Category: Poetry Festival

LOOSE CHANGE, by Ben Naga

Endoscopy opens to a hush, closes to applause
Dramatis personÕ stride and snivel in between
While the playwright owns up as simply the you
In disguise and of course vice versa – All change!
Newton, Einstein, Erwin and his imaginary cat
A different sounding at each fresh embouchure

Bringing light, demolishing the old – All change!
Revolution on revolution yet nothing changes
Ancient foolishnesses replayed ad nauseam
Minotaurs and dinosaurs strut the halls of power
External, internal weapons of mass distraction

Eternal, essential the pulse the pulse the pulse
Distorted persists, breathes through every pore
Where would we be without our surroundings?
In a flash flood, a roar and a blaze of lightning
The walls of the citadel quiver and fall – All change!
As Alice tiptoes lightly through her looking glass

Boundless waters surround us as above so below
Rivers linger not and carry our bread away
A true love that will neither fade nor wither
Memories drift like leaves torn from a book
Even as the moving hand writes on – All change!

Evenings herald nights overburdened with
Dark eldritch dreams peopled by eery voices
“Wake up at the back there! Pay attention!”
I look around and find myself looking around
“Ninety-eight, ninety-nine …” – “All change!”
“At the third stroke …” “At the third stroke …”

Buy new improved, ditch the old – All change!
Rapine of the earth is not a spectator sport
Advertisements invade us twenty-five-seven
More and more of less is what and all we need
Emergency! Emergency! All hands on deck!

Ben Naga. (https://bennaga.wordpress.com)

Genres: Life, Philosophy, Politics, Social Commentary, Crisis.

A CLUE, by Dushica Labovich

A CLUE
When you learn to read without the letters,
because hearts’s letter is written without them;
You’ll learn to listen without superstition,
you’ll understand the wisdom of the one who is silent.

When you help those who did not help you,
And you do not create a rival game
forgive the one who has not repented,
because forgiveness is a matter of your morality

When you praise the one who can not praise the other
and for this you have no some ambiguous goal
do not talk about the worst
so you could raise your self-confidence

When you kiss the leper and you do not feel bad,
because so his wound will become painless
Hug the homeless and let them all marvel
regretness is weak people’s dark side

When you cheat to help those who is deceived,
Do not be ashamed yourself
Give what you’ve been collecting for years
but do not looking for the benefit in that.

when you lose the most important in your life
Do not surrender to death as a sceptic
bless the one who stole from you
No one can steal what is itended.

Trust in more when you fall the lowest,
because it builds high from the low;
Achieve but keep dreaming,
because the birth is just a new beginning.

When you’ll swimm in gold, don’t measure yourself with others,
because the measure is the virtue of envy;
Do not boast in your deeds,
in modesty is their strength.

When the Oscars and Nobel prisez will be important to you,
golden palms, lions and globes;
Do not let that confessions, delights and applause
means everything to you.

When you supported all armless that they could swim,
and sing with deaf people in front of all world.
when you prove to lords that thay can love too
and give them word in vow.

When you protect the sun shadow with a shade
give light to the brightness and darkness to the night
Treat everyone equally,
you’ll know you left a clue on the earth!

A LAST LOOK BEFORE LEAVING, by David Cook

Suddenly she hadn’t the heart to quarrel.
‘He’s faithless and won’t change’
and with that thought was freed.
After he had gone out, she packed
and put her suitcase by the door.
A last look before leaving.
The rug chosen together in Istanbul,
chess set lovingly given him.
‘Three years and nothing.’

She walked towards the traffic and hailed a taxi,
in her raised hand the black queen.

Nebraska ‘s Autumn A Dried Wildflower Pallet, by Barbara J. Tetro Franzen

Serene and silent
autumn is
my favorite season,
showing the colors
in the setting sun.
Its brush, a dried wildflower
bouquet. in deep rose,
dusty plum, rusty red,
wine and tangerine,
golden-yellow,
and marigold,
beholden in my eyes
until the snow flies
moving autumn aside
the earth turning sterile white.

Poetry by Kate Strauss

there are some emotions that are always crippling

Crippling Anxiety.

Crippling Depression.

Crippling Loneliness.

like thugs on the bad side of town,

having a night out with their bats,

and bam,

the knock your legs out from under you knock the breath out of you

crippling

you

until you can’t walk,

only crawl.

but these thugs,

have only begun.

they start shouting slurs.

they step on your hands and break your fingers,

they decide to all stand on your back,

until your ribs give out and you feel completely

one with the concrete

you have to give up,

you want to give up,

you’re crippled.

Crippling Depression is the leader of the gang.

He’s always cold and wears every piece of clothing he’s found on the street.

three dirty, dusty jackets, each one more beat up than the next.

one pair of too big basketball shorts over ripped, blackened jeans.

two hats, three earmuffs, and a few pairs of gloves.

he hasn’t showered in months,

and, in fact, looks like he’s purposefully wiped mud on his face and hands

to prove a point that he doesn’t care-at all.

Although he’s cold,

he never wears socks,

or ties his shoes.

He just can’t be bothered.

Crippling Anxiety, comes second round the corner

jittery, and skinny. You almost want to buy him a drink,

get him a bump. You feel almost bad for him until

you realize

he’s peed himself many times in the past few days

and hasn’t bothered to find new pants

and he’s the type of man,

you’d think,

has many other pairs of pants.

He has nice clothes.

At least from TJ Maxx.

They are wrinkled in ways you’ve never seen clothes wrinkled.

His pants have creases where they’re tight in the thighs-

his shirt has been starched, yet somehow has wrinkles in the collar,

it seems actually skillful that someone is this crumpled up.

His eyes are small and his hair is buzzed.

You wouldn’t dare look him in the eye,

but don’t worry,

he won’t either.

Crippling Loneliness closes the pack off.

He’s heavy, with dark craters under his eyes,

accompanying craters and pot marks of pimples that have been picked

on his cheeks and chin.

His body seems to have grown around where his arms stay

crossed over his chest.

His expression is pretty empty, and there aren’t any wrinkles or marks

on his face to give any sort of map that he’s ever lifted his eyebrows

or moved his mouth to the side to copy some sort of smile.

As they round the corner.

It’s easy, for one half-a-second,

to pity them.

Until they pull

a bat,

a muzzle,

and a pocket knife

out from behind their backs.

You welcome the pain that’s bound to come

with open arms.

It’s the most action you’ve been a part of

in months.

And the boys?

They get to feel useful

for a few minutes

until they cripple themselves right after.

Depression always goes after Loneliness,

and Loneliness grabs Anxiety,

while Anxiety holds Depression’s hands behind his back.

So you can army crawl away,

until they somehow find you

the next day.

QUESTION, by Bliz Mordiop

THE BLIZMO PRODUCTIONS Presents

Whose voice do I hear?
Say which way to follow for a better tomorrow when
Tunnels are very dark, nightmares coming back, and…
I hear voices, different languages but…
I can’t pick my mother tongue.
What language do you speak?
And why my nation did you pick?
Enslave my people and turned my brothers against me.
Just like yesterday, I am still living for
Hope of a better tomorrow
Just like yesterday, the day before today it was sorrow
I am still confused with the idea of unity when only one race is involved. And my life feels like was borrowed I mean
Yesterday still alive today and tomorrow is just a dream.
A dream that will never come…

Now tell I where we going when priests owns jewellery stores,
You still treat sisters like whores
And politicians own mines.
The six has turned into nine.
If in church we meet gangsters…
There we meet all sinners.
But who is protecting us?
Tell me what you doing?
When you sit and watch children abuse alcohol and drugs
I dare you don’t care or…
Scared to make a step when streets asking for help…
And sisters are getting raped.
Who is leading here? Whose voice do I hear?
Tell me which way to follow for
A better tomorrow,
The storm is coming back.
What was once blue is now yellow.
Every hope is now gone.
Is my mission done? Why do I still feel alone?
Let your life be an inspiration and make that be ye mission.

Now pay attention in all you do,
We are all looking at you,
Children wants to be like you,
Sisters look at you as a hero,
Brothers be looking at you as an example.
But I be looking at you the same way,
My fathers did yesterday
Unchanged man,
Unchained man from the past,
Slavery, non-patriotic, still living sovereign,
Listening to the voice of minority,
A stranger we gave home and
Now wants to control my humility
Forcing me to enrol choicelessly, and concuss me
Taking my power and confuse me,
Obscure us all so they can rule over our soil,
Stealing our oil, killing our souls,
Use us as tools. And calls us fools.
But you and I, share the same roots
We not fools, or anyone’s tools,
Bad or good, red is the colour of my blood
Now pay attention in what they telling you,
If it’s to hate me, tell them the truth.
We share blood, a cut on you will cause me pain.
And then you limits my speech, no freedom.

