Category: new poetry

Poetry Reading: Part Conversation with Homlo, by Bhekuzulu Khumalo

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

Read Poem: THE CEREMONY, by Stephen Ross

The medicine drank clearly, the journey afoot
Down into my belly, I gladly partook
Mystical voyage, from under the sea
And up to oblivion, my soul be set free

Delicate dances and rhythms abound
Swimming through music, the spirits were found
A song to my sister, in absolute bliss
Dismissed relative madness, with the tenderest kiss

Stared right at my demons and gave them a hug
Expelled from my system, aboard voluptuous chug
Through rapture forthcoming, this voice from the heart
My wolf bellowed wildly, tearing weather apart

Then low as a river, guiding splendid refrain
And out the forgiver, once fully explained
Dear loving survivor and glider of love
This vessel so special, when steered from above

Dipped once into heaven, and twice into me,
Third time into honey, released victory
Intentions becoming, through gentlest embrace
Manifesting the blessings, a smile on my face

That panther inside me, rested easy on hearth
An owl prowled outside Lee, perspective so smart
Guided back to my person, rebirth started anew
Earth spurted deep visons and through them I grew.

Conducted the weather, energetic symphony
Through channels forthcoming, our world be set free!!

Together in kindness, administered plain
Come back now together and call out my name

Beautiful hew, man!
hu-man-be-ings,
be-you-tea-full-hu-mans.
Being means dreams xx

Read Poem: Testimony, by Michelle Owusu

You called me by name
You called me daughter
When I forgot your name
You remained My Father

You spoke wisdom and I noticed I was naked
You sent me Comfort, when I couldn’t make it
You used humour to bring me joy
You gave me hope; more hope than any boy.

You gave me faith that made me calm
You gave me a peace to brave the storm
You gave me encouragement to make lemonade
You gave Your Son; the light in my shade

You grabbed my hand and showed me Our dreams
Before I felt a dying thirst, you led me to your Your living stream.
When I spoke death, you spoke life
I’m waiting for your return Papa, for when you marry your bride.

Read Poem: BACK HOME, Michael Lawrence

(Poem for Don McCullin)

Back from the wars, a veteran
of ten thousand images of massacre,
rape, disease, despair, every horror
known to and devised by man dutifully
recorded in every dung-heap, shit-hole,
rat-infested pocket of the world:
the fly-pestered faces of wide-eyed orphans,
naked screaming babes,
gaunt cadavers in shallow graves
uncovered by the rains, soldiers
pirouetting over trenches for posterity,
women in rags, the old, the middle-aged,
the young – some, in these perfect compositions,
as beautiful as fashion models for other cameras,
back home.

Back home,
an old stone house, darkroom down the path,
a different kind of perfect composition:
moody studies of tumbling English skies,
the rain and sun on English oaks, sane,
controlled, serene – yet haunted, scarred,
smeared by all those gritty, grainy years,
the stench of burning flesh,
the empty eyes that never knew tomorrow,
the tortured, the savaged, the sundered;
that other world,
shoved aside but never quite forgotten,
of innocents ground down into this bloody earth,
blood-saturated earth, that we call civilised.

The photographer has come home.
But he rarely smiles.

Read Poem: newborn, by Chinonso Adanna

They swaddle me in sugar
sweet platitude to ease
the rasp in my throat and

force my screams into my
stomach. This world is dry
I ache for the warm wet

of the womb where home
was in the soft soothe of
my mother’s voice. I am

living a life that blinds me
daily and folds me thinner
than fresh linens. My heart

is soft like my newborn skin
these bones are yet too brittle
for the heavy of this new life.

http://www.chinonsoadanna.wordpress.com

Read Poem: ADRIFT, by C.P. Hickey

Sometimes my branch sticks out more,
it gets lonely.
Although, I’m first to touch the sun,
I’m also first to feel the wind and rain.
People, passing by, take turns swatting at me.
Drops of water settle on my upturned leaves,
I study the many reflections.
Until the air changes,
and my bloom falls away.
My core remains unchanged,
just more bare.
I’ve traveled a bit more outward,
while trying to reach the sun.
The others are following my lead,
but, remain conservative.
I know that I will be first to feel the cold settle in deep,
and the first to gather loosely falling snowflakes.

Read Poem: Broken Lover, by Daniil Prikhno

Make love to me as if it’s the first time you fucked me after we met.

I know things about you that you aren’t capable of knowing.

Some, many times I crawled back to us,

You pretended that emotion no longer bind us, and we’re not allowed to have sex.

Every time I see you I force myself not look at the watch,

Because time stops and besides we’re not right for each,

This is practice for new people we might meet down the road.

I can count things, that hold you back, up to a hundred,

Faster than my pretend-luxury car goes zero to sixty.

I won’t ever be able to tell you the words that will save your life,

If I whisper them into your ear, you won’t hear me.

I no longer fear rejection and lie to myself about things that give me anxiety,

So that fake me will made into the man I always I wanted to be.

It’s make-belief, but it soothes my chapped lips and bruised ego.