poetryfest

Read Poetry: The Lady in Purple, by Kat Fankhauser

People watch other people.

They look to see if they have any defects,

if they do,

the watching person,

judges them without saying ‘Hello’

They go home and make up stories about,

“The lady wearing purple today.

Was drunk and drugged

she couldn’t walk straight,

kept falling over,

just like a drunken, druggie

homeless guy.”

Misinformation posted to Facebook,

or Twitter and so many other social media sites.

Spreads this story, sharing to their friends,

who share it with their friends, who

share it with their friends.

Strangers believing the story,

about the lady in purple.

Judging her,

without knowing the truth,

without knowing her or even her name.

There is nothing wrong with sharing posts,

but it’s wrong to pass on gossip.

Because that’s all it is

Gossip.

This lady in purple,

may not be a drunk or druggie,

she may just have a balancing problem.

Or an illness that makes her wonky,

forgetful, strange or different.

I’m not saying don’t share stories,

I am saying don’t pass along

Misinformation.

Judging a person just from a glance

then making up a story

Is not right.

We want to stop youth and others

from committing suicide or

harming themselves.

We need to stop judging

We need to stop posting lies.

We need to stop staring.

We need to stop misinformation!

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Read Poetry: Spread Your Wings, by Lana Rafaela Cindric

Genre: LIFE

Let me tell you something:
No one is going to look at you, broken and shattered
and think -
Damn, you are beautiful.
No one is going to come pick up your broken pieces
off the floor
and assemble them into a beautiful whole.
Hell,
even you won’t look at yourself and think –
I made broken look beautiful.
You know why?
Because all those writers lied to you.
Yes,
all those with their poems of scraped knuckles and
blood dripping down chins,
pomegranate songs and loves that ripped through you
like hurricanes.
Liars.
So you and I,
we are going to make a plan.
You are not going to romanticize days when your
brain tells you to smash that mirror,
you are not going to romanticize the lover who
doesn’t understand you
but still writes about you.
Here is what you are going to romanticize instead:
You are going to romanticize the first day of spring,
its gentle hands all over your body,
lifting you up until you are as light as a feather.
You are going to romanticize the tea and honey kind of love,
no hurricanes,
but sunshine that builds you up from within,
that helps you make it through the worst days.
You are going to romanticize the gentle hands of a friend
in yours,
telling you that it is going to be okay.
because it is.
And don’t trust poets,
we’re no good,
we love pretending that our jagged edges tantamount
to a beautiful disaster,

but in reality – there ain’t nothing beautiful
about shaky hands holding a cigarette and
empty eyes staring at the cracks in the walls.
You know what is beautiful, instead?
The days when you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile,
scars and all.
Music that makes your soul flow like a river,
books that offer comfort,
families flocking together like overgrown birds to keep you safe and warm,
friends that give you strength when you can find none,
lovers who make you laugh through tears.
Baby,
from now on
you are going to romanticize healing;
honey dripping down your fingertips,
August nights that stick to your skin,
the day you find your purpose,
long car rides and singing so loud that no one can shut you up now.
Bad news:
no one is coming to save you.
Good news:
you can save yourself.

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Poetry Reading: LOVE SONG OF A JOURNEYMAN, by Vihang A Naik

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

Poetry Reading: A Single Atom, by Ivor Steven

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

Get to know the poet:

What is the theme of your poem?

The poem is about my turmoil of thoughts and doubts, between my recently departed wife, and my starting up of a new relationship.

What motivated you to write this poem?

Lots of bad dreams and guilt.

How long have you been writing poetry?

I’ve been writing poetry for twenty-two years, although I’ve only been going public with my writings for the last eight years.

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

I’d love to have dinner with Leonard Cohen.

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

The curiousity factor of listening to my words being articulated by some-one else, and to have my poem heard by the large audience of Poetry Festival’s readers.

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

Basically I only write poems, however I have written a few short stories.

What is your passion in life?

