Author: poetryfest

The universe dozes at night and sleeps
And I remain awake, guarding your dreams
So that you don’t see anyone but me
My love doesn’t yawn from boredom
For it deserves the time of clarity
Oh features of the girl of dreams
I searched in the faces of all people
For a beautiful face that steals my breath away
Like yours, I found none
I searched and returned empty-handed
From everything except you
And my longing for you knows no bounds
You are a woman from whose branches
The petals of paradise hang down
Oh, you whose words are a river of excellent honey
I am mistaken; I did not learn the mathematics of love
I did not gaze into your eyes to learn the science of astronomy

t wasn’t very long ago, and it wasn’t far away.
This happened in America, just the other day.
A clown ran for President, and when the day was done,
And all the votes were counted
We found the clown had won.
Where did he come from?
One story is told, a Clown Car turned over,
Spilling clowns in the road.
His face was bright orange, his eyes were white circles,
He wore a long red tie and his jacket was purple.
Cotton candy was spun into a nest on his head,
Some days it was yellow, other days it was red.
He had a terrible temper. Very bad for a clown.
He was mean and ornery, and he put people down.
But he knew some clown tricks and he wore the right clothes.
He had all the makeup and a big red nose.
He sold hats and sneakers from the back of a Rover,
And he could lean really far forward without falling over.
Eventually the people deplored his behavior,
His unfunny ways, his asking for favors.
Many of them began turning away
And they voted him out, but he wanted to stay.
So, he gathered his friends, and he had quite a few,
And he said to those there, here’s what we’ll do.
When the time comes to leave, I just won’t do it.
I’ll stick in my place like I was glued to it.
Here is the message I want you to bring:
Tell the people to make me their King!
The Generals were horrified!
He expects to be glorified?
He colored the flag wrong! He botched up the anthem.
His only real skill was in throwing those tantrums.
He’s not related to anyone royal. Even to us, we can’t say he’s loyal.
But none of it matters, because here’s the thing,
The United States does not have a King.
We’re a Republic, we have a constitution you see,
That prohibits granting titles to nobility.
But there was no persuading this fake Clown King,
There was no convincing him to do the right thing.
When he was asked to step down,
He said “maybe” like a baby and threw ketchup around!
“Our time here is over” his Vice President said,
To which the clown King replied
“Off with his head!”
“Oh, what have we done” said a woman named Lizzy
And she wasn’t alone. They were all in a tizzy.
Our last King was George the third
And even George got the word
When we said, “Hey George there’s something lacking,
We’re paying you taxes and getting nothing back
And so, we hope you don’t get offended,
But we’re declaring our independence.”
It was July fourth, seventeen seventy-six,
When we and the monarchy called it quits.
There was a big battle, you know the story –
In the end, we raised the Old Glory
We made England take their flag home
And told King George to leave us alone.
So, you see Mr. Clown, here is the thing.
Even if we wanted to, we could not make you King.
Our Constitution won’t let us do it.
So, transfer the power, let’s get to it.
In the home of the free and the brave,
Our ancestors fought, their lives they gave
To guarantee us just one thing.
Nowhere in America will there ever be a King.

This monster of Dr. Frankenstein,
built with spare parts and raised
from the dead, escaped

a mob to kneel and learn to play
with flowers at the water’s edge;

the monster liked the girl’s flower,
learning to throw them in like her
with stitched-on hands;

the mob no longer mattered –
his eyes affixed on the flower
floating on the water.

We are born of fire
Of dust and dream
Rippling in the hush between galaxies,
Where silence first learned to sing.

Your breath is the exodus
Of stars sighing
In timeless sequence
Opening your smile
To my heart-
A flaring comet
Caught in the gravity of your gleam

We are the fusion
Whirlpooled in the core
Of great vastness
As the universe remembers
Where atoms long separated
Begin to dance

I trace the curve of your soul
Like constellations
drawn by ancient eyes
In the night between us
To find every light
That ever dared to shine

We meld into oblivion
Within imploding suns
Birthing a love that sings
Between the lingering clusters
Of stars that fall silent

Folded into flesh
Kissed into utter extinction
Let us burn
Not to end
But to become everything

(for my beloved)

I help my sister sweep away crumbs
out of her hair & dress.
Everything is quiet; a still,
soft echo of kisses and vows and cheers
still lingering. My sister trades her
bridesmaid’s dress for sweats, kicks
off her heels, sliding into sneakers and
trading a bouquet for her phone.
The sanctuary is empty, petals strewn
down the aisle & candles flickering
soft, still. Except for you,
filling the air with a familiar,
gentle melody–blushing with
courage as I noticed.
I still notice; still remember; still smile.

I’m going to hurt you by hurting me,
I want the world to understand my misery.

I’m going to pull the useless heart out of my chest
and drop it in a frying pan with oil and chives unless,
you reconsider protocols aborting care
and suture up my empty corpse with angel’s hair.

I am going to lop off little toesies one by one,
And toss them all at happy couples having fun,
Until you face reality and just admit it,
confess your love before I plumb run out of digits.

I will hang my kidneys from a silver wire
and pull out my adenoids with tungsten pliers.
If you persist in thinking that we are just friends
I’ll use a platinum hook on my vas deferens.

I’m going to hurt you by hurting me,
I want to shock the world into some sympathy

I’ll prise out a section of my lower bowel,
flatten out my bladder with a mason’s trowel.
If you won’t glove-up and then excise my pain
I’ll throw what’s left of me, underneath a train.

I’m going to hurt you by hurting me,
so you’ll see things my way and love me faithfully.

