poetryfest

Sweet Wine In New Calabash, Poetry by Nestor Dzenchuo

Sweet Wine In New Calabash
How Blissful Thy Rosy Smiles, Honey
In Thy First Lob Into My Arms
The Grin Of Thy Upturn’d Mouth So Sweet
When We Dissolve In Blended Embraces

Thy People Produce The Best Of Raffia Wines
When I Taste The Sweet Of Thy Breathes
In Thy Kisses Merrily Must I Drink
Of A Rare But True Romance In The Air

How Blessedly The Day I Gleams’d Thee
In Bare-feet Thou Strut To Stream
Carting Water Calabash I Wish You Were Mine
Not? That Summer And Where It A Dream?

Now Thou Lie Cleav’d In My Love
Sweet Wine In New Calabash
The Scent Of Thy Breathes Like Fresh Wine
Recline Thou In My Promise Under My Thatch’d Roof

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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Oberon, Poetry by Robin Goodfellow

Genre: Pain, Life

—

Unborn leaves dance to sounds

of a bell’s hymnals, echoing

through May Day’s eve.

Amongst the light-rilled mist

and through the golden pavement,

upon a shore of stained glass

sat the shadow of a man,

whose life lay blessings from before.

How many prayers have fallen from his weary lips?

Crying out the names of his lovers and beloveds?

Racing dreams through his fields of melancholy?

Giving to sweet temptations upon loveless flowers?

Laughing at innocence, with warm hands, warm hearts,

while saving himself for winter’s sharp embrace?

And yet there he sits, the Courts moving without

him, never knowing the foolishness entwined in

his heartbeat.

He loves himself.

He hates himself.

But all the same, he continues to die,

never knowing the despair of his lies.

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

YEAR 2016, Poetry by Husaina Shabbir

This year sped by,

Waning away like a moon in the sky.

Exotic events took place this year,

New discoveries were made, my dear.

Twelve months whizzed pass splendidly,

Year’s goals were achieved flourishingly.

Sunny summers were longer,

It was an affect of global warmers.

X–mas was during winters thankfully,

Teenagers, children and adults enjoyed it tremendously.

England’s queen turned ninety,

Exactly ten years left for centennial jubilee.

New Year has arrived finally.

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

Welcome to Hell, My Son, Poetry by Justan Acre

Genre: Life

You didn’t need to summon me; I was always close by. I have been with you since the first day you told me you wanted them to die. You hate the world for the way it has treated you blaming others for all you lack. Every step you take forward they push you two steps back. You hate because they hate you each and every one. “It is time to make them pay”, I whispered to you, then you bought the gun.

You called upon me then and I wished you well – “kill them all and look upon them as you stand next to me at the gates of hell” “If you do this there will be no turning back but remember they stole from you, they are responsible for all you lack.” ” Their names you do not know only the faces you see. The faces laughing, taunting, looking away, yes, alive no more will they be.”

I saw a brief hesitation in your eyes, “use the Gun!” I commanded “You hate them each and every one! Do not hear their cries, do not listen to their lies.” “And you will watch them pass through the gates as you stand next to me, stand next to me at the gates of hell.”

And I watched with so much pride as you stole their life the way they stole from you. Your rage gunned down each and every one, no mercy you did show You killed nameless faces, maybe some you did know. It did not matter, they were numbers, you laughed as the death number did grow.

“Time for you to take your rightful place, my son, for you have served me well. For your reward, it is here with me where forever you will dwell. ” No longer will you stand next to me, now you shall pass through the gates of hell.” ” The lives you took were for me not you, why would I care about your rage?” ” Your soul I take with me forever to live like an animal in a cage. Do not look at me with eyes filled with surprise, it is your hate that made me rise. You called upon me for many years, in your youth, it was I who wiped away your tears. I filled you with hatred, you knew no fears. “You know my name now say it!! I hear your heart beating within. Yes, I have many names, my son, but the one I enjoy is Satan!”

“I must leave you now, another soul summons me, one full of more hate. So enjoy eternity with the ones you killed, for you are all together behind the gate.” ” Yes, you fool, you served me very well.”

