Category: new poetry

Poetry Reading: THE COMPLEX MAN by Joy Genauer

Narrator: Kate Fenton
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Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Read Poem: To Manchester With Love by Kathy Walsh

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.

Read Poem: To the Piercing Underneath my Tongue by Zainab F. Raza

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.

Read Poem: SOY LA MUJER by Yeny Ferreras

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

Read Poem: The Spectrum by Joshua S. Kulah

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.

Read Poem by Asma

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 )

Read Poem: The Lady of Shallot Revisited, by Caro Field

The barley fields are golden ever,
The willows weep, the aspens shiver,
By the swift, fast-flowing river,
On the road to Camelot,
I glimpse the walls, the four grey towers,
A sense of gloom quite overpowers,
And a solitude that just devours,
When I set eyes upon Shallot.

I push the heavy, oaken door,
Petals line the marble floor,
I feel like I’ve been here before,
In the Castle of Shallot.
The silence echoes and it’s eerie,
It envelops those who, travel weary,
Find the Castle somewhat dreary,
This Castle of Shallot.

I climb the gently curving stairs,
Their grace takes me so unawares,
None before these quite compares,
To the stairwells at Shallot,
As I ascend in the sombre gloom,
I come across a tiny room,
And in it sits the very loom,
Of the Lady of Shallot.

It was here that she would sit and weave,
And she never took her leave,
She wove steadily, without reprieve,
The tales of Camelot.
She wove and wove, she knew not why,
But if she stopped, she’d surely die,
So to stave off death, she did comply,
The Lady of Shallot.

She wove her web of myth and mystery,
Of Arthur’s world, and of its history,
How his court was almost consistory,
The court at Camelot.
But she wove whilst looking in a mirror,
It somehow made her visions clearer,
And all emotions even dearer,
For the Lady of Shallot.

But one day, out rode Sir Lancelot,
On his fine steed, at a steady trot,
And our careful weaver clean forgot,
The Lady of Shallot.
As she looked on him, the mirror cracked,
And she knew that she could not retract,
She’d sealed her fate, and that’s a fact,
The Lady of Shallot.

And so she dressed in purest white,
And in her boat did she alight,
Resigning herself to her fearful plight,
The Lady of Shallot.
She lay down in that small, small boat,
And calmly, set herself afloat,
Chanting the dirge she knew by rote,
The Lady of Shallot.

Those on shore all watched her go,
Caught fast amid the raging xflow,
Trying hard not to let their feelings show,
For the Lady Of Shallot.
Because the mirror cracked from side to side,
As she floated, she slowly died,
And all who saw her mourned and cried,
For the Lady of Shallot.

© Caro Field

Poetry Reading: Poetry of Mind, by Joy Genauer

Performed by Matt Barnes

 

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Producer: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox