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.

RHYME Poem: My Home My Bliss, by Rumaisa Reza

His disheveled hair– scattering all over his face.
Even a messier state would make my heart race.
The morning sun loved to shine all over his beauty.
The night would argue, “Carrying the moon is my duty.”
Sharp eyebrows with his tone line structure.
Slightly furrowed together, displaying their culture.
Those green eyes; always too shy.
Still was enough for my mind to occupy.
His lowered gaze would barely meet mine.
Everyday, his stars find numerous ways to shine.
Just to focus. Those orbs forget to flatter.
Making place for his long silky hairs to scatter.
His hair feels soft when he permits me to ruffle.
Again fix them up. Smooth and reshuffle.
Those brushed cheeks never lacked blush.
One time to touch. Oh, that’s like mush.
His lips– apart from each other.
I’d rather stare at them forever.
Upper one’s faintly plump and mellow.
Bottom one’s an obedient fellow.
Together they’re signs of creation.
A smile on them. Great combination.
His warm tone caresses my fragile petals.
Carrying comfort before another moment settles.
A gentle nod for affirmation.
Even when my request lost location.
From the very start, it’s his habit.
Affection never mind any limit.
He never gave anything much heed.
Unless the matter involved me for any need.
Agreeing on matters about early relicts.
To avoid some unnecessary conflicts.
I don’t know anymore if it’s true.
Luck favors. Never had such a clue.
Until he became the path to my home.
I’d ask him every time. My hope. My home.
We enjoyed the sunset in the mountains.
Of shared emotions, we both were accountants.
I asked if this could be our forever.
I asked if you’d leave, your promise was “Never.”
That’s all my desires ached for.
My smiles. The ones you bring and adore.
I started loving my existence.
Just to hear your kind words of brilliance.
Though sometimes the night would stay.
Again together, we solved them away.
That’s how strong has been our bond.
Of you, I can’t help being fond.
Those moments are still precious.
I’d love to make more of them with us.
Though words aren’t enough, I still wrote this.
Oh my home, you’ve become my bliss.

GRIEF Poem: The Game of Grief, by Amy Yuan

Grief cuts deep.
It hides in your bones,
plays peek-a-boo.

You dig
until your insides
spill, splattered wide.

Tag, you’re out.

Only to realize
there are more
Monsters than one.

A layered web
threaded through
past lives, too.

You swim to surface,
gasp for air,
choked
by silent screams.

You reach out
looking for God,
but He’s not here.

Matter to dust.

They say He’s
with you.

Yes, They are.
And they’re here to
play again.

By: Amy Yuan

TRAGIC Poem: Rose, by Dylan Pullen

Do you remember playing outside? Tossing me pitches while you stayed to the side. Or maybe the games we’d sit and watch? We both believed the Braves would always be top-notch! These small, genuine moments lost in the space of time are the same ones I replay right before Bedtime.

How about birthdays? You made them the best! Other Grandma is my favorite, I’d declare from my chest. Nobody understands, but I see it so clear. You loved me for me, it still brings me to tears. You were my world and my reason to push, to impress grandma, these guys had to get Crushed!

I’ll never forget the Christmas’s we spent huddled together. To me, being by your side couldn’t be better. Dinner was always a statement, delicious and divine. I’d call dibs on ribs number 2 through 9! The gifts were awesome but never my number 1 reason. Being around your favorite people can thaw your heart from freezing.

Your lessons in manners never went unheard. Always in my heart, every single word. You taught me to be a man and carry myself with pride. I told myself your funeral, would be the only time I cried.

You’d tell me my games were the greatest, and you can’t wait to see them. Increasing my confidence, I’d do anything to beat them. I loved to see you smile and clap when I showed up. It showed me my love meant so, so much to someone.

I carried this confidence even when we were apart. Knowing I had a family to represent, who had been there from the start. With my chest held high, there was none who could phase me. I had the best support group possible, not only to push me but also to accept praise with me. Beginning in youth football, my mindset developed. I was going to be the best, whether they wanted me to or not.

I never believed time would run short. Some day soon, the lord will call you to his court. To 10 year 10-year-old me, my world was falling apart. The pain still lingers deep within my heart. With the time we had left, I made the most. Every March 31st, I raise a toast to the host whom I loved the absolute most.

I vividly remember exactly when time froze. The angels had called, and it was your time to go. I never thought it’d happen so soon. There was so much to show you before you soared past the moon. Unspoken words, but shared through prayer. I’m positive they reached you, the only reason I care.

Mom brought me to the funeral, Dad was waiting outside. I embraced him and told him to smile, Grandma loved us both for a good long while. She saw the best in us and believed with all her heart. It was her world, we were just here playing our part. Our suits were matching black, with flowers in hand. Going to see the women who made both of us men.

A chip on the shoulder is what most people called it. A reminder to be great, from the one who told me first. What separated me from the rest was who brought me up from my worst. A mentality of steel and a will to break any curse.

