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: Too many questions, too little answers, by Juan Miguel Idiazabal

All things said and done,

I’m still looking through the shattered stained glass for a solution,

a brighter day may come,

but unless I tune my ears,

it will fade away,

like a little sister who drowns in tears of despair,

her pink bunny transformed into a dildo,

her dildo transmutated into a womanizer,

her womanizer turned into a confessor,

her confessor converted into an A-bomb,

her A-bomb changed into tears of despair,

like a little suicidal sister who drowns in sweet virginal blood,

a real solution for imaginary problems?

an imaginary solution for real issues?

The world keeps spinning round and round,

a week ago, thousands of children died of hunger in Africa,

six days ago, another Qom cried because he/she was no longer free in a democratic country,

the next day, 5 CEOs moved the clock down to extinction for marlins close to 0,

four days ago, nothing happened?

three days ago, another one bite the dust while sending a tweet,

the next morning, police raided a theatre looking for drugs, while a judge bought it in the courthouse,

yesterday, 523,245 million dreams and hopes fade away,

today, a little sister was sodomized, while I was writing this poem,

an answer knocked at my door,

I wasn’t the proper question for it,

she went back to the world crying in despair,

no one believe the story we told,

she bleed herself alone and ashamed to death…

Read Poetry: How to walk on the moon, by Micheal Ace

Your arm needs to be strong
If you wish to neil your dreams to trees
And watch as they mock the wind.

To survive is to walk out of fire
With wet skin and damp cloth.

How do we know you’ve spelt survival
If you do not send your ashes home-
To burn is to become a new being.

Mother punished my brother last night
She rubbed pepper over his prick.

I heard him groan; fighting for peace.
I heard him say he’ll grow up, find freedom
And watch mother starve, in pain, to death.

He knew what it means to seek vengeance
But not survival- he left home at dawn.

Do not cut yourself if blood startles you.
You cannot win a war without wasting a soul
And you cannot lose without being a wasted soul.

To survive is to eat a neighbour’s flesh
And drink from another man’s blood.

But there are already footprints on the moon
You do not need a strong arm anymore
Or need to neil your dreams to trees

You just need to write a suicide note
And set to walk on the sun- live

Breaking new boundaries

Read Poetry: AT THE PARK, by Ariel Westberg

A low-slung mist

stultifies the LA sunscape, setting the stage to play

the part of a rainforest’s cupola.

But rain doesn’t come

even though I am ready.

Boots and sweater, and a nameless

heartache to accompany

my attire,

hibernation

at times suits me,

but these days, these years,

I can ill-afford the luxury

of wallowing, of pining, of yearning.

Today, through the trenches of a familar

yet unknown abyss,

I cradle myself,

filled with a boundless love,

as intricate and vast

as the stuff of dreams.

A runner, springy and supine,

passes as I sit.

I feel catatonic but my soul,

a burbling brook, joyously knows

the routes of God.

Knows the loving hands that hold me

like a child holds a love-worn doll,

perfectly beautiful to eyes

that have seen all its years,

limbs gone missing,

hair brushed out of its head,

a marble eye rolled down a drain,

smudges that have turned to stains

forever,

I am loved that way.

– Ariel Westberg

Read Poetry: A Forgotten Scent, by Curls

A flower fussed her scent in the vast of a drought field.

Craving to lure an amusement that surely will strengthen her built.

Leers peculiarly to subjected attraction yet moans an impassioned lilt.

She naively guarded herself with her own thorns to feel the comfortable guilt.

Stagnant cycle of season slithers past her unascertained heed.

Leaves, petals, and even her stigma flourished brightly to be curtsied.

Rattled by edginess by mused idea of affection grunts harder to concede.

Utterly unaware with those luxuriant insects who meanders around quite honeyed.

Kismet turned dearly frazzle as her stack’s delusion and realization bleaks to morose.

Professed stipulation to weave off shadiness of other insect to propose.

Her gorgeous blades started to cloak as her desire substantially discompose.

Hatred consumed her entire sense that even her resented fragrance fizzles as overdose.

A moment clinched as she confined herself while lurking inside her sepals.

Felt sudden annoyance to the bizzare guise of the wild flowers acting like crystals.

“No bees, butterflies, nor bugs shall descend on how you ramble.” she jabber thus bestial.

All smirk shifted to fiery glare as she expresses mockery dry down and dull.

Colony of bees roamed fully while she rested deeply in her own stems of lair.

Awakened by the empathetic drone then made her furious even if it’s just to stare.

Witnessed the riot over some nectar that she ever dreamed expression to be fair.

“I am dazzled with beauty, glamour, else perfection. Am I not attractive enough?” she begged to differ.

Miserably hid in silence to avoid the spikes forming in her cold dark heart.

“Enticing yet delicate” blasted by the butterfly whilst completely amazed by her come apart.

Startled by the curious gesture which also made her feel uplifted and continued to impart.

They both felt the strangest and strongest connection implicates that something is yet to start.

The butterfly spent his day to twaddle, gawk, and make her smile with just a distance close by.

“It’s my pleasure to see you bloom, finally.” He divulged. “Come closer.” She excitedly imply.

“I can’t.” he muttered as his face immediately explicit fear, anxiety, and inability to try.

Tension arises as her in-depth wrath constantly spoiled as her stutter outcry.

Day after day, the flower regrets the harsh doubts that made him left without a trace.

Weakened as the eroded damper enchants her entire system to wilt due to haze.

She began to slowly incline and shattered every hope to another phase.

Shock bonded her eyes as she sees the deteriorating familiarity deface.

Unaware that she liberates toxic nectar that harms other insects to death.

All of those who attempted and falls by her enticing scent will soon lose their precious breath.

Around her were diversified possession formed as a tragic beautiful wreath.

All of them will soon be forgotten just as how dust gasts in the isolated brooding heath.

~Curls

12/24/17

Genre: Sadness, Death, Love, Fear, Anxiety

Watch the NOVEMBER 2017 Poetry Readings

Poetry Readings performed by Val Cole & Carina Cojeen

The Bane of Whitechapel – Poetry Reading by Lee A Forman

Maybe, There Is Still Hope – Poetry Reading by Melissa R. Mendelson

INDIAN SUMMER – Poetry Reading by Vihang A Naik

FRUSTRATION – Poetry Reading by Patricia Marvin

Escape – Poetry Reading by Farzleen F Khan

Beautiful Dead Dragonfly Why – Poetry Reading by James Gaynor

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read Poetry: HALFWAY TO SOMEWHERE I DONT WANT TO GO, by Number 43

Genre: Travel (England)

Missed connection
an hour to wait
Walk a circular mile
No beer house in sight
Minutes take hours
Another cigarette
Red diesel fumes
Sickly sweet perfume
Chopped ham and liver
Grantham

Read Poetry: Image of a Rustic Girl, by Aju Mukhopadhyay

Who could bring dry wood
from the wood
once the rain would start?
For fear of getting them on her head drenched
the wench ran under the darkest clouds overhead
gnashing their teeth sounding like fart
threatening her safe journey to homestead.
Steady and alert
quickly to come out of the wood
she ran faster than her mood.

It was nothing but a play
among the rain and the cloud
with the damsel and the wood;
but she was an elf, gossipmongers say
(c) Aju Mukhopadhyay, 2017
Category: Romantic and rhyming