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.

Poetry Reading: The Fisherman, by Robin McNamara

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

Get to know the poet:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

Theme: About an old Fisherman making his final fishing trip.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

Motivation: My father was a fisherman for 40 + years in Ireland living by a fishing village. In summer months I went on the boat with him in my childhood. The poem is a reflection of part of my childhood spent fishing.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I dabbled in my early 20s with poetry. Started writing again seriously about 10 years ago.

4) If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

The Dali Lama, to see what words of wisdom he can give me. How can I motivate myself to become a better person. To discuss with him his views on modern
society‘s relationship with technology & religion. Basically to be inspired by his presence.

5) What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

Why not! How often do you get an opportunity like this? It’s fun it’s a visual and vocal interpretation of a written piece of art. Make it come alive! Reach out to a wider audience.

6) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

Sports writing mainly football. Satire writing occasionally. Used to be a journalist writing about Health and Social Affairs.

7) What is your passion in life?

Emotional awareness of your surroundings. Appreciation of nature and art which inspires writing. The power of knowledge makes a mind stronger every day. Listen to your intuition. Acknowledge that you’re learning about life every day till the day you die.

Poetry Reading: If You Could Fix Me, by Melissa R. Mendelson

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

 Get to know the poet:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

They say that what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, but what about the pieces, the scars left behind? What about the harsh memories that chase you when you try to sleep at night or the absence of time that you need to heal, and do we fully heal? Or are we just damaged beyond repair, wanting to be fixed, but knowing that we can’t be, no matter how hard we might try, but we still try, which inspired me to write this poem.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

“If You Could Fix Me” was written years ago during a time when I tried to pull myself back together again. All I could see were the scars, wondering if they would ever go away, and if the damage could be fixed. The poem was originally longer and more raw, but I revised it and cut it down. And then I added it to my book of poems called, “Fragments of Yesterdays Past.”

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I have been writing poetry since maybe eighth grade. I used to write a lot of poetry, but these days, I write more short stories.

4) If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

Stephen King

5) What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

WildSound has always delivered on their performances, giving voice to my words.

6) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

I have been writing a lot of short stories recently, and some of my stories have been published by Sirens Call Publications and Dark Helix Press.

7) What is your passion in life?

Writing first, Photography second.

Read Poetry: Thank God for Pearl!, by Dennis De Rose

I went to church when I was five,

Sunday school, never missed it.

I looked over; who did I see?

Well, of course, I saw Pearl, teaching.

Time went by and I got older,

I graduated to the “big church”.

I looked over, I sat on the left.

Who was on the right, Pearl.

Once a month, every month,

Usually the first Sunday… Food`s aplenty.

Go downstairs to eat, who`s there?

Pearl, with bowl in hand, always smiling.

Time goes by, I’m married now.

It’s Sunday. Church again.

I look to the right, across the aisle,

and who`s there? Right again. Pearl…

1999, it’s a very sad Sunday in church.

My Gramzer, up front lying in a casket.

I stood up, turned around, I said a few words.

Who do I see? Pearl, handkerchief in hand.

It`s Sunday, Church, Choir time.

I walk up front and once again,

Looking behind me, I see…

Pearl, ready to sing for Jesus.

Time goes by; my whole family is with me.

We’re on the left, as usual.

It’s been 55 years since that first Sunday.

I look over. Who do I see? Pearl.

Pearl, I thank God for you…

Read Poetry: Super Geezers, by Bob Grant

Super Geezers – Just some Teasers
Civilities rambunctious Sneezers.
Belch at any Time of Day,
no Concerns of What they Say

Have no Time for Politics,
Pick their Noses just for Kicks.
Speak their Minds without a Care,
take a Nap most Anywhere.

Cranky if They want to Be,
Dirty Jokes and Laugh with Glee.
Dot to Dot on their Age Spots,
Hide their Trash in Flower Pots.

Reminisce ‘bout Fond years Past,
answer Questions never Asked.
Complain about the Younger Age,
Read a Book to Feel the Page.

Thumb through Photos in their Hand,
Skip their Meals if they’re Bland.
Talk about their Aches and Pains,
to Heck with Staying in their Lanes.

Super Geezers have the Power,
Certainly their Place and Hour.
what Remains is Up to You,
Do just what You want to Do.

Genre: Aging, Senior Citizens, Seniors, Geezers, Life, Death, Relationships, Society, Senior Centers, Retirement, Independent Living, Assisted Living, Medicare, Old, 65 and Older, Social Security.

Read Poetry: PARENTAL LAMENT, by Mike Reed

My boy is sleeping safe in bed
Without a tumour in his head.

No hepatitis, septicaemia,
No lymphoma, no leukaemia.

His heart is strong, his breathing sure.
The marrow in his bones is pure.

No ADD, MS, ME,
CF, MD or HIV.

We drove him safely to his school,
And back again. He swam the pool

Untroubled, laughing, loving it.
No seizure, stroke or fatal fit.

No aircraft engine yet has failed.
No train come lethally derailed.

He moves from trampoline to tree
To bicycle, to skate and ski,

Unharmed, unruffled, innocent.
No injury. No accident.

He sleeps. We sleep. Another day
Is passed in ease. We made more hay.

No horror here, no sudden shark.
No plunge into the depthless dark.

No slip from sunshine into sorrow.
But there’s always tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

Read Poetry: the Tunnel Performance Society!, by Bob Eager

Old Vision : “This is What It Is”
Just a space for bikes to pass through ;
Next to the Underpass cars passing by it seemingly bland and irrelevent,
Practical place but inconscpicous.
Darkly lit at night families ride bikes through it in the day and others pass through it at night.

New Vision : “This is What It Could Be”
Seen through a new lens this place becomes a Unique experience;
Darkly lit ambience becomes something else entirely,
Not an afterthought in a coffee shop or poorly planned night with chairs turned
in the wrong direction. Creation of an open “UN” Mic!
Party for Creative’s….
Express ourselves however we choose poem, dance or song.

In the tunnel, we own the event. It is all about the art not a forethought or afterthought but the only complete thought needed.

Join Our Movement

——–

The Ringmaster Bob Eager invites you to join a new innovative performance idea. As artists shouldn’t we challenge the conventional thought of where a performance should. Join us in challenging the boundaries of what we call an artistic space.
Bob’s work appears also in Stray Branch, The New Beatnik, Oddball Magazine, Indiana Voice Journal and Tuck Magazine.

Read Poetry: Still, She Rises, by Deepika Janiyani

She often has a fear, hidden in her heart,
But still, she rises and tries to conquer the world…

She might show like, everything is under her control,
But deep inside she strives for love…

She smiles like a lamp, but there is darkness insider her heart,
But still, she rises and smiles for her world…

She might be broken inside,
But she will show everyone, she is absolutely fine…

She has a lot of unfulfilled dreams inside her heart,
But still, she rises to fulfil the dreams of others, in her world…

She often gets hurt, by her near and dear ones,
But still, she rises and fixes, their broken hearts…

Read Poetry: LEAVE ME WHOLE MOTHER, by Pat Ashinze

leave me whole, mother.
let my body sing pristine symphonies,
like seraphs praising the Holiest High.
let my shell be coloured in glazing spectra,
like the eonian beauties of space
let my thighs bleed for the will of nature 
and not for the sick myths of men.

 

leave me whole, dear mother!
for i remember the yells and screams. 
i remember the gagged pains of my sisters.
i remember how they succumbed in naivety.  
i remember the blood: fresh and fleshy.
i remember how they described the knife
that the elders used in ‘purifying’ them.
i remember how you marred portals
with diseases and superstitions. 

 

leave me whole, i plead and pray.
let my spirit pray for you in mirth.
let me enjoy the loving presence of man.
let me feel him flaming as he fills me.
let my passion flow in his motion.
do not let them make me one-eyed –
a girl with a mutilated honeycomb;
a woman with half-demised tentacles;
a fire with no heat and no smoke;
…a Saturn without rings!

 

 

Written by: 

Pat Ashinze.