This carried on throughout my sports career. Always working to improve year by year. They would ask what pushes me, why I show up so early. Because I have a beautiful woman watching up where the gates are pearly. High school was hard without her on the sidelines, but having her in my heart was enough to handle the blindside. From switching schools to moving states, the hardships were tough. Through prayer and belief, I knew I’d be more than enough. Then high school ended, and adulthood had to begin. First stop on my 18th birthday was a chair with a pen. My first tattoo, I knew, had to be something special. The woman I loved the most deserved flowers and rose petals. It was a sacred moment, one that meant everything to me. I finally had something that made me smile whenever it was seen.

Your impact is incredibly hard to put into words. Me and dad sit and talk all through summer. Sharing stories and tales of our journeys together, 2 of grandmas peas in a pod, from the exact same feather. I’ll miss you forever, that never has to be told. I will achieve greatness all for my Beautiful Rose.

BODY IMAGE Poem: The Mirror Turned Sideways, by Fendy Tulodo

At midnight, the old spoon started whispering rusty words into the dark.

Once, there were walls that believed in straight lines.
They measured backs, wrists, cheekbones.
If you tilted your spine too early or too late,
you failed the shape they demanded.

A screen buzzed quietly,
offering replacements for reflection.
Not truth, but suggestion.
There, shapes bent themselves into praise.

A mouth tried to match those suggestions,
tightening each morning,
pulling at skin like laces on boots
tied by someone else’s hands.

Nothing screamed,
but something recoiled each time a passing glass
refused to tell the same lie twice.

No one knew the eyes were never used.
Just fingers, brushing edges of a face
learned by shape, not sight.

The spoon kept hanging,
crooked and wrong,
yet more honest than the polished panels
the world chose to call beautiful.

In the end,
it was not broken glass that caused harm—
but perfect glass
that never broke at all.

BODY IMAGE Poem: Just Some, by Alex Eastham

Some days I feel good
Some days I feel as I should

Just Some
Until the mirror shatters my fragile kingdom

Shop ’til I drop
Do you think I can pull off this top?

Spinning, twisting, turning
Every angle leaves me hurting

This should go back on the rack
On me, it looks like a baggy old sack

Some days are fine
Some days things just align

Just Some
Only Some

Comparison is a hard hitter
More so when it’s with my sister

With an abundance of clothes, she would just criticize
“So I’ll grab yours. Because on me, it’s a bit more
oversize”

How can you not be a bit haughty
When you’ve got that tall, volleyball body

Some days I’m proud
Some days I even say it aloud

Just Some
Until reality makes me feel dumb

My strategy is to self deprecate
Hopefully, it will deflect external hate

“You’re just fishing for complements”
Why will no one catch onto all the hints?

I know in this issue, I’m not alone
But the lonely feeling does nothing but drone

Some days I’m confident
Some days things all fit

Just Some
Until a few stairs make my heart drum

I’m squishy here, squishy there
I’m really just squishy everywhere

A bump here, a lump there
Maybe I can cover this up with my hair

“Working out makes you feel better”
But when will the scale show a lower number?

Some days I have energy to move
Some days I really get into a groove

Just Some
Until I’m back to feeling numb

Meals find themselves planned
But after a while, it just gets bland

Media pulls me left and right
But my jeans have been feeling a little tight

Some days I love my features
Some days I want to show them off

Just some
Until people poke fun

“Donate some of those to me”
Sure, I never asked to be a triple D

This covers my cleavage, and that covers my butt
“Man, that outfit really makes you look like a slut”

The neck is too low, the fabric too tight
“Will you please keep those things out of sight?”

“Your body is a temple”
I wish it really was that simple

“Beauty is on the inside”
Maybe this giant shirt will help me hide

We’ll just wash rinse and repeat
A never ending cycle

Just some

But when it’s not those some days,
I feel trapped in my body

Some days I feel good
But some days are
Just Some

DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE Poem: MY FATHER’S HANDS, by Mimi Ayers

He’s done about everything with his hands:
Pick cotton one year, tobacco the next
Load ammunition in one war, clench fists in another
Wash dishes
flip burgers
Cobble shoes with sturdy soles for those fine leather uppers
Sort mail
Carry his first-born baby girl to his mother’s arms
Repair watches, dentures too –
DIY penny pincher
Move hot steel with a 5-lever, 7-ton crane
Install parts, motors, transmissions
Fix a flat, anything to get a car rolling again.

Tools
like
Toys

Weld, dig, cut
Saw the wood
Mortar the bricks
Pour the cement
Size and fit
Pound those nails
Plaster those walls
Paint inside, paint outside
Any kind of plumbing, and wiring –
A house well built.

So much he could do with his hands,
But he never held mine.

After note:
When I read this poem to my father, his only comment was “But I held you in my arms.”