Category: Poetry Festival

POETRY Reading: Random Forests, by Mark Tiegs

Performed by Allison Kampf

POEM:

we are in the random forests
we are. leo. adele. Ho[4][5] and Amit and German [6] in order (Fujitsu now)
we are random forests
we are decision trees. tree bagging (Main article: Bootstrap aggregating)
predictions for unseen samples x’ can be made by averaging the predictions
from all the individual regression trees onx’
we are from bagging to random forests
we are in the 7000 oaks
we are documenta 7 (joseph beuys)
we are 7000 oaks
we are the basalt stones pointing to the oaks
predictions for unseen situ (situationist international (not regression trees))
we are from random forests to 7000 oaks

POETRY Reading: The Keening Curlew, by Bill Mumford

Performed by Allison Kampf

POEM:

Hail, blown by Artic Maritime wind
Stings. Westmorland whitens, all sound freezes.
I take shelter in a silent lime kiln
Stone cold. No fire here, all warmth has been mined.
Pulled my dog close- wary with unease
Numbed. Quiet, waiting as the cold seeps in.

Steam of light cuts through an icy veil
Glimpses of a silhouette, then the lament
As a curlew keens his incantation.
His lovelorn song tells such a sad tale
Memories of moors filled with enchantment-
His thoughts turn- for hope and expectation.

They say: birth chimes bring the sick belief
Moment of joy in a landscape of grief

POETRY Reading: The Outskirts of Psychosis, by Divinia Reynolds

Performed by Allison Kampf

The Outskirts of Psychosis
By Divinia Reynolds

Upon the outskirts of the psychosis
They swirl up high, then swim subconscious, low:
Thoughts mill around like robust vivid fish,
But who can tell where each of them will go?

Man thinks: It’s strange- this thing we call ‘Today’.
Just as he meets the fork upon the road.
Ahead is traffic on its noiseless way
And trucks adrift like minds with heavy loads.

Like otherworldly dim decoration,
Like thoughts he can’t ever recall again,
Life fades like he’s just missed the occasion,
In alien worlds like this on hidden plains.

Remembering his escort, Man now talks
With less assurance than his first babbles
And as the two pursue this aching walk
His brother is perplexed by his mumbles

Man’s.Telling. Him
The. Bus. Numbers
Are. Written. Wrong
They’re. Back. To. Front
A. Different. Language…
They’re. All. Wrong

…He. Doesn’t. Understand.

MAN FEELS IT’S JUST IMPOSSIBLE TO LIVE-
IT’S AGONY AND SOMETHING’S GOT TO GIVE.

For now, there’s so much Man can’t comprehend
Of One who waits to catch him when he falls.
He’s crumbling deep inside- he can’t pretend
And sensing he’s about to lose it all
But not that all’s restored by just one Friend:
Man’s eye can’t see nor Man’s ear hear His Call

This is a moment that together Man
And his new Friend in time come to transcend.
Yes, God can save a searching, crashing Man
Just when he feels he’s reached the very end.
The only thing I ask is that the actor/narrator notes the intention of the rhythm and punctuation and if the person producing the video decides the image of a person is shown saying the words of the poem, that the person looks at the camera as appropriate.

REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS IMPERFECT, by Boris Glikman

It is the middle of a sunny summer day
I am running down the stairs
quickly and excitedly, with my neighbours following me.

We all want to see the Sun
It just fell down in the front yard
I saw it coming down like an overripe cantaloupe,
staining the sky with sticky, succulent golden juices.

There it is,
lying on the ground,
a giant orange, trampling the grass it landed on,
squirting its warm essence all over our bodies.

The neighbourhood dogs are running around,
barking at this strange visitor.

I approach it warily. I touch it.
It is warm and beautiful,
glistening in the mid-noon light.

I remember well the feelings of amazement, incredulity,
inexplicable joy overwhelming me
and the comical expressions of confusion
on the faces
of my neighbours.

9/11 Attacks, by Janelle Barker

The day began like any other r
The sun rose, scattering to work,
Settling into their day, with a smirk.
8.46am thousands of lives, would change,
North Twin Tower was hit by a plane,
People thought, NO, that’s insane.
News came to those, yes it was true,
Some knew and others didn’t have a clue.
Terror attacks was announced
Disbelief from civilians, on the ground.
9.03am, no, not again
The South Tower was hit, oh Amen.
Survivors running for their lives,
Passing the dead, that, they did dread.
Parts of bodies everywhere,
We had no time, to stop to care.
We had to get out, as fast as we could,
Everyone knew, that was understood.

