Read Poetry: Love (Maya), by Puneet Sangwani

Tender touch onto a wounded Smudge;
A Radiant Smile spreading Sun-shine.
Dear Mother’s midnight trudge;
and her plight to the almighty divine.

An up-to-the-last-minute journey;
Scars of a lonesome battle,
which they vehemently call as suffering
towards the end, a worthy companion.

Musings of a Sad artist
Tunes of a stringed guitar
Munificence of an old gardener,
watering the tranquil flower.

Love is all but one.
Confidence of everything or none,
The song I wrote for you;
your smile that beamed back.

Read Poetry: COLD SONGS, by Olabisi Akinwale

It’s the secret of life
To die, with blood flowing in your veins
.
We lost a sister to the songs in her throat
We knew she would not survive the whips
From nights when the moon burns her pride to ashes
And days when the sun mocks the radiance in her eyes
.
On many faces are birds with broken nest
Flying to the ends of the earth- where death is the only hope of
bodies, running from their own body
.
Somewhere in this verse
Is a boy burning with cold fire into strange tongues
His father was the man you met on your way home- walking on his head
The man you saw numbering his days, with sad numerals
The man who said God exist only in fictions, forklores, and in non
existing worlds
.
Life is a sorcerer, her languages are too complex to be spoken by
women, yet to die with their seeds growing in them
.
This song are the dirges
– in the mouths of boys who murdered themselves and ran away
– girls, in the confluence where blood and history met
– in the tales of a father with ten sons, having none
– mothers, seeking the life in a world different from theirs
.
There’s a voice calling you home in poems like this
Skate on their surfaces- it’s god’s art in dark places
.
© Olabisi Abiodun Akinwale
Undiluted Poet
#UndilutedPoetry

Read Poetry: The twain that never cross parts, Okah Obinna Joseph

Drowning in sounds of figmented imaginations
Nope it’s a bad nightmare of incarceration 
Torturing me with scars and tears 
As I fright back into my shell of fears 
Reminiscing good times 
Scathing our cherish, dreams and memories 
With haunted sacrifices 

I lost myself changing for you or else ? 
While you changed for someone else 
Oh no ! you bought me a bitter sweet 
I’m not a wailing wailer for meat 
But this bitter pill is really costly 
As thou faithfully betrayed Bostly 

A vengeance of forgiveness
Is the magical agony of kindness
Oh Love and passion ! 
What a cruel combination !
Dear time shower your miracles 
Please don’t fling me away like a rag doll just like the team of Heracles 

I’m drunk to stupor 
Because my saviour is liquor 
Just two minutes to rebuild the glass 
But forever to rebuild my breathing flask 
My emptiness only has hate 
Like wounds of the diabetic gate 

No ounce of mercy 
In Bovary and madam Stacy
There’s no moving on
The end is all one 
I hope the twain never cross parts 
As breaking romance surely sparks

Read Poetry: Agony, by Sujoy Bhattacharya

An apathetically toxic sound entered my mortal
visual organ .
Dandified with the foppish arrogance of cosmic
supremacy the
sound reverberated in my frozen heart preserved
at the core
of Antarctic effigy emanating sigh of vacuity .
Dead dynasties
delineated perpetually flapping flag of time studded
with space spacious !
Flippant cosmic rays cooing with the dead stars –
corpse love !
Coffined human love taking a flimsy phantom
figure was
pouring elixir -stolen from Egyptian mummies.
My amputated
organs scattered over the oceans were reading
the inscriptions
of time over the tapestry of space dew – drenched!
My severed
tongue was licking languidly the spilling psalm of
humanity !
Millions of mouths were chanting dogged dogmatic
doctrine
to establish monuments of ephemeral discourse .Lonely polestar
was politely polishing the rusted metal deity of
compassion ,
so that it could radiate again the theory of relationship!

Read Poetry: THE MANSION OF RUSSIAN CREEPS, by Fadrian Bartley

On the remote island of Russian creeps

A cast away washed ashore wounded and weak

Upon awakening such place he has never seen

Not familiar to his eyes, or has he ever being

Struggle to stand, and from his feet he bled

With the buzzing sounds he constantly heard in his head

Stranded at the shore no one seem to be at bay

No ship approaching and no one coming his way

Unconsciously he fainted, fell to the ground,

And woke only to find himself chained and tied down

To a basement in a mansion that’s where he was

With antique items and dirty old rugs

Swiftly and quietly appears a mysterious girl

With the appearance of what seems not from this world

In front of a huge mirror she stands combing her hair

While the lost victim sit quietly and trembled in fear

As she brushed her hair with a sweet humming from her voice

‘’What am I doing here? he yelled’’

You are here for a reason,

And You are here for a choice

With her hair reached to the ground,

By then the humming stops and not a sound

Struggling to free himself from those fetters and chains

The flashing of lightening along with the pouring rain

The child began to laugh and this is what she says

‘’On Russian creeps you stranded for days’’

‘’You are still asleep bound in this maize’’

Here is the mirror where you will find your way’’

As these words spill from her velvet lips

He saw an imprint sign carved on her wrist

Angrily he shouted ‘’let me go, let me go’

She replied ‘I scream those exact words before I die seven years ago’

Her tears became dark, And black as charcoal

With her hair falling out, and the face grew old

Her skin began to fade while he watched fearfully and lingers

And what remains of her was only a ring that fell from her dead fingers

A shattered mirror blast in pieces

While her scream echoes, and all that there is began to depleted

Struggling and shouting but no one could hear

Down from the basement is all a soundless fear

Awaken from a dream, a dream that’s what it seems

Terrified in himself he wonders what all these means

But the occurrence endless and seems to follow

Through the dreadful catastrophe and sleepy hollow

There were noises in the walls

Of little children running through the halls

From his bed he ran to look

Taken with him a cross hidden inside of a book

Looking around in expectation, but all was only a strange phenomenon.

