Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.

ROMANCE Poem: Desire, by Abby Jenkins

For you-
Coiled in my stomach.
Coating my ribs.
Crammed in my chest.

For your hands-
tanned, callused
blood warmed
Rough, desert ground.

How they hold,
the book you picked up,
gentle and just lightly
enough.

For my name-
in your mouth,
a prayer.

For your eyes-
evergreen pines.

How you look,
at me
rich and deep and
Dark warm.

For your voice-
soft,
summer evening rain.

COMEDY Poem: The Absurd Hero, by Yuancheng Chen

Golden Shovel (Camus; Myth of Sisyphus): “At any street corner, the feeling of absurdity can strike a man in the face.”

It was midnight summer July, at
that bustling red-light street where you could find any
pleasure you’d like. On the quietest part of the street,
there stood a caped man standing in a corner.
He secluded himself as he climbed the ladder onto the
tallest building on the block. He caught a feeling
of sudden urge to dance, so he danced on the edge of
the roof on that building. The action’s absurdity
caused crowds to gather and cheer. He kicked a can
down and it hit a prostitute on the head, the strike
knocked her wig off. Then, on the balcony, out came a
pastor who started shouting above him, to the man
saying not to jump, as he was young. The crowd joined in.
Confused, the caped man asked why everyone on the
street attended to him so. Then, he jumped, landing on his face

PERSON Poem: Elegy for The Candyman, by Ashley Patrice

You drank black water until your liver
burst. You lay slime green in your hearse,
after two weeks. Tart tears slip from my eyes,
stinging my cheeks that sigh relief
from your tobacco-infected lips. You dug
a grave of wrath and pride. I saw you last

before you expired alone. We were together
two days beforehand. We ate grocery store
fried chicken at nine in the morning. I wanted
Subway, and you insisted on Trini and Carmi’s
for a supreme nacho bathed in cheese and artery
blockage. The October air wasn’t as cold

as your tone when you tried to discipline me.
Hooking up your box television with no cable.
How dare you! You didn’t have Disney, Nickel-
odeon, or Cartoon Network. I didn’t want to watch
“Family Feud” with you because that wasn’t
our thing. Our thing was meeting at the police

station twice a week. Tuesdays after a long day
of fifth grade. Saturdays at the crack of dawn
till after dark. Our thing was waiting on you
because you showed up whenever you wanted,
for the havoc you initiated. You demanded power
through hatred and destruction.

GRIEF Poem: Malignant, by Cailey Hart

Agony simmered in my sullen eyes,
lost to heartbreak with a major surprise.
I couldn’t believe this with all your lies;
you brought me to my condemning demise.

And yet you swore to me that it was mine,
but I knew you had been with other guys.
So I poured from a tall bottle of wine
and drained it in the sink during sunrise.

It was the same wine we shared our first time,
but now the bottle is empty and so is my life.
What you have done to me should be a crime.
I was going to make you my dear wife.

How did I not see you were a disease?
Now I sit alone riddled with unease.

DEATH Poem: Disaster, by Cailey Hart

My weak heart lays crushed beneath the rubble,
blood stains my blouse with a shade of crimson,
and my numb fingers search with a struggle
to find him in the dark is my beacon.

I soon squeeze his hand with our wedding band,
aching for his pulse under this debris.
There is only silence and his cold hand.
My love is gone, and now I am ready.

I stare ahead at the mass pile of black,
clutching tightly to my love’s open palm.
My lungs fill with dust while my bones are cracked.
I shut my teary eyes and remain calm.

At least I’ll be buried with my true love,
and soon I’ll be next to him up above.

COMEDY Poem: Irony: A Tale of Death, by Carlos Lorenzo Estrada

eath came calling
For an elderly man.

Knocking three times
With cold boney hand.

Enfeebled old Laurence
Answered the door.

Lacking surprise
For guest he abhorred.

“I’m sure by now
You know who I am.”

“Of course I do
I’m a dying old man.”

This quixotic answer
caught Death by surprise.

Such folie and hubris
It saw in his eyes.

So Death did decide
A joke it would play.

For Grim Reaper’s humor
would be on display.

A peanut butter cookie
did suddenly appear.

But to mortal’s eye
Suspicion drew near.

With cynical distrust
Filling his guts.

Laurence replied
“I’m allergic to nuts.”

Without hesitation
It responded in breath.

“Of course… I know;
that’s why I’m called death.”