunity,

to those who are and are not like me.
To enrich all just by having come this way.

Maybe,
just maybe,
when my bridge building days are done, what has been built
(even as I lapses into dust)
lives on

@Lucinda J. Clark

POETRY READING: 9/11 Attacks, by Janelle Barker

Performed by Allison Kampf

9/11 Attacks, by Janelle Barker

The day began like any other r
The sun rose, scattering to work,
Settling into their day, with a smirk.
8.46am thousands of lives, would change,
North Twin Tower was hit by a plane,
People thought, NO, that’s insane.
News came to those, yes it was true,
Some knew and others didn’t have a clue.
Terror attacks was announced
Disbelief from civilians, on the ground.
9.03am, no, not again
The South Tower was hit, oh Amen.
Survivors running for their lives,
Passing the dead, that, they did dread.
Parts of bodies everywhere,
We had no time, to stop to care.
We had to get out, as fast as we could,
Everyone knew, that was understood.

People jumping from the towers,
Things happened in minutes,
Which seem liked hours.
Flights hijacked, 93,77 and 175
All the passengers, tried their best
To stay alive.
Life that day, was out of control,
When the buildings were demolished
It left, a great big hole.
90 countries, lost loved ones,
Firefighters, military
And police,
are many of the rescue Workers,
that now rest in peace.
Estimated up to 19,000
In the towers upon attack,
So hard to believe
That this maybe fact.
Years later, people still dying,
To the families, related this
Is terrifying.
Exposed toxins from ground zero,
Pregnancy losses, cancers
No one can find answers.
A memorial was made
For all to see,
A reminder of life,
No one would disagree.
Pay your respect, for those we lost,
And say a prayer,
For no extra cost.
This moment in history,
the world will remember,
Let’s come together,
United we stand,
Hand in hand,
Let’s show the world what we can withstand

POETRY READING: Demoiselle, by James Morgan-Jones

Performed by Allison Kampf

Demoiselle, by James Morgan-Jones

Let’s be direct: Beautiful Demoiselle.
What naming could be apter? In noon-light
a sliver of midnight blue comes spinning
from Hades’ palette, frailly fluttering,
a butterfly blue from the underworld.
Yet not quite: no sheer lepidopteran
makes this skittery, whirligig descent,
achieves in repose such sleek elegance.

He rests like a svelte blue pin, superbly
singular, wings deep-dipped in indigo:
pure concept lodged brilliant in spinel.
Such exquisite difference brings profound
gratification, a joy extinguished
in the homogenised world we fashion.

When I dream I’ll drink some of his lustre,
bask in the resplendence of my colours –
what flagrant beauty then in dynamism,
such glory mirrored in heaven’s dark glass.