People jumping from the towers,
Things happened in minutes,
Which seem liked hours.
Flights hijacked, 93,77 and 175
All the passengers, tried their best
To stay alive.
Life that day, was out of control,
When the buildings were demolished
It left, a great big hole.
90 countries, lost loved ones,
Firefighters, military
And police,
are many of the rescue Workers,
that now rest in peace.
Estimated up to 19,000
In the towers upon attack,
So hard to believe
That this maybe fact.
Years later, people still dying,
To the families, related this
Is terrifying.
Exposed toxins from ground zero,
Pregnancy losses, cancers
No one can find answers.
A memorial was made
For all to see,
A reminder of life,
No one would disagree.
Pay your respect, for those we lost,
And say a prayer,
For no extra cost.
This moment in history,
the world will remember,
Let’s come together,
United we stand,
Hand in hand,
Let’s show the world what we can withstand

What is Life?, by Shubhanshu Shrivastava

(shubhanshu004.wordpress.com)

Life is a dream when you think about it,
A gleam of colors, a vision of grey,
With a few moments that smell sweet and nice,
With the occasional taste of bad decay.

Life is a journey as many say,
A tunnel filled with twists and turns,
And the empty caverns that come through it,
Filled with deep visions of your desires in turn.

Life is in friends as many claimed,
And we do not interrupt them for believing thus.
But what about the time when they are maimed, through
Inaction of the same when tragedy occurs?

Life is in work as many believe,
Spending one’s years in tiresome ease,
With no time for anyone else, but alas!
Repenting on their death’s untucked bed, deceased!

Life is a fight for the taste of some,
Bloody and bruised, all days to come,
And though it is somewhat crucial to know,
But a jealous, dubious mind at unease will always show.

Life is in inaction as most exist,
Sustaining silently every slap, burn and shear,
Keeping mum all through, in betwixt; and
Complaining only when no one cares to hear.

What is life, and how to live?
A question that haunts mankind still,
Yet there are answers in a few, that gives,
Books and stories of those, considered greater still.

They say that life is all this, and more,
And one faces all this as mentioned before,
But to be wise is a rare gift,
And rarer is to act on it.
Your conscience knows the rightful path,
It tells you as your innermost thought,
To control your emotions when facing odds,
To act such and let them know how you’re wrought.

Yet do not bend when beaten much,
Even the sharpest sword breaks (upon the anvil) at moments such,
When the hammer starts to believe its mightier still,
Constantly beating and the steel reaches its utmost limit.
Beat back then and let the hammer know,
Slice it in one swift motion, in one throw,
That it is mostly wood – soft and easy to split,
Therefore keep it must itself, within its limits.

But then also do not forget
To love and care for others as well,
For there will always be those who will value you such,
Of what you deserve, of your true worth.
And live your life as you deem it fit to be, but
Absurdly, do not hurt a living thing you see.
Focus on yourself, your personal growth,
Yet keep them close, who matter the most.

For a selfish case loses the kingdom,
And gains just an empty throne.
So tell me what you think of this,
Is this life, to you, what I have shown?

SHE WANTED TO BELIEVE, by Gloria Siamte

I’m amaze how she put a smile or act like nothing ever happened,
Like the sun always shine upon her,
Like her cup runneth over always.
Like her thoughts were always light
And her heart merry.
Then, one day she just disappear,
Into nothingness.
No trace, no clues
And people whispered the big Why…?

Maybe it wasn’t acute,
Maybe it has started since her childhood,
Expressing through different metamorphosis.
Then days and years of struggle to just live.
Maybe her tears finally ran dry,
Her loneliness wasn’t something that can be shared like happiness.
Her heart loaded with grief upon herself.
Maybe she lamented upon herself
Upon her own dead spirit for years.
Maybe she learned how to smile to hide her sufferings
And silence to hide away her scream for help,
To be safe from getting stigmatized.

Her mind find no escape from the tormenting thoughts.
Eating up her soul,
Burying her heart.
Never seem to change a bit even till that fateful day or in future.
She tried her best working hard, burning the midnight oil to find life, to find dreams, to find love.
Every rejections and failures led her back to the very point where it all began.
That darkness will always find way to crawl back in,
Leading her back to it’s world.
Never seem to leave her.
Make her feel like the end seem more peaceful.

Then, she decided to step away.
The sum of all thoughts,
The sum of all fights,
The sum of all shame,
The sum of all tears,
The sum of all fears.
Seem like the cure but she has just pass it on..
“There is light at the end of the tunnel”, they said.
She wanted to believe…

Demoiselle, by James Morgan-Jones

Let’s be direct: Beautiful Demoiselle.
What naming could be apter? In noon-light
a sliver of midnight blue comes spinning
from Hades’ palette, frailly fluttering,
a butterfly blue from the underworld.
Yet not quite: no sheer lepidopteran
makes this skittery, whirligig descent,
achieves in repose such sleek elegance.

He rests like a svelte blue pin, superbly
singular, wings deep-dipped in indigo:
pure concept lodged brilliant in spinel.
Such exquisite difference brings profound
gratification, a joy extinguished
in the homogenised world we fashion.

When I dream I’ll drink some of his lustre,
bask in the resplendence of my colours –
what flagrant beauty then in dynamism,
such glory mirrored in heaven’s dark glass.

Harmony, by Sierra Anastasia

Music bleeds from my gums,
Filling my mouth with bitterly sweet songs.
Albums sizzle on my taste buds while
Lyrics gag me.
My throat swells with melodies
Turning my body into a pool of notes.
Voices nest nuzzled in my ear drums
Swarming harmony in tunes of plenty.

~ Sierra Anastasia