Poetry Reading: Unanswered Call by TAK Erzinger

Performed by Val Cole

 

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Producer/Director: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Festival Directors: Mary Cox, Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy

Camera Operators: Hugh Ritchie, Isabal Cupryn, Aser Santos Jr., Zack Arch

Poetry Reading: Saint – Kathleen my Mum by Patricia Poulos

Performed by Val Cole

 

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Producer/Director: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Festival Directors: Mary Cox, Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy

Camera Operators: Hugh Ritchie, Isabal Cupryn, Aser Santos Jr., Zack Arch

Read Poetry by Santos Rodriguez

I slid down the darkened path; heart screeching
Left crying yelling to God an ultimatum of me; fix me
Tired of failing and quoting sad songs by heart; God why happiness doesn’t rain down on me?
Roving through fucked up imagery of past times; trying to get past this time one more time.
Tried cursing and fucking with the chemicals in my mind to alleviate the burden of self burden; stopping myself each time except for this time no protection given unto self, this time.

No happy fills me, no love feels me; why can’t I feel me? I’m tired of not feeling me – the storm of softness to end this storm of me. Nothing relieves the pressure of me…..I bet it feels blissful being loved? Being together with love and holding love and breathing it. I bet it feels fucking great – and great feeling it. Tell me someone how much you fucking love me.

I slid down a pathway of darkness, lit by fire it was still darkness because for me this was the way to a mirrored image of me and a fight I was ill prepared for and didn’t have the tools to wage the greatest war on earth but it ain’t a fault of mine that I blame. Nope. Not a fault of me. Not this time: I forgave myself to only punish myself for trying to live myself.

Drunk me wrote this one, drunk me told this one, drunk me made me drink this one. Drunk me let me become the drunk one. Drunk me gave it up and turned to drunk me for the guidebook that didn’t exist because drunk me gave up. Drunk me gave up. Drunk me gave up. This one, drunk me gave up. And I ain’t done with this one!

Drunk me became drunk me because somewhere between commitment for self and commitment for them I chose them and failed me. I tied shoes that didn’t belong to me as a youngster. I took what didn’t belong to me for them and they chose them after. I made myself feel like everyone else’s and no one stranger reminded me of me. Who I was. Who I was. Fuck life and the horse that asshole bitch rode in on. Fuck that hoe who let me cave in to my own weaknesses; the weaknesses that I misguidedly sown.

Yeah I did it, I committed, I witnessed me. Tore down, ran down, ran down, yeah me. I understand the fight I lost and the aftermath of the aftermath I have left to pursue. I have nothing. But an almost empty bottle of nothing. Yeah I know, I hurt, I cry tears of self pity and self issues of noneworth but none is worth-y. Yeah drunk me wrote this one down the darkly lit path of darkness lit by fire that I lit and got burned by but I blame not I. Nope not this time.

Read Poem: Mirrors by Natanya Anty

Mirrors illustrate impartial reflections
Unacquainted with pain, a true misconception
A beautiful smile decorates an injured soul
More than what meets the eye, a story left untold
Mirrors cannot capture chapters of depression
Bleeding hearts are discovered by the art of expression
A masterpiece lies behind these solid walls of glass
Direct pathways to the heart, disheveled by the past
Silent emotions, shaded by fear
Images in the mirror are not always what they appear
Blind perceptions dictate what is revealed
Concealing stages of brokenness, pleading to be healed
The mystery of mirrors will never reflect
The agonizing pain, we choose to accept