Poetry Reading: Im Zweifel zur Wahrheit, by Erich Ruhl Bady

Performed by Carina Cojeen

POETRY 7 questions:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

We can be sure on our way to truth if we allow (ourselves) to doubt. We need to doubt.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

In an exibition I saw the installation of three signposts – two pointed nearly to the same direction –  to the direction of truth and doubt – the other signpost showed the way to the opposite … the indecisiveness (deutsch: Unentschlossenheit)

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

Since about six years, even more since three years

4) If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

Barack Obama

5) What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

I think there could be the chance to increase the range (I hope I’ll be allowed to show the link on my pages…) – and the other reason: I would like to hear my poem spoken by another voice (because I’m a narrator as well – all my 50 poems are to be listened on AUDIYOU –    https://www.audiyou.de/benutzer/smoothenergy99/0.html

6) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

Sometimes reviews about books or films – in my main job (Journalist / Press officer) I write articles and speeches – The other side job is audiobook narrator (should be more 🙂

7) What is your passion in life?

I will never stop to believe in the possibilities of personal development and in the power of compassion and dignity – therefore sometimes I try to consolidate my thoughts and my deep sentiments into a poem – and my wife, my two daughters and my four grandchildren motivate me to carry on

POSTSCRIPT:
THE POETRY FESTIVAL is a real great project which brings together open minded and warm-hearted people.
Thank you for this grand idea.

 

Poetry Reading: A WIDOW’S STORY, by Terita Buchanan Moore

Performed by Carina Cojeen

Get to know the writer:

 1) What is the theme of your poem?

The theme of my poem is how I overcame the tragic loss of my husband. Triumph after an unexpected tragedy.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

I wanted to inspire others in whom may have suffered an unexpected tragic loss, by sharing my pain and the power to overcome.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I have been writing poetry, since I was twelve years old.

4) If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

It would be my late husband Frank Moore II.

5) What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

It is my desire to share my gift of poetry with the world.

6) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

Yes, I am a published author of “My Sweet Thoughts of Poetry.”

7) What is your passion in life?

My passion is to uplift and encourage the masses in sharing my story.

 

Read Poetry: Feminism or Chauvinism? by Kinjal Jain

All hanging, dancing, hopping
at the border line
feminism or chauvinism?
Your opinion needs to have a spine!

Does hating brings equality
Or was #metoo only one gender in totality?

Does addressing a girl as a “son” changes anything
Or is it another way of discriminating?

Does dress length decreasing is the reason behind teasing
Or the real question is the upbringing?

Does the salary numbers matter too?
Or is it better, the man and wife, together they grew?

Does chivalry has to be a man’s asset
Or a girl holding the gate will be another better facet?

Yes the history has a strong story
The men has stepped over women’s glory.
But, the time has changed since
both have evolved past their sins.

The choice is yours to make
Which gender side you are on
Or was there ever a side to choose from?

Read Poetry: THE FISHERMAN, by Robin McNamara

The sea swelled and splashed
Against the hull of the boat
With its green net mountain
Disappearing into foaming waters

The fisherman’s hope and security
An old sea dog salted
And weather beaten from a
Lifetimes toil upon the waters

Times of hardships furrowed upon the brow
His story told by scarred hands
He respects the sea
Which has taken many a soul

Bowing his head in mournful grace
For comrades long gone by
In this forsaken element
Names inscribed on the memorial wall

Baptised at a tender fourteen
Saltwater dripping from forehead
As his arms ache from the harvesting
Proud to be gone from boy to man

Conquer of all that rises
from the living sea
Shimmering and glistening on deck
Pride on his fathers face

Now decades gone, no more to come
He will be spoken of in years to come
His eyes as deep as the Ocean
Have glanced their last trip.

By Robin McNamara

Read Poetry: RUDIMENTS OF BROKEN MUSIC, by Olabisi Abiodun Akinwale

To write a dirge
Is to burn without a touch of fire
.
A raven perched on my window last night
-it came with a song, named after your brothers
-and with echoes of maiden’s voices from sambisa
– it came with one-tenth of your father’s burnt ashes
-and with the chronicles of a lost boy on the street of Lagos
.
To break into wounded verses
Is to become a man of flesh and water- blood no longer flows in your veins
.
I have seen men with cuts on their tongue
Men, holding their names with blind metaphors
I have seen a mother run from her own blood
To the tent of survival beneath her skin
I have seen girls, living in sad memories
To hold history between their legs
.
We are but rudiments of broken music
We live till we become a poem, filled with emptiness- it’s the
mystery, skating between birth and death
.
I have tried carving God’s face with my pen
Tried holding beginning and the end with a verse
To know the why behind the whys between them
But, you don’t run with shoes laced with death
When competing with your shadows, wind and demons that paint your
sister’s face with colourless scars
.
‘Some poems are dead bodies in living beings, you don’t read them
without a touch of immortality’- says a poet
.
.
© Olabisi Abiodun Akinwale
Undiluted Poet
#UndilitedPoetry