Category: Poetry Festival

Read Poem: My Mother’s Birthday Poem, by Charleen Carothers

To my mother
She is like no other
Being the oldest of four
I know lots more
Growing up I can recall
Things like asking for a ball
You dressing Cathleen and I alike
And dad teaching me to ride a bike
You said things like “don’t throw me in the Gatter”
And you made us climb a ladder
Taking us on many vacations
Seeing many nations
We went to Brazil
To climb a very big hill
To see a statue of Jesus Christ
The one in Rio De Janeiro sufficed
Visiting family in Sao Paulo
And many years to follow
Seeing different parts of Mexico
Which was very fabuloso
Then going on a family cruise
Where Christopher got to choose
To play a survivor game
Where he became more fame
Then Cathleen joins the show
By jumping to and fro
Even though nobody won
She was well liked by a ton
Then there was Italy where you got see
Many different things all without me
With all of the family travelings
As well as family gatherings
You have made sure we stay together
For that we all treasure
While making great memories
For our growing families
Recently going to France
While we had the chance
Where you said “To stay warm swim frantically”
And Calysia and I did it systematically
Though your words can sometimes confuse And it would be really funny if you were on the news
I grew up saying things that were wrong
And dads family remembers you wearing a thong
When you went to our grandparents pool The men became all a fool
All of the men
Watching with a grin
You’ve always been in great shape
Never like a pear or a grape
The woman would give you a hard time
Like working out while pregnant was a crime
Even as you age
No one can gauge
How old you really are
When you go dancing at a bar
Mom you may not ever truly get old
I know that is what you want to be told
Like a bottle of wine
You get better with time
It is you sixty sixth birthday
And there is only one thing to say
Sometimes I make things unpleasant
But I love you and made you this present
You have been working so hard
Barely making time to do the yard
Staying up late
And eating your dinner after eight
I am glad you will soon be qualified
And able to set aside
More time to rest
And be less stressed
Spend more time with your new grandchild To be there when she smiled
And teach her special things
That only a grandma brings
Happy Birthday mom
You are the bomb!
From your loving daughter Charleen
Who has eyes that are olive green

Charleen Carothers
Poems by Charleen

Read Poem: WHO AM I?, by Francis Ocran

(Genre: Regret,political, painful, child soldier,death)

I don’t know who I am any more
Unknown creature
A skinny lad soldier
I survived on death’s arena
I fought death’s command
Made to wear his mark
Wrote with his pen
Serving death
His poignant bloody meals
With pain in my heart
I slaughtered with his pen
Dripping souls bloodily
A pool under my feet
Imprisoning my humanity
And my love growing cold
I abused the fragile
Killed the strong
I had no choice
Than eat the meal of death
And survive each day
The evil I groomed
Hunted my existence
Ruling my day
Each day a cost to pay

I’m certain of no yesterday
Even if it does
There is no way
I’m here now
I did what I have to do
And avoided which I can’t
Saved those I can
But the toll on me
Is much heavier
Than the ox yoke
I have buried my love
Feeling and affection
Even for those I love
I’m that creature
That I made myself
A name that itches my ear
And dispatches my soul
Who am I?
Don’t tell me
It itches my heart
Unknown creature
I don’t know who I am anymore
Who am I?

Read Poem: I WONDER, by Philip Brent Harris

What would I do with me, without you?
Do any of us know what might be true?
More than I was, less than I have been,
A part of me missing, no nib in my pen.
Scratching at life, yet, leaving no mark,
Like rubbing two sticks without a spark.
Words are too weak, should I just quit?
Is your sacred fire what keeps mine lit?

If my dreams fleeting, passing clouds;
Will I know wisdom before my shroud?
Sewn into canvas, dropped into the sea,
Buried to nourish a newly planted tree.
Life into death into life, still unknown,
Must know the next life is still our own.
I wonder, the future is all wait and see,
What will you do with you, without me?

Read Poem: Dance of Tears, Chief Nobody (V5), by Michael Lee Johnson

I’m old Indian chief story
plastered on white scattered sheets,
Caucasian paper blowing in yesterday’s winds.

I feel white man’s presence
in my blindness-
cross over my ego my borders
urinates over my pride, my boundaries-
I cooperated with him until
death, my blindness.

I’m Blackfoot proud, mountain Chief.

I roam southern Alberta,
toenails stretch to Montana,
born on Old Man River−
prairie horse’s leftover
buffalo meat in my dreams.
Eighty-seven I lived in a cardboard shack.
My native dress lost, autistic babbling.
I pile up worthless treaties, paper burn white man.

Now 94, I prepare myself an ancient pilgrimage,
back to papoose, landscapes turned over.

I walk through this death baby steps,
no rush, no fire, nor wind, hair tangled−
earth possessions strapped to my back rawhide−
sun going down, moon going up,
witch hour moonlight.

I’m old man slow dying, Chief nobody.

An empty bottle of fire-water whiskey
lies on homespun rug,
cut excess from life,
partially smoked homemade cigar-
barely burning,
that dance of tears.