But who’s leading our people?
Who’s talking for us? Or…
Who’s taking us to freedom?
I am still forced to speak thy language,
Beaten with a wooden stick,
Forced to do hard labour even when I am sick.
But ask me whose voice I heard
I heard you,
You selling us out,
You afraid to spend life in prison.
I heard you saying okay,
You don’t care about our generation
Including the one’s coming, including my son Hakim.
A leader being led. So you follow, you don’t lead,
And tomorrow, you can’t reach to the nation, because
The people who stood by you till that position,
Be sitting at home looking at you and see a contagion.
Can you handle the situation? Do you care about the religion?
Do you have any notion to lead the nation?

Tell me what you doing?
Because no one is protecting us,
No one is fighting for our rights,
No one is taking care of our sisters or our streets.
No one is turning boys into men
And then no one talks for our children.
So pay attention in what they telling you,
If it’s to hate me, tell them the truth.
We share blood, a cut on your heart will make me bleed.
But now let this to you be a caution
Let your life be an inspiration and make that be ye mission.
Now pay attention in all the wrong you doing,
It must come back to you.

By Bliz Mordiop.

SINGLETON, by Paa A. Boateng

Ever since I could remember
I’ve been a member and yet a number
Left to fate of odd identity
With a soul hardened against the trinity

None calls on me on family meeting
Year after year time keeps fleeting
I, born into a world of singularity
Happiness hardly a shared plurality

All ears reject the sound of my voice
As the sense I speak become mere noise
Living a life with no hearer
A pain that server the word sharer

I know the pain of being lonely
As I share my thoughts solely
My situation is a woeful gravity
As it hollows me into a deadly cavity

©Paa A. Boateng

Gain Your Independence, by Martin The Poet

I’m just going to push the boat out,
spit some words and mess about.
That’s what I love about writing,
when you start out you have no idea what to talk about.
Then words just appear out of thin air,
with flare, with the power of a prayer.

Single words can lead to warfare
or they can take you from little bear to billionaire.
Most people are unaware of the power they possess,
so they walk around in a mess, or worst still in distress.
Yet they say they want success.
But they cant even control their words,
with any kind of finesse.

“Thats unfair, you know I’m depressed!”

Ok, I guess you need a recess.
Most people say they want to succeed, but have no idea what it takes,
so they sit at home smoking weed.

“It’s ok for you, you had it easy!”

Really?

It took me 20 years to get here.
I’ve got ringing in both my ears.

“You must be crazy?”

Yeah, but like Jay-Z, I’m not lazy.

“20 years sounds like a life sentence?”

True, but now it feels like transcendence.
Self rule is a tool you can use to gain your Independence.

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MYSTIC NATURE!, by Debasish majumder

I have a fancy to live high
Above the sky
I resorted to a skyscraper
To satiate my aspiration and desire
I felt extremely contented with my glamour and clamor
I am superior from many out of my endeavor
It is my strong belief
Out of ability and potentiality I am enjoying such wonderful relief!

I am in smug and feeling safe
I am isolated from lot who are just despicable to my jest
Everyday I enjoy my usual design of livelihood
Where electric lift and other gadgets make my comfortable life with sheer gratitude
Hardly I am capable to comprehend the buzzing sound in loud
The nature as well trees and plants in and around me too struggling to reach out
Above the sky is too their aspiration
Whether photosynthesis or in respiration
They continuously work with perspiration
How to express their entity in valor
To make themselves distinct too in nature’s floor!

Unlike Xylem and Phloem in plants construction
We human can travel for our existence in bidirectional
With our distinct capacity to think and rethink
We explore the nature’s floor to prove our superior extinct
But when a natural catastrophe hound us
We could comprehend evidently how insignificant our gravity which we claim in boisterous
We helplessly witness the uprooted trees became the softest victims
Like in man made war where children and women too subjected to few atrocious regimes
Helplessly they are decimated
Their obituary never being scripted
But their dedication will never be suppressed
They are true pedestal on which on which human civilization propelled!

I wonder if there is no existence of trees and plants in nature’s surface
As I recently observed huge quantity of them suddenly became moribund and dead
Being uprooted and devastated by the attack of a cyclone
Engulfing us with a life threatening menace
Alarmingly nature conveying the message of its rage
Tough fighting against nature is our inherent tendency
How could we expect from nature on us its clemency
Subduing nature is still beyond our capacity
Yet we are still engaged in fight within to subdue majority within our fraternity
Not knowing how they too may react to obliterate few’s entity!

We few are perhaps considering only privileged
With audacity and ego we dare to cause huge rampage
Nature will surely take its toll
In due time to obliterate our superiority with hyperbole!