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.

Read Poetry: Agony, by Sujoy Bhattacharya

An apathetically toxic sound entered my mortal
visual organ .
Dandified with the foppish arrogance of cosmic
supremacy the
sound reverberated in my frozen heart preserved
at the core
of Antarctic effigy emanating sigh of vacuity .
Dead dynasties
delineated perpetually flapping flag of time studded
with space spacious !
Flippant cosmic rays cooing with the dead stars –
corpse love !
Coffined human love taking a flimsy phantom
figure was
pouring elixir -stolen from Egyptian mummies.
My amputated
organs scattered over the oceans were reading
the inscriptions
of time over the tapestry of space dew – drenched!
My severed
tongue was licking languidly the spilling psalm of
humanity !
Millions of mouths were chanting dogged dogmatic
doctrine
to establish monuments of ephemeral discourse .Lonely polestar
was politely polishing the rusted metal deity of
compassion ,
so that it could radiate again the theory of relationship!

Read Poetry: THE MANSION OF RUSSIAN CREEPS, by Fadrian Bartley

On the remote island of Russian creeps

A cast away washed ashore wounded and weak

Upon awakening such place he has never seen

Not familiar to his eyes, or has he ever being

Struggle to stand, and from his feet he bled

With the buzzing sounds he constantly heard in his head

Stranded at the shore no one seem to be at bay

No ship approaching and no one coming his way

Unconsciously he fainted, fell to the ground,

And woke only to find himself chained and tied down

To a basement in a mansion that’s where he was

With antique items and dirty old rugs

Swiftly and quietly appears a mysterious girl

With the appearance of what seems not from this world

In front of a huge mirror she stands combing her hair

While the lost victim sit quietly and trembled in fear

As she brushed her hair with a sweet humming from her voice

‘’What am I doing here? he yelled’’

You are here for a reason,

And You are here for a choice

With her hair reached to the ground,

By then the humming stops and not a sound

Struggling to free himself from those fetters and chains

The flashing of lightening along with the pouring rain

The child began to laugh and this is what she says

‘’On Russian creeps you stranded for days’’

‘’You are still asleep bound in this maize’’

Here is the mirror where you will find your way’’

As these words spill from her velvet lips

He saw an imprint sign carved on her wrist

Angrily he shouted ‘’let me go, let me go’

She replied ‘I scream those exact words before I die seven years ago’

Her tears became dark, And black as charcoal

With her hair falling out, and the face grew old

Her skin began to fade while he watched fearfully and lingers

And what remains of her was only a ring that fell from her dead fingers

A shattered mirror blast in pieces

While her scream echoes, and all that there is began to depleted

Struggling and shouting but no one could hear

Down from the basement is all a soundless fear

Awaken from a dream, a dream that’s what it seems

Terrified in himself he wonders what all these means

But the occurrence endless and seems to follow

Through the dreadful catastrophe and sleepy hollow

There were noises in the walls

Of little children running through the halls

From his bed he ran to look

Taken with him a cross hidden inside of a book

Looking around in expectation, but all was only a strange phenomenon.

Poetry Reading: Im Zweifel zur Wahrheit, by Erich Ruhl Bady

Performed by Carina Cojeen

POETRY 7 questions:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

We can be sure on our way to truth if we allow (ourselves) to doubt. We need to doubt.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

In an exibition I saw the installation of three signposts – two pointed nearly to the same direction –  to the direction of truth and doubt – the other signpost showed the way to the opposite … the indecisiveness (deutsch: Unentschlossenheit)

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

Since about six years, even more since three years

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

Barack Obama

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

I think there could be the chance to increase the range (I hope I’ll be allowed to show the link on my pages…) – and the other reason: I would like to hear my poem spoken by another voice (because I’m a narrator as well – all my 50 poems are to be listened on AUDIYOU –    https://www.audiyou.de/benutzer/smoothenergy99/0.html

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

Sometimes reviews about books or films – in my main job (Journalist / Press officer) I write articles and speeches – The other side job is audiobook narrator (should be more 🙂

7) What is your passion in life?

I will never stop to believe in the possibilities of personal development and in the power of compassion and dignity – therefore sometimes I try to consolidate my thoughts and my deep sentiments into a poem – and my wife, my two daughters and my four grandchildren motivate me to carry on

POSTSCRIPT:
THE POETRY FESTIVAL is a real great project which brings together open minded and warm-hearted people.
Thank you for this grand idea.

 

Poetry Reading: A WIDOW’S STORY, by Terita Buchanan Moore

Performed by Carina Cojeen

Get to know the writer:

 1) What is the theme of your poem?

The theme of my poem is how I overcame the tragic loss of my husband. Triumph after an unexpected tragedy.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

I wanted to inspire others in whom may have suffered an unexpected tragic loss, by sharing my pain and the power to overcome.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I have been writing poetry, since I was twelve years old.

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

It would be my late husband Frank Moore II.

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

It is my desire to share my gift of poetry with the world.

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

Yes, I am a published author of “My Sweet Thoughts of Poetry.”

7) What is your passion in life?

My passion is to uplift and encourage the masses in sharing my story.

 

Read Poetry: Feminism or Chauvinism? by Kinjal Jain

All hanging, dancing, hopping
at the border line
feminism or chauvinism?
Your opinion needs to have a spine!

