Go to the poet’s website: https://hellolaurentms.com.
Performed by Esther Thibault
******
Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Camera Op: Mary Cox
Performed by Esther Thibault
******
Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Camera Op: Mary Cox
Performed by Esther Thibault
******
Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Camera Op: Mary Cox
On the cold night of December 23,
As I was walking by the lake,
Laid on the grass, a beautiful key,
Remarkable, hard to make.
Tempted to find the door it belonged,
I walked here and there.Yet,
Found nothing after searching for long,
So I sat on this side chair.
Didnt realise what happened next,
But I woke up at the same spot.
Everything seemed simple yet complex,
As I sat on the chair I had sought.
It was evening when I woke up,
And people were walking around.
Medieval seemed the whole setup,
And the currency spoke of a crown.
On the far side I saw a man,
Who looked just as did I.
Smiled, left a note and a pen,
Written, “I am glad you came by”.
Further said…
“I wonder how it will be,
A reflection from the future far,
Let I alone find this key,
And smile while feeling bizarre”
By,
Nishant Gang
Genre:- Fiction
A tweet from a party; 100 young people showed up
Two died, but the tweet said, “We gon turn up!!!”
Vice Lords, bloods, crips, MS-13, etc etc…
Skin color, social and sexual status…people we gotta do betta
It’s one thing to die of cancer or some terminal disease
But it’s a whole ‘nother ball game when it’s a bullet or a senseless beating
Senseless acts of violence that we wreck our brain to understand
We try to make sense of it logically but… we just can’t
5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 years old
Finding their little bodies chopped up in dumpsters; but they screamin’ gun control
I apologize if that turned your stomachs; but I hope it made you squirm in your seat
Painting the picture of this sinful world is not always a portrait of pretty
Drugs, alcohol, money, guns, knives, hatred…
But if you think that’s the problem, you’re sadly mistaken
God is love but where is He; I thought He promised never to leave
Oh…He’s still there; we’ve left Him, out of selfishness, confusion, fear, and greed
Kids raising kids and children killing children
I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed but something’s wrong with that picture
Where are we, adults…some of us are acting just like them
They don’t learn violent behavior on their own; step back and think about where they get it from
They get it from the OGs that only know how to ask what set you claim
They get it from the Mafioso who is only striving to be a made man
They got it from that man they saw beating on that woman
They got it from that woman they saw selling her body on the Bissonnet corner.
What’s the solution? Turn back to God? Naw, you a punk if you do that!!!
But have you ever stopped to think why the world wants you to think like that
Our love for one another has waxed cold;
Where there is no God, there is no love
Where there is no love, there is no sense
But we try to make sense by making dollars
What sense does that make at the expense of mom, dad, brother, sister, son, and daughter?
Love is the solution and God is the source
Jesus Christ is the way, the truth, the life
Now you have hope and a choice
Copyright © All Rights Reserved by ~JSPEAKS~ TM
Jerome T. Covington, MBA
(JSpeaks The Poet)
For Booking:
https://linktr.ee/jspeaksthepoet
I’ve seen hearts as hard as stones,
I’ve seen strong men who could crush bones,
I’ve seen families torn apart by the raining of drones,
I’ve seen houses drop with a touch of a cyclone,
I’ve seen and learnt that the deadliest disease is being alone,
I’ve seen children, through no fault of their own, their lives are torn,
I’ve seen death doesn’t send a postcard or remind on a microphone,
I’ve seen that everyone goes back and answers to the One on the throne.
Ismail Satia, Blackburn, UK
Grabbing on to the plane, you fly – clouds above and below/
Hours later it continues, as does your belief that this is the way /
You find a way into the plane /
The doors lock /
Now you are stuck, bloodying fingers as you scratch towards the outside /
There is only one way out /
The once-plane lights up the dreary head-space /
Flying on squirrel wings you glide down at a pace of a shooting star /
Having no way to stop the descent, the clouds break apart /
Tendrils of light illuminate the mountain-scape /
A path, a pattern /
It is your way /
Something is wrong /
How did you end up on your back and why is the sky so… clean? /
Turbulence from the plane rocks you to the realization /
You were dreaming /
My woods, my gentle comforters stretch to no confines but blue and to the sun. They surrounding me in shaded blankets, but unholding in the unbridled sense of it.
It’s to my special spot I seated in fallen form meandering through the tall pasture waving sea-like, to the tree… my tree, I say in humbleness.
Its ancientness anchored no longer to dark soil, its soul decomposing from whence it came.
We sit together, I now above the bark. I rub wishing to gain wisdom of the why’s, where’s, and when.
Many shades of shadows filled with greens waltz around me in goodly nature. The squirrel barks in dissatisfaction as he thinks he’s ruler in the upper canopy.
Right here, right now, the Promised Land has been given me it leased me in my short time here.
The gentle giants creaking in the breeze bemoaning; it seems to me in conversation as I ignorant in this realm.
In contrasting, I can only listen as I know not the language of them. I unleash in the verbiage of the Oak, as I just a small man amongst these ancient ones.
So, I come to sit soaking in their knowledge of noble guardians. It’s by just listening, watching, and breathing in deeply life.
By darkness an event that’s transpired a million-million times, I rub the bark of my companions. I feel blessed to have been given the opportunity to have my vanishing lease on life.
It ever so short my life like the distance walked to my man-made home. It a hovelled place really truth be told, just a few ticks of the world clock then I will be in past tense.
It holds no majesty like the wooded forest. I slow down and live slowly always as it’s gone in a twinkling in the eyes of the beholder. So, I embrace the moments as most precious.
From within many forms of an artful ambience
A leaf of a tree I saw was liberated,
It rejoiced its freedom with the wind,
When I released a kite in the sky,
Its flight was exuberant to me too,
Its freedom relaxed me,
Snatching the leftovers, swallowing,
Squawking within the spectrum of freedom
Some seagulls hovered over the edge of the sea,
Inseparable is the freedom from life,
As it is engaging
In many events of the planet,
In many congregations of
The atrophied humankind!
Mustofa Munir
10/09/2018
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