Read Poetry: Fight!, by Young Deuces

Frustrated!
Frustrated at the actions of the people who’s supposed to protect/
Frustrated that right now my skin makes me a logical suspect/
Frustrated that it’s 2016 & there’s still white people who will view me as a threat/
Frustrated that it can be me, my dad, my brother or my mother fucking seed that is next/
And please I apologize of the vulgar nature of my words/
But I’m frustrated at the fact this injustice still occurs/
I’m frustrated at the blind eye, the back and forth on my timeline/
I’m frustrated that we yelling but still our voices never heard/
Ignored by the system who says me as a person has rights too/
But how can you fight for a system when the system rather fight you/
Ignored by the media who sees first hand where the verdict may fall/
And instead of speaking with common decency they say “well the video doesn’t tell it all”/
Ignored by the cops aka worlds most dangerous crew/
Cause right now the crips don’t look like the worlds most dangerous blue/
Me being a black man, gives me more reason to be scared to get slained by the blue/
They say follow the guidelines and you’ll be safe I say shiiiiiitttttttt
How can I follow the guidelines when you keep changing the rules/
They scream…Hands up, I’m like nope don’t wanna get gunned down/
I can’t have a bag of skittles without getting gunned down/
I can’t have a hair brush in my pocket, if you ask me for my ID, I can’t reach for my wallet/
I can’t sell my mixtape, I can’t sell a cig wait/
I can’t sleep I can’t breathe I can’t be in my church or my crib/
I can’t be face down in the pavement with 2 cops on my back holding my hands, I can’t live!/
Grimey!
Nah I ain’t talking NORE I’m talking police/
Who has it in they mind it’s open season to in us down in these streets/
Grimey
Nah I ain’t takin Nore, I’m talking the news/
Who always got an excuse for them boys in blue/
Grimey
Is my own people going against my own people when all we need is unity/
My own people saying negative comments about my own people fighting for this community/
Grimey
Is denouncing your race just because your shade made differ/
Cause in they eyes, light medium or dark we all still niggaz/
Help
No matter your race now is the time to speak/
All lives matter yes, but right now black lives is catching the heat/
The police need help, help w/ training or maybe a better course/
So they can learn the gun is not your first option and should be the last resort/
Help,
Because the tv gone paint us as the villains/
Say our reaction came w/no cause to distract the world from the killings/
And I know You hearring our cries for help but instead of responding back/
You just sit and watch and wait for all of this to just pass/
But think, if you just stand up and say “This must stop, we gotta do better”/
We can stop the downpour and Prepare for the weather/
Think of the impact, if the police spoke to us all/
And said “those policed failed to do there job and will be punished by law/
Think if a judge took a stance and said enough is enough/
And didn’t give light sentences only ones that was tough/
Think of right now, and the trends that we see/
And how the law may say it now but it’s clear we ain’t free/
Think fight
Not with guns, but with a voice that’s clear speak
Think fight
Not with your hands but To wake people who is sleep/
Think fight!
Not the physical but for the right to live free/
Think fight
I’ll fight for you,so come and fight with me/

——
Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VaZeJ6ligeI
Twitter/IG: @Young_Deuces

Read Poetry: Walden’s Rebel south…?, by Jarl K. Jackson

Say the word, Henry, and it will be done –
It will be… 
So declares my soul – my spirit readily agrees 
(It smiles a wry smile)…
I am confused – happy…
Every one of those ten thousand things (?)
March on the other’s seat at last!
It must be June again – or July…
It must be autumn – November remember….

 

Declaration, proclamations and oaths (sworn and broken),
All in the fragrant (tragic-comic) silent night,
Remembrances…
‘Don’t tread on me’?

 

November?
Remember!
Recall: – Shenandoah – and ‘6’…

 

That color, catching the breeze there,
What is it?
A flag-
A stretch of cloth.
A bold and noble banner… mayhap – not?

 

With cross saltier-
Azure- – emblazoned – with pentangles -13…
Emboldened-
Upon a field argent… 

 

I would salute-
I wave-
I would doff my hat
(If I had one – and if it were permitted it… but then…)
I give thanks for what is to come – for what may yet… 

 

But… I will not.

 

I will thankful for the furled flag
Banner bold though it be, noble cause for it was – was not, – of 
many victories…
The greatest when it is put away at last.

____________________

“My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,

He going with me must go well arm’d,

He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty,

Angry enemies, desertions.”

 _____________________

                                   -Walt Whitman, -‘The Song of the Open Road’