You won’t think I’m needy and emotionally unstable,
you’ll pull my twitching body off the vivisection table.
You’ll hold my stumps and swear that you’re forever mine,
and stitch my bits and pieces with the ties that bind.

God is holy
God is infinite
God is good
God is righteous
God is unchanging
God is faithful
God is just
God is gracious
God is merciful
God is loving
God is glorious
God IS.

Written by a young person at Child Study and Treatment Center

A Girl Made of Water
This poem is dedicated to N

The world has thrown a lot of challenges at me lately
It’s weird that once you gain a little
Everything gets taken away as well
Loss changes you as a person

I knew this girl
She was made of water
And she cried for her mom
And she cried for her uncle and her friends
But she never really cried for herself

Eventually the girl ran out of water
And a flame took its place

She was angry – giving so much to other people
But she never received
She was angry – people took too much
And the world took what little was left behind

Once she was left with nothing
She realized there was so much that wasn’t hers
That she could enjoy

I’m living to live
Loss changes you as a person
Enjoy the trees
Enjoy looking out a window
These simple things – their existence
Are yours to enjoy

Please respond the following questions with a number on a scale from one to five (one being least agree and five being most agree).

1. You would turn in your neighbor, should he be revealed to be an undocumented immigrant.
1 2 3 4 5

2. You would spit on him as he’s dragged from his house, his wife and child screaming after him as cops beat him over the head with batons.
1 2 3 4 5

3. You would visit the courthouse, sit in the gallery as a judge determines he should return to his home country where a violent gang or a corrupt government or a life of poverty or disease awaits.
1 2 3 4 5

4. You would take his job, his house, his wife and kid.
1 2 3 4 5

5. You would fill the space where he once stood with your warm body, gorging yourself on fortune and opportunity.
1 2 3 4 5

6. You would never hear about his death in the paper, in person, online. He doesn’t count to you. His life and death are meaningless.
1 2 3 4 5

7. It’s every man for himself out here. He would do the same to you.
1 2 3 4 5

8. He would.
1 2 3 4 5

9. He would.
1 2 3 4 5

10. He would.
1 2 3 4 5

11. You don’t hear howling in the night. You don’t hear orphans in the wind.
1 2 3 4 5

12. You don’t see blood on the kitchen counter, the bathroom sink, the stairs.
1 2 3 4 5

13. You don’t feel phantom limbs wrapped around your throat.
1 2 3 4 5

14. His wife is gone. Kid too.
1 2 3 4 5

15. They died a long time ago.
1 2 3 4 5

16. Your job lets you go for a cheaper option—this time, a citizen.
1 2 3 4 5

17. So this was all for nothing.
1 2 3 4 5

18. For nothing.
1 2 3 4 5

19. For nothing.
1 2 3 4 5

20. Do you feel safer now? More vindicated?
1 2 3 4 5

21. Was it worth it?
1 2 3 4 5

22. Do you feel like a big man now?
1 2 3 4 5

23. Are you more loved?
1 2 3 4 5

24. Smarter? More fulfilled?
1 2 3 4 5

25. This is all your fault.
1 2 3 4 5

26. You didn’t mean for this to happen.
1 2 3 4 5

27. Or did you?
1 2 3 4 5

The house stood still.
Light spilled
across the floor, soft as milk,
catching dust that drifted slow and lazy,
as if even time didn’t want to move.

Boxes yawned wide.
old spectacles too scratched to see through,
watches frozen mid-tick,
a silver dog souvenir,
proud and slightly ridiculous,
sitting there like it had always belonged.
And her address book, stained and stubborn,
clinging to names no one had dialled in years.

I knelt in the middle of it all,
surrounded by the beautiful mess
of a life carefully gathered,
then carelessly left behind.

There it was
her record sleeve,
corners curled, colours faded,
Dircinha Batista smiling up at me
from decades ago.

I lowered the needle.
Static grumbled first like the music itself
hadn’t quite had its coffee yet
then the song bloomed:
soft, cracked, familiar.

“Lá vai o meu trolinho”
I whispered, laughing a little at myself
when my throat caught anyway.

And just like that,
the room filled with her again:
rosewater and burnt coffee,
the slap of slippers down the fourth floor corridor,
her off-key humming,
her stirring soups she’d forget five minutes later.

Grief, it turns out,
is not one dramatic storm,
but bad weather with no forecast.
Some days it drizzles,
other days it pours.
And sometimes,
it makes you smile
at a silly silver dog souvenir
you never really liked.

I caught the glint of her golden bracelet on my wrist.
Thin, delicate.
Like her wrists had become,
birdlike and hollow,
yet even then,
her hands still curled around it in sleep…
as if love was muscle memory,
as if her body knew
what her mind forgot.

I closed the box slowly,
placing the record on top,
tucking the address book beside it,
next to that daft little funny dog
and the oil-stained recipe
she never finished writing.

These odd, ordinary things
the shape of her life,
packed in cardboard,
still warm from the sun.

The song played on,
trailing behind me
like a ribbon in the wind
cracked, stubborn,
refusing to stop.

I stood in the doorway,
the box pressed close against my chest,
and I knew she wasn’t there
not really,
not in the room,
not in the air.
But she was here,
in me,
stitched into the soft parts,
woven into the places
where love lives long after memory fades.

And even though this grief would stay…
This forever-grief…
its quiet, loyal kind of forever
so would the gratitude.
For every soup forgotten,
For every song remembered
for every tune sung off-key,
for every day
that I was loved.

So I smiled,
whispered goodbye,
and carried her forward.

Forever.