—-

Michael Lee Johnson lived 10 years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, DuPage County, Illinois. Mr. Johnson published in more than 1072 new publications, his poems have appeared in 38 countries, he edits, publishes 10 poetry sites. Michael Lee Johnson, has been nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards poetry 2015/1 Best of the Net 2016/2 Best of the Net 2017, 2 Best of the Net 2018. 198 poetry videos are now on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/user/poetrymanusa/videos. Editor-in-chief poetry anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530456762; editor-in-chief poetry anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses available here https://www.amazon.com/dp/1545352089. Editor-in-chief Warriors with Wings: the Best in Contemporary Poetry, http://www.amazon.com/dp/1722130717.

Do not forget to consider me for Best of the Net or Pushcart nomination!

Read Poem: Study in Red, by Cathy Cade

My masterpiece, complete, twice edited
and printed out in pristine black and white,
is taken up with reverence from the printer.
I’ll scan once more to check that all is right,

then send it off. Oops, there’s a missing s,
conspicuous by its absence. What a pain!
Where’s the red pen?
Perhaps that longish sentence
doesn’t sound quite right. – re-word again?

There’ll surely be much better words than much
for that last phrase, and does this word exist?
Should it?
I’m not sure about this comma… Look it up.
See, here’s a full-stop missed.

My masterpiece is black and white and red,
with crimson spiders crawling west to east.
Back to the laptop.
Change, expand, erase,
Repair and print out one more time – at least.

Cathy Cade
http://www.cathy-cade.com

Read Poem: The Law of Survival, by Dave Dutton-Fraser

Her last home was nowhere, the next she’ll know on arrival
She breaks all the laws but one – The Law of Survival
She changes her name with each group of people she meets
She’ll fit in quite fine, we’re all the same on the streets

She’s out run the law and her exes, sometimes it got tough
Boyfriends or the cops, they’ve all treated her rough
And she leaves behind messes, some large, some small
Its the only trail left behind her, if you see one at all

Sometimes she dreams of a different life when she awakes
So she trades her soul to end pain, if that’s what it takes
She thinks she is aging too quickly, more Mrs. than Ms.
But its too late to stop now, where ever this is

She’s not waiting for death, she’s just out running life
That’s how you move faster than chaos and strife
Perhaps she’ll see different one day, follow a new Bible
But til then she follows one law – The Law of Survival

Read Poem: LOVE’S NEEDLE, by Anne Leigh Parrish

Watch them tug along
First her, then him
Walking like looped stitches
In the slanted evening light

Watch her thread him
On her spool
Cast perfectly on the bobbin
Of this orange sky

So long together, they have
Sewn, pulled apart, frayed
And dropped the needle’s thread

But now they rest and
Gather up their loosened strands
Bound together, always

Read Poem: The Apostrophe Catastrophe, by Richard Havenga

Some people’s
use of the
apostrophe
is a catastrophe,

but you’re not
among those writers,
because your skills
are more refined.

It’s not that hard,
really, to remember
when and where
to hang this
little hook:

dangling up there
joining friendly letters;

taking the place
of i in it’s,
it is especially
beneficial;

or shyly
possessing things,
like the poet’s words
on New Year’s Eve;

or humbly
substituting itself
as a contractor
in word construction,
when other punctuations
can’t, or don’t,
or simply won’t
accept responsibility.

The apostrophe
has no feelings of
superiority to its
lower cousin
the comma,
it’s merely
doing its job,
in the place it belongs,
overseeing things,
bringing meaning
to this lovely language
that’s ours.

It is always eager
to help its letter friends
become words.
That’s why it’s there,
to be useful
to you and yours.

It has always,
always loved
s the best,
don’t you agree?

Now that we’re
in agreement,
we are able
to move on,
are we not ?

http://walkwithfathernature.blogspot.com/2017/12/the-apostrophe-catastrophe.html

Read Poem by C.W. Veränderung

let your soul whim beyond it’s wiring
or wander through old feelings like coals of
fire
imprinting previous struggles
as worse mutations of what once was
the frail wails of yesterday echo inside you
stirring haunting waves across your unsettled
ocean
but these are mere memories
a plate to deal with at your table
before tomorrow breeds something new

Read Poem: The Yearning, by Ken Allan Dronsfield

In a lifetime spent yearning

through which came wishing and dreaming

within many splendid, unquiet enthusiasms

a voice murmured back the word, prayer!

I was needy and you were solicitous,

my mind always straying to paradoxes.

Instead I uncovered brazen devotion,

the perkiness brought such euphoria

and so I screamed, ‘Is that a blessing?’

Mattering and assaultive within theodicy

Urging and purging within my slyness,

shyness or otherness, I could not awaken.

Tossing its ghost into all desires,

‘It’s that barrenness,’ I muttered

Quirkingly back into my memories

craving the eccentric, eclectic fantasy

the yearning, an essential evanescence

an evolutionist laughed at me in retort.

‘It’s that piety,’ I whispered.

The saintliness simply smiled.

Biography:

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and prize winning poet from New Hampshire, now residing on the plains of Oklahoma. Ken is a proud member of the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. He has three poetry collections, “The Cellaring”, “A Taint of Pity”, and “Zephyr’s Whisper”. Ken was the First Place Prize winner with his poem “With Charcoal Black, Version III”, in Realistic Poetry Internationals 2018 Nature Poetry Contest. He also won First Prize in their 2019 Nature Poetry Contest with his piece, “Sonnet 17, Quiet Time”. Ken has been nominated three times for the Pushcart Prize and six times for the Best of the Net. He loves life, his family and spending time with his cats Willa and Yumpy!