Copyright © Natanya Anty

Read Poem: i dropped acid by Michael Scott

mr natural sunshine blotter

to be specific

given by a house painter friend

i got the 12 gauge and shell vest

called up Smokestack the bird dog

and drove to a vast Oklahoma hunting preserve

after Smokestack had pissed on enough bushes

and i was geared up, locked and loaded

we walked off into the trees and meadows

all brown and gray and olive drab

dead grass snapped and whispered as we passed

going nowhere in particular

just me following my dog

in the crisp fall woods

Smokestack moved in quick short arcs

his nose in the grass

then stopped dead, leaning taut, pointing at a thick hummock

quail burst from the grass

small camouflaged explosions

accelerating straight up then out

Smokestack jumped forward

enthralled, the gun cradled unused in my arm

i watched them go, glide and land

invisible in the tree line

we walked on into a large clearing

grass waist high

i sat down, the grass tops above my head

shotgun resting across my lap

Smokestack was ranging about far away

i could hear his every move

small creatures scurried about and dug into the earth

birds chittered and spoke to me from the trees

the grass moved gently with the wind

playing the quiet symphony of the fields

after some while, for time had little meaning

i whistled up my dog

and we went home

11/27/18
COPYRIGHT MICHAEL DOUGLAS SCOTT

Read Poem: Ode to the Rose by Julia Nicole

Rose,

your beauty,

millions upon millions of petals,

how deep do you go?

Coloring of blood,

feel of velvet,

symbol of love,

though pretty,

like a prey,

you’ve got your defenses.

The way you fade,

into the color of poison,

it warns all the others,

need not inhale,

need only touch,

for with just such,

the little blades will sink,

through their pale thieving hands,

and real blood will flow.

Beauty you can’t touch,

you’re all tricky sirens,

you attract bees,

with your color,

your scent,

your intricate patterns,

enticing,

how you dance with the wind.

Genre: Ode, Love, Flowers

Read Poem: The Spiderman by Paul Wood

My neighbour was a strange man
He kept himself to himself
I saw him once in the garden
We talked across the fence

I couldn’t see him properly
He hid himself amongst the shadows
There was something strange about him
He had many eyes, legs and elbows

He spoke really eloquently
And wheezed while he conversed
This was the first time I had met him
My strange neighbour all grungy and cursed

“My name is Spiderman
I am an arachnid friend or foe
I don’t get out much at all these days
And live here all alone”

We spoke for ages that morning
About politics and food and wine
He told me all his favourite dishes
Which sounded rich, exotic and divine

“Come for dinner”, said Spiderman
“Come at half past five,
I will bake you some tasty cakes
And make you a special pie”

His strange expression did not falter
As he stared into my eyes
His grin revealed disbelieving teeth
His mouth spouted a stream of lies

“That would be really lovely”
In hindsight I was a little naive
He smiled as he slowly retracted
Into an unusual hammock he had weaved

I came to his house that evening
In my best suite and tie
The front door was already open
As I went in, the door shut firmly behind

I was conscious of music, the walls echoed it’s sound
Of a classical masterpiece a familiar stirring symphony
The needle it popped and jumped and scratched
Melodically filling the air of a hideous stench of sympathy

A voice from the end of the hall
Quietly hissed it’s demands
I headed through the last door on the right
I couldn’t resist It’s demanding charm

“Come in, come in, don’t be so shy
The table is already set
A place for one, is just as much fun”
It was a decision I was soon to regret

The room was dimly lit
With wax spilt candles of varying size
The walls adorned a shade of red
I didn’t recognise

It was un-inviting with little furniture to fill
I noticed everything was encased in dust
Other than a table, a chair, a leather couch and mirror
There was a strange and powerful odorous musk.

I sat down in his dining room
I sensed that he was near
I could see him lurking in the shadows
It was all becoming frighteningly clear

“Are you not joining me?”
I nervously enquired
“Oh yes of course” said the Spider-Man
As he poured me out a glass of wine

He danced weirdly about the room
His many limbs moving poetically across the floor
Using items of furniture to pirouette and duck and bow
Until I he stopped at a large wall mirror

“I find the aggression of each instrument, played till fingers bled,
An erotic addition to my dangerous thoughts,
It makes me aroused to what I plan to devour”
Said Spiderman to his partial reflection in the mirror.

There was no cutlery on the table
No plates of fresh baked cakes
I was all alone inside his house
I sensed a huge mistake

Before I had a chance to move
He wrapped around his legs
In my ear he whispered “don’t you struggle my pretty”
As he softly kissed my head

I trembled with fear and loathing
I was hypnotized under his spell
Around me he quickly spun his silky thread
And licked my eyeball jell

His thread became tighter and tighter
I was unable to move
I screamed at him “let me go you beast”
As he darted around the room

The Spiderman laughed hysterically
I was bound up in a webbed cocoon
I was at his mercy
Licking his lips he slowly picked up a huge spoon.

