Performed by Kate Fenton
*****
Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Camera Op: Mary Cox
Performed by Kate Fenton
*****
Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Camera Op: Mary Cox
Liverpool’s neighbour since time began
Cultural landscape ripe to explore
Exciting things if you have a plan
Or just want to go the match and nose round the shops.
I went to my first gig 22 years ago
I saw Blur at the G-Mex,
It was so like the MEN
There was none of this hate, fear and anger back then.
What happens through ideology
Only cements the love
People have for families, friends and siblings
It should be enough
There is no just cause, no right way to find the words
No explanation given
Who can? I can’t
I only hope as humans we remember
To be helpful kind and speak and do peaceful things
So the 22 people lost on a night out
Will be remembered as the people that were having fun
Manchester I send love,
Stay strong.
Note: I wrote this a few days after the terror attack at MEN last year in tribute to the 22 people who died after seeing Ariana Grande. The word Tribute is what I would like this poem to be considered for publication on the site and in print.
Golden lock,
In shape of a classic knocker
resting beneath its conveyer
to thoughts that I’ve decided to shut my doors against.
Golden lock,
holding unspoken treasures,
Golden lock, an unspoken treasure,
stabbing already raw gums.
Keeps me from sharpening the tongue of what many words that
turned
the misheard away.
And please don’t ask me why I sound so dull,
it hurts to speak.
Tastes like blood in here.
My mouth,
a home to where walls come down,
but who is there to invite?
Who will listen in borrow to
the suffocating voice behind gates of locked jaws?
I find no lending ear.
Who do I invite inside?
My golden knocker,
I made rupture for you by the piercing strike of a needle.
This is revenge to myself
for all that I’ve said,
so I suffer to I say what I think.
So I think twice, before you knock again.
And if it is worth the pull
of my aching tissue that’s known more cries than a box of goddamn
Kleenex,
I will answer.
Leisure to my lesion,
my thoughts are resting in apologies I want to say,
but let me rather spare you the pain of forgiving.
Because I know it hurts to speak.
Soy
Soy la mujer
Que te eriza la piel
Como la abeja y la miel
Soy
Soy la mujer
Dentro de tus pensamientos
Cuando mis besos roban tu aliento
Soy
Soy la mujer
Que te hace enloquecer
Soy
Soy la mujer
Que haces tus días brillar
Como el sol acaricia la mar
Soy
Soy la mujer
De tú atardecer
Como los girasoles en el amanecer
Soy
Soy la mujer
Que te lleva a las estrellas
Y en tu cuerpo deja sus huellas
This is the order we all learn in early childhood
Him, others, then self; that was ingrained in Sunday school
We saw it in our favorite heroes; from Batman to Robin Hood
Even “mama” told us that being inconsiderate to others wasn’t cool
Then we thought we’d grown up and did not have to care
We joined the rebellion and wore our hearts under our sleeves with no fear
Changed our perspective and saw no order, but we always knew before everything else was The One
And then the rebellion became a facade and a jackpot of too much care was found
Giving that much care to anyone wasn’t a problem
Finding a one who would want or appreciate that much was the struggle
We didn’t really pay attention to metrics, we just wanted to be a part of something bigger than ourselves
To form that team, a channel for emotions and a bond so solemn
Countless moments of lust, excitement and hurt slowly burst our bubbles
Till we reached the discovery of our philosophers’ stone where we asked: Why don’t we, instead, love ourselves?
Thanks to “loving lips that convince you you’re enough, Small smiles that make you forget to turn off the lights”
In those droplets of enlightenment, we saw our vulnerabilities; our elaborate masks.
Since, we questioned the pillars of our formation:
Why do we have to put every other thing first? Why so little emphasis on “self”?
No one else goes through my tolls other than I… what’s wrong with being a little selfish when I need my own?
“Love thy self, first” became the mantra.
We rotated our foundation doctrine totally opposite: self, other, then Him.
And our position was justified… First, there is always God regardless of us.
Second, our world is full of too much hate and everyone is out to gut us.
All out favorite heroes are filled with flaws: Batman never showed his face, and Robin was a thief.
Who then will be there when we can’t be our own heroes and stand for ourselves?
If I said your story ended, that would mean we are all dead…
So now, let me tell you what I think:
What if we’ve seen it wrong the whole time?
I think God is an essential part of what makes me, Me.
