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.

“These days the buck stops nowhere / No one takes the blame / But evil is still evil / In anybody’s name” — Art of Quotation

These days the buck stops nowhere No one takes the blame But evil is still evil In anybody’s name Don Henley, songwriter, quote from If Dirt Were Dollars Walkin’ like a millionaire Smilin’ like a king He leaned his shopping cart against the wall He said, “I been a lot of places And I seen […]

via “These days the buck stops nowhere / No one takes the blame / But evil is still evil / In anybody’s name” — Art of Quotation

“Men are so simple of mind, and so much dominated by their immediate needs, that a deceitful man will always find plenty who are ready to be deceived.” — Art of Quotation

Men are so simple of mind, and so much dominated by their immediate needs, that a deceitful man will always find plenty who are ready to be deceived. Niccolo Machiavelli, Italian, diplomat, politician, historian, philosopher, writer, playwright and poet

via “Men are so simple of mind, and so much dominated by their immediate needs, that a deceitful man will always find plenty who are ready to be deceived.” — Art of Quotation

“When a poem is really finished, you can’t change anything. You can’t move words around. You can’t… “ — Art of Quotation

When a poem is really finished, you can’t change anything. You can’t move words around. You can’t say, ‘In other words, you mean.’ No, that’s not it. There are no other words in which you mean it. This is it. W. S. Merwin, poet

via “When a poem is really finished, you can’t change anything. You can’t move words around. You can’t… “ — Art of Quotation

“…the onlooker has the last word, and it is always posterity that makes the masterpiece.” — Art of Quotation

Society takes what it wants. The artist himself does not count, because there is no actual existence for the work of art. The work of art is always based on the two poles of the onlooker and the maker, and the spark that comes from the bipolar action gives birth to something – like electricity. […]

via “…the onlooker has the last word, and it is always posterity that makes the masterpiece.” — Art of Quotation

“We will not be complicit by being complacent” — Art of Quotation

With Donald Trump’s election, I knew I could not remain silent. I in no way considered myself an activist. But in January 2017, just after the inauguration, I opened my computer and worked late into the night setting up a nonpartisan Facebook group for myself and a few like-minded friends. I wanted to create a […]

via “We will not be complicit by being complacent” — Art of Quotation

Read Poem: Singles Awareness Day, by Hiker Angel

Categories: Love, Hurt, Painful

The Darkest heart of winter’s chill
chokes out the hollow monstrous day,
its tendrils slithering to fill.

Rapacious, snaking, gasping gill,
in waters deep where wicked prey,
the Darkest heart of winter’s chill.

Its teeth plunge, victim’s cries so shrill
with lurching, wheezing, rending play,
its tendrils slithering to fill.

Her movement stops, it has its swill
the nasty piper sucks its pay,
the Darkest heart of winter’s chill.

Vestigial quarry’s heat distill,
blood’s dulling red becoming gray,
its tendrils slithering to fill.

Her hope to wed, its gleeful kill,
this Valentine’s, fourteenth long day,
the Darkest heart of winter’s chill,
its tendrils slithering to fill.

Villanelle
Rhyme: A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2
Meter: iambic tetrameter

Read Poem: Cold, by Linda Jordan

Stealing along a darkened road; it’s path crooked
Fleeting around trees, leaves shivering in its wake, grass frozen mid-bow in homage
Inspecting, watchful, it’s purpose clear
A lone traveler comes; hungry for warmth
A house in the darkness; to the porch, peeking into windows; a door ajar
Cold sees an opportunity
Leaning in like a party guest offering unwanted advice, seizing the moment to enter
Quickly occupying every nook and cranny; nesting, rooting,
Inching forward through every carelessly cracked window, down every open chimney flue
Seeping along the floor, hugging corners
Inspecting cupboards, trying on boots and gloves
Filling closets and testing bed sheets; searching
Halting in a darkened corner, cold utters a sigh; glittery breath frosting windows in the vacant night
Uninvited visitor, unwelcome guest in the quiet
Faintly, the sound of voices tug at the fringes of its weary consciousness;
Lights flicker on interrupting its blue reverie; the rising sound of laughter assaults it’s crude senses
Suddenly feeling exposed, resolve melting, Cold hurriedly gathers it’s things, shoulder’s its frosty rucksack, and dissolves into the baseboards and walls, hiding
Whispering down halls, tendrils collecting its belongings along the way, cold escapes out the door as a warm body enters, door shut rudely at it’s back
Indignant and disheveled, Cold collects itself, shrugs its pack into place, and starts once again down the road trailing winter behind it