” Welcome, my son, welcome to hell.”

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

first date, Poetry by dm gillis

Genre: Romance

—-

you should know, my dear

that there is no romance

like the romance of rhyme

& not just the sound

of sounds in time

but the spoil & echo of a night judged too long

when someone’s left weeping

& the air lush with wrong

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

NO BETTER DAYS SCHOOL BOY, Poetry by Fayia Foray

Genre: Life

—-

He strived to be formal but till date poverty sleeps in his pocket

Education is key to success, is hypothetical

Same the words: education is better than silver and gold

T’s all then.

Now is money?

These are the days when economy bites deep in thy flesh and soul

With poverty smelling in the atmosphere,

You’re uselessly educated while that uneducated is usefully rich and eating fat

When he was just young, he was bitten to school.

Seeing the elders in luxuries, he anticipates for success.

Dreaming the fantasy of success

He ate cassava mixed in the red blood of the palm tree,

Took naked steps in an unchanged uniform to the room of various

During the three steps you steadily suffer

Primary, you cry

Secondary, expense starts

Tertiary, ohh!, expenditure surrounds your body and activates thy soul

You spend dozens and thousands of thousands,

Counting millions and trillions for those in that chair who dislike same for you

Out of those three worlds, there is another which is heavier…the job.

T’s hard to come by

Walking with thy brown packet of ordinary papers seeking job

And your drop out friend is busy tailoring money in his tailoring shop

The two who is poor?

Perfume walks all over him while you stink in thy unbearable sent

After the Mighty, money laughs wherever, however and whenever.

I bet, it even slaps the law.

You’re sick when poverty dances on you.

Only learn for advantage but not for riches

Riches walk thy way with hard work and smartness

None is weak it’s only effort, and not thy rush makes you achieve the archive

Somehow, thy road must be made, but not when it’s over the long unabridged river

Poverty smells on you old-boy while you smile richness you see not

By Fayia Foray

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

Poetry, by James Spilman

WILDsound Festival

Genre: Life

—

There sitting beside you.

You look into his eyes and see a mirror or a bottomless well

Either way you can’t tell

Who’s there

In that chair.

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

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A Letter I’ll Never Send, by Amari James (aka Marz)

WILDsound Festival

Genre: LOVE

Love is an evil, evil thing. When you fall in love, you literally fall. You crash to the ground and every last bone in your body breaks. But you don’t notice because you have this beautiful boy whispering sweet nothings in your ear and giving you butterflies when he kisses your forehead, so nothing else matters. Then he leaves. He leaves, and you feel it. You feel every broken bone as if they’re breaking all over again. Your chest caves in and you find yourself crying hysterically in your car at 4am, desperately gasping for air that doesn’t taste like him, and trying to hold your broken bones together. But his old t-shirts don’t work as a cast; wrapping them around yourself won’t fix the craters in your ribs. Nothing will stop the aching; nothing will fix the hole in your heart that love has dug.

I always…

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Drawing, Poetry by Rebecca Behar

WILDsound Festival

Genre: Love, Relationship, Rhyme
—

These fines lines
In light strokes
Are sketched with
A trembling brush
Tears are shed
Without intention
Impermanence
A recurrent figure
In the symmetry of cycles
Where codes order
The world chaos
A touch of purple
For a blade of grass
Who knows
Where the storm comes from
Who knows
Where love will go

Dessin
Ces traits fins
Cette touche légère
Le pinceau tremble
Les larmes coulent
Où est l’intention ?
Impermanence
Un chiffre répété
Cycle ou symétrie
L’ordre des codes
Le chaos des mondes
Un brin de pourpre
Pour un brin d’herbe
Qui sait d’où vient
La tempête
Qui sait où s’en va
L’amour

* * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into…

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Watch Delirium of Memories, Poetry Movie by Gloria Gonsalves

Made by the WILDsound Writing Festival

Narration by Steven Rizzo

Visual Design by Carey Daiter

Produced by Matthew Toffolo

Close up of a yellow pencil erasing the word, ‘memories’ from old, yellowed paper