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.

“Writing is not lying, nor is it theft. It is a journey and search for transparency between one’s words and one’s soul.” — Art of Quotation

“Writing is not lying, nor is it theft. It is a journey and search for transparency between one’s words and one’s soul.” Richard Flanagan, Australian, writer

via “Writing is not lying, nor is it theft. It is a journey and search for transparency between one’s words and one’s soul.” — Art of Quotation

Read Poem by Kitt Fedoroff

Sally Gossamer Wingstep heard a most curious sound,
It came from beyond the wilderness copse, over, about, and around;
When Sally flew around the last tree a wonder she could see
A greying Fablehaven hound softly baying at a prone bumblebee.
Sally risked to go closer to inspect this quite usual sight—
Instantly she flew for Johnny H. Beekeeper in a quite frenzied flight.
Can he find the resolution for a bee brought down so low?
If he lacks the right solution, where then could she ever go?
Johnny was tending keen to the so new garden green—
Petite pois on the trellis, coifed and coiled like you’ve never seen,
Tomates on the vine, carrots long and tall, blueberries arching high;
And Johnny’s prized honeycombs, so grand as to make a master bumble bee sigh,
And cousin-once-removed baby Amber Grace with the prettiest wee fairy face
Was flutter-skurrying in and out of plants and was just all over the place!
“Johnny, O Johnny”, Sally cried to her family friend with sure pride
“Come quick with me to see this poor poor bee, laid low and curled to one side.”
Finding hard-working Katje to attend their baby Amber Grace
Sally and Johnny flew straight off to the far away wooded place.
With simple mind and quiet grace, John approached the curled up bee
But twas nothing more could be done, was plain and simple to see.
“Let’s take him home” offered John to Sally’s slow honoring tears,
Nodding, Sally looked for brambles to build a sled as for one’s peers.
A far off buzz grew nearer, the Wild Hive had come to find their brother;
A rippling peace reigned as Bumble Bee and Fairy regarded one another.
John and Sally backed away bowing as the Bumble Bees took up the reins;
The bees would long remember how those aloof fairies had taken such pains.
The old Fablehaven hound bayed again as the sled disappeared around the wooded copse;
Sally and John made their long slow way back to home and the fairy-grown crops.
Sally made her thank you’s and kissed wee Amber Grace;
Quite a wonder to see how Honor and Love forever bless this place.

Genre: Fantasy

Read Poem: An Old Lady Goes Grocery Shopping, by Joan McNerney

First of all, it is difficult to express
how much I hate this crappy store
plus facing so many sour looks.

Can only purchase a few things
because of all those stairs I must
climb getting to my apartment.

First I walk around in a trance
trying to find my few items.
Next comes the horrible part.

No matter how great my effort, it is
impossible to keep up with cashiers.
They rush us through like cattle.

The conveyor belt is too fast for words.
I just put my groceries out and they
are priced. Next comes my debit card.

Some places also want their special
store card. This is to take advantage
of their measly sales. Thrilling.

Where is my debit card? O there it is,
but it is hard to get the sequence of keys
right. How many people are behind me?

Of course, they would like me to bag
my own stuff. I HAVE NEVER DONE
THAT even in my more youthful days.

Always have to repack everything anyway.
Some items can be left in my car but
most must be lugged up to my kitchen.

Leaving the store with the sinking
sensation of being too slow. Tramping
down to my vehicle with some wobbly cart.

What is this “have a nice day” bull?
Boy, am glad that is over and don’t care
if their cart lands up in Siberia.

Read Poem: Only One for Criticism, by Marc Latham

crit-i-cism
i: 33.3% recurring
central
i two more, either side i
stand beside
another letter
third – i – seventh
like sent-i-nels guarding flanks
right – left
i: only vowel
without i
there would only be
consonants for criticism.

http://www.amazon.com/author/marclatham

Your Work Is Influenced by the Story You Tell Yourself — Discover

“While there are environmental forces—such as leadership and workplace culture—that influence what we believe about ourselves, ultimately we are the stewards of our own stories.” On his personal blog, content strategist Paul Jun muses on the stories we tell ourselves about the work we do.

via Your Work Is Influenced by the Story You Tell Yourself — Discover

Read Poem: CONFIDENCE REMINDER, by Ingrid Gilbert

Allow me to remind you a little something about confidence, now can I:

Confidence starts by action making;
Then evolves in a deep rooted feeling;
And eventually becomes a part of your entire being.

Hence you start taking action,
You witness the confidence slowly but surely fulfilling your entire being,
And then not only will you feel confident, you will be confident.

And through it all, keep reminding yourself that you got this.
You know why?
Cuz you fucking got this!
👊🏾✨

Coach Ingrid
Confidence Queen
Success Coach, Goal Setting Specialist
❣️ Dare to be U, in order to do U
🗣️ #screamyastoyoursuccess

Website:
https://www.instagram.com/p/B5Q_KaVA9DC/?igshid=1phkhsrli5vrq

Read Poem: MY HOUSE SOUNDS LIKE A SHIP, by Ray Blaze

As I lay in bed resting my youth,

I hear the walls crackling around,

Escaped seconds are profound,

Mark Twain saved me a minute;

My rooms falls on the yard,

Nearby the trees bruits growing,

The hard wind beats by milliards,

Mark Twain our houses are alike,

Should a flood descend on land…

I’ve been prepared for … an ocean,

My house shall be my ship!

RAY BLAZE