I’m an Australian, and my main passion is to travel to Canada and America, and visit family/relatives

Read Poetry: Escape, by Farzleen F. Khan

She escaped

The dreadful dread

Broke free from

The clutches

Waiting to hold her

Captive deep

Behind locked gates

Wrathed by a fury

She escaped

The feeling of

Having walked

A familiar street

Hassled by hustles

Bogged down

By the boredom

Of having flashing

Camera strobes

Delude her mind

She escaped

The crazy act

Of sensationalizing

Everything from

Her morning jogs

To her dragging her

Feet after sips

On the rocks

She escaped

The tabloid scenes

The torrid trash talk

The humiliating torment

The badmouthing imprints

The reality that sets her apart

The glam, glit and glory

She escaped

The foundation of her sanity

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Read Poetry: Fake News, by Vikky Lonie

I’ve decided to stop reading the news
It’s full of contradiction and misinterpreted views,
Bending of truths like a novelists muse
Inciting inspiration, stimulation, radicalisation but never the truth of the situation
Just a public announcement of the wrong account, a miscommunication or fake revelation
Is it an attempt at entertainment?
Lacking empathy, a cold report with no sympathy
Of death, disaster and misery
Attacking humanity
As they relish at the world flying in to abyss
I can’t be alone, wishing we would all hug and kiss
So, instead I’ve turned to poetry, where theres no need to encourage, provoke or lie
For words of poem can reach the sky, you cant deny
My interpretation is all I need to see
Where thoughts can wander, minds can ponder
I never need to wonder, if what’s written is fact or fiction
As a poet spilling his heart on paper, writing fast, creating friction
He goes to war with every etching
Of love and emotion of pain of gain
It’s truer than the mirror in which you see your face
It reads like silk and flows like lace
Spilling over with generosity, leaving a genuine taste
Whether of love or hate, faith or sin
It’s come from within where only truth can win

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Read Poetry: BIRDS FROM THE EAST BY SHARON MO SH

GENRE – ANIMAL LIFE

Birds from the east
Each one a hankery miniature beast
Friends I made by the fields
Everyday I toil until I sweat
But not the feathered chaps of the sky
They are birds from the east
All they do is fly
If not lie in their nests
Waiting patiently by the east coast
Praying for my head to turn west
Look at those black eyes
Getting darker with hanker
Birds from the east
Preying on my crops
All chattering in cabal
They eat their hearts out
Will I turn?
Will I alter my bearing?
What good will it bring
Leaving my paragon for the beast?
I will just wait until the sun set
They are birds from the east
They sleep by the night

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Read Poetry: INSOMNIAC’S LULLABY, by Ruthie B.

I’m feeling nervous

I’m feeling strange

My mind just wants to keep repeating

These things over again

I’m in a time warp

With my own brain

No longer wonder what it feels like

To be going insane

Sleep

You are no friend of mine

Save

These

Dreams

For some other time

Can’t stop these feelings

They come too fast

I’m at an early morning viewing

Mistakes From The Past

Turn

Back

Time

I’ve seen this one before

Break

These

Chains

Can’t do this anymore

Sleep

Please be a friend of mine

Eyes

I’ll try this one more time

I’m feeling nervous

I’m feeling strange

Ruthie B

Genre: pressure, life, fear, dark

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Read Poetry by Tiwari vikas ‘kaiv

once we met, loved, kissed,

hug and talk a lot to each other.
now we see each other,

and looked away our eyes,

as we forget our past.
we forget who we were, and are.
forgot the love,

which flourished

between our kisses

and warmth of our hug.
we forgot the color of our smile

and dazzle of our eyes.
i am not sure that it was you or it was me,
but yes! we forgot,

who decided first to start this forgetness.

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Read Poetry: MY WORLD, by Semih Bilgiç

four corners of my world

the sky beneath my feet

my house is from a glass jar

I live in sea

my friend fish

who tickles my feet

woke up just in time

got to go to work

where’s my sooks

permanent press my pants

I gotta shave in a hurry

I cut my face

I need to prepare my bag

unfortunately this my world

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