The fact that He’s unfailingly present helps me cope with a world that’s ever changing
And being selfless, to some extent, is key to being the best me I can be.
But self love is the holy grail when it comes to surviving all life’s dealings
Because how can I love God and others when I don’t understand how to love me?
So, I put myself first sometimes, cuz that’s the only way I know how to stay afloat when I’m drowning.
I’m my own knight in shiny armor cuz I’ve learned that only me can, always & every time, save me.
Point is, all the while we’ve got it wrong.
Everything on the scale is just as important.
And like an object viewed from different angles we see different perspectives.
But it has always been a scale on a spectrum.
We run from different extremes chasing the calm.
And that peace is only found in creating that equilibrium.
Accepting our flaws help us see that nothing is ever static for long enough.
While chasing our dreams, let’s keep the equilibrium in perspective.
Wherever we are in life is on that scale…
So it only takes a movement to even the odds.
Genre: hope
I stand tall
even though I’m short.
I talk a lot
even though I’m shy.
I smile a lot
even if I don’t like it.
All I know is that God is here.
He can always hear.
He is watching over me.
Protecting me and you.
And everyone else, whether good or bad.
He will LOVE you. He is God
— Original poem by Asma ( Crystalpoem.wordpress.com )
In a world so populated, why is truth just one?
And why can’t we tell the end except at the end?
Since now I can only pray that I’m praying right.
And hope that I’m not wasting hope.
For I have never been on this shore,
So I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to be sure.
And with these issues here and offshore,
Can I have on me, more of your fingerprints than mine,
Can I count on you, will you stand by me?
When the rainbow is left with only three colors.
When life has finally entered menopause.
At that time when all are afraid including our fears.
When I finally meet my weaknesses and all its witnesses.
And our childhood dreams have become artifacts of memory.
Because fate no longer accepts hope as a currency.
Since the ocean that wed many tilapia,
Also hides the sharks that separate them.
To this unquestionable fate I stand as a lamb,
So am I worth the risk, will you stand by me?
Now that hope is contraband and faith is graffiti.
Now life is littered with paths like strands of spaghetti.
And one is all we can choose and hope it leads to destiny.
can I count on you, now that to dream is to dare?
Will you stand by me?
If eventually air gets recruited into a union,
and there’s an industrial action.
Can I breathe through you?
Will you take the wind with me through an untried cardinal,
in the uncertain arms of hope?
And when youth finally shed its leaves, as we know it will,
Can I still call you my friend?
What if our plans have their own plans?
What if tommorow denies us visa.
What if we are wrong to have been right?
For our plan is a boat that has never been tried.
And here we are taking on the Atlantic.
Each day is an interview with reality.
So dear, think deep before you reply.
Will you risk a lifetime when it’s all you got.
Will you stand by me?
© Samson Abanni Ikenna.
Watching the parade
and longing to ride,
but stand in the shadows,
needing to hide.
Wings are not clipped,
so why not soar?
Afraid to enter
an opening door.
Visibility to some
the ultimate goal,
to another the threat
of losing their soul.
Why seems it a sin
to want only to live,
to answer when called
and with everything give?
No production!
No success!
No fame!
No coin!
Just…
quiet happiness.
Making beautiful things
for their own sake,
not to barter or sell
but any may take.
Invisible
I am
in a crowded place,
for
they look right through
the pain on my face.
Sometimes lost
and sometimes found,
accepted, rejected-
the senses confound
rational ideas!
Disappearing within,
the quiet calm
is as a balm.
Disappearing,
not dying.
Merely being,
tired of trying.
Always trying…
to fit in,
a color that won’t blend,
a peg that won’t fit,
an unfinished sentence,
hanging in the air.
I am the breath not taken,
the path untraveled,
the word unspoken,
the sight unseen.
Invisible.
Cheryl KP
Copyright 2014
Would you rise again, when crisis befalls?
To fight and to strive, through the worst of all…
Or would you shudder, in the face of pall?
Be blind to daylight, just over the wall…
Would you bury your past and then walk away?
Neglect the mistakes that led you astray…
Or would you greet them, the flawed decay?
“Thank you, my friends, for showing the way…”
Would you feel daunted, for how small you are?
Looking at people, who have gone so far…
Or would you value the endeavour that scars?
Knowing that one day, you can reach the stars…
The long wind tired sleeps no more.
As the baron of barren begins to move.
The jungle fever ignited, uncaged.
As the arid land absorbs the rain.
-James Eisner