His legs darted out into the blackness
As he held onto me once again
He said, “ I invited you round for dinner’
“But I feel I need to explain”

“The cakes I never cooked
But I did say I would make you a pie
You are my lovely ingredients
It’s time to say goodbye”

He spooned out my brain juice, nibbled on my legs
And mashed up my heart and liver
He sucked on my bones until he was full
And finished me off with a stomach churning liquor

It was all too late for me I am afraid
But for your own safety you must always consider
Never ever visit the Spiderman’s house alone
If he decides to invite you round for dinner.

.

Read Poem: SHATTERED by Aaliyah Salia

I am crying.
I am hurt.
I have hope,
but it’s not enough.
No one knows what I’m going through,
No one can understand why my heart is shattered.
Everyone is happy and supporting you,
and although I want to do the same,
I can’t bring myself to.
Why did you have to hurt me like this?
I loved you so much that the rumors are now burning me.
I still love you more than anything,
I just want us to meet and let you see the true beauty.
Seeing you with someone else is making me mad,
The moment I woke up, my SNS was filled with you and her.
My mind went blank,
As if I was falling into a deep, dark hole.
And my eyes stung so badly,
That in the end; after holding myself from breaking in front of everyone,
I ended up crying even more.
I just want this rumor to be a rumor.
I don’t want to confirm this.
I don’t want to believe this.
I don’t want to believe this…
Please, my love.
I love you.
I truly love.
Don’t betray me like this.
I will pray for us endlessly,
So just come back to me.

Read Poem by Teja Rk

Poem

I am best at keeping the things in order and neat but I prefer being lazy
I am expert in managing the relationships but I prefer being single.
I can afford all means of transportation but I prefer walking.
I am good at exploring new places and meeting new people but I prefer staying in my room and spend time with me.

Genre

Introvert, Solitude, philosophy

Read Poem: P A R I S by Natasha Anne Kelleher

GENRE – CITIES

On a Par is….. Paris
The Grand Dame of them all
Paris mon cherie
You are lover to us all
City Of Romance – we yearn to hear its call
The Champs Elysees – The Eiffel Tower
Pinnacles d’amour…. unashamedly we all adore

Coco Chanel, Toulose Leutrec
The Moulin Rouge its CanCan Dancers… how can we forget
Legends like Piaf that have no regrets
River Seine in the morning – then lit up at night
Imagine we are sailing on it, a lover in sight

The quartier La Marais with its boutique magasins
Pâtisseries delectable food displayed in colourful array
Coffee al fresco where lovers gaze into each other’s eyes
Then promenade to the Ritz
L’hotel that holds secrets
Of love’s arrows and inclandestine trysts

All over the world cities change
Yet Paris stays like a constant companion
Welcoming the curious, lonely and the lost
Healing and restoring them again back to sane
Recovering them resplendently from life’s hefty blame

Paris….. never fails to deliver……
A myriad of experiences setting hearts a quiver
Haute Couture Fashion feted around the globe
Excites women everywhere – teasing them, whoever they are….
To remember always…. to dare….to wear their beautiful robes

Artists still flock to the palette of the world
To dazzle, inspire and make art, our care
Whether they display their drawings dans la rue or at The Louvre
They do so with such joi di vivre and complete savoir faire

Ancient buildings sandy coloured and white
When looking upon it you could still be in another century
One of grandeur and political might
Renaissance or Baroque no matter where you look or walk
Paris… Paris…. is the city which incites us to turn curiosity’s key…..
Childlike a peep through the keyhole, then teasingly unlocked
Where we re-connect with our feelings and once again to take stock
Of lives lived, yet so much more to do,
So walk to the Arch de Triumph and stand afore it and swear
That Paris will have nurtured you once again and to pledge allegiance
To all of its secrets and the treasures found there…………….

Copyright:- Natasha Anne Kelleher 2011