Does hating brings equality
Or was #metoo only one gender in totality?

Does addressing a girl as a “son” changes anything
Or is it another way of discriminating?

Does dress length decreasing is the reason behind teasing
Or the real question is the upbringing?

Does the salary numbers matter too?
Or is it better, the man and wife, together they grew?

Does chivalry has to be a man’s asset
Or a girl holding the gate will be another better facet?

Yes the history has a strong story
The men has stepped over women’s glory.
But, the time has changed since
both have evolved past their sins.

The choice is yours to make
Which gender side you are on
Or was there ever a side to choose from?

Read Poetry: THE FISHERMAN, by Robin McNamara

The sea swelled and splashed
Against the hull of the boat
With its green net mountain
Disappearing into foaming waters

The fisherman’s hope and security
An old sea dog salted
And weather beaten from a
Lifetimes toil upon the waters

Times of hardships furrowed upon the brow
His story told by scarred hands
He respects the sea
Which has taken many a soul

Bowing his head in mournful grace
For comrades long gone by
In this forsaken element
Names inscribed on the memorial wall

Baptised at a tender fourteen
Saltwater dripping from forehead
As his arms ache from the harvesting
Proud to be gone from boy to man

Conquer of all that rises
from the living sea
Shimmering and glistening on deck
Pride on his fathers face

Now decades gone, no more to come
He will be spoken of in years to come
His eyes as deep as the Ocean
Have glanced their last trip.

By Robin McNamara

Read Poetry: RUDIMENTS OF BROKEN MUSIC, by Olabisi Abiodun Akinwale

To write a dirge
Is to burn without a touch of fire
.
A raven perched on my window last night
-it came with a song, named after your brothers
-and with echoes of maiden’s voices from sambisa
– it came with one-tenth of your father’s burnt ashes
-and with the chronicles of a lost boy on the street of Lagos
.
To break into wounded verses
Is to become a man of flesh and water- blood no longer flows in your veins
.
I have seen men with cuts on their tongue
Men, holding their names with blind metaphors
I have seen a mother run from her own blood
To the tent of survival beneath her skin
I have seen girls, living in sad memories
To hold history between their legs
.
We are but rudiments of broken music
We live till we become a poem, filled with emptiness- it’s the
mystery, skating between birth and death
.
I have tried carving God’s face with my pen
Tried holding beginning and the end with a verse
To know the why behind the whys between them
But, you don’t run with shoes laced with death
When competing with your shadows, wind and demons that paint your
sister’s face with colourless scars
.
‘Some poems are dead bodies in living beings, you don’t read them
without a touch of immortality’- says a poet
.
.
© Olabisi Abiodun Akinwale
Undiluted Poet
#UndilitedPoetry

Read Poetry: how we unfold love from the moon, by Nosakhare Collins

Lover…..

This is how to unfold love from the moon;
you seat close-by in your crux divan
watching your mouth and hands sleek into praise
into momentum desire that has blossom into revelry
you look up sky as the stars crosses your eyeballs
perhaps which one of them has heart to love;
glimpse the eye to ponder into felicity
but this is how love unfolds from the moon;
you seat right close to your lover
help lifting the hands up to the sky
where the moon unfold love into your river part
then wait as the moon fondle his way into you
crawling his love into your heart
flowers and gift of different kinds
as the flowers and gift break into blossom romantic
clumsy and holding memories with lit candle light
as songs broken into lyrics in the face of moon night.

Poet: Nosakhare Collins

About me—

Nosakhare Collins is a budding Nigerian poet, writer, literary critic and a tutor. He is a student in the Accounting department of Ambrose Alli University, Ekpoma–Edo State. His works including book reviews has appeared and are forthcoming in anthologies, journals and various literary outlets which include Sevhage Reviews, Antarctica Journal, Least Bittern Books, Dwart Magazine, Youth Shades Magazine, WRR (words, Rhythms and Rhymes) and so on. He is currently working hopefully towards his chapbook (a collection of poems). He writes from Nigeria, and can be reached through his Facebook: Nosakhare Collins, Twitter: @nosa_collins, Instagram: nosakharecollins

Read Poetry: Hanger Anger, by David John Shafer

Five chief virtues.

Achieving curfews.

Curb views.

Cell wishing.

Herb stews.

Blurb news.

Haggling hulk hues.

Aura acoustic truth fit.

Obtuse kit.

Muse wit.

Use it.

Noose bit.

Loose pit.

Eat love slay.

Ayer mi way.

All so filet.

The ego tale underway.

Gwyneth Paltrow production.

Inducted hall of fame suction.

Undone untuck bad luck spun.

Public displays of disgust.

Discussing distrust anti fist thrust.

Third eye throttler.

Trouncing toddlers.

Tottering robbers.

All’s well that ends in hell.

Cursed Earth’s dead.

Earth bled.

Gaia mother skin shed.

Love led.

Lost lovers lack leniency.

Even Steven sequencing.

Rebreathed frequencies.

Sequin seas.

Heavenly decrees.

Ebeneze ergonomic incendiaries.

Celestial fairies.

The derrière dare.

Fair hair wear.

Honorability* goner tranquility.

Assimilation imitation.

Meditation edit deviation.

TV dinner nation.

Yellow head condemnation.

(*Honorability-­‐concerning honor)