Read Poetry: THE MANSION OF RUSSIAN CREEPS, by Fadrian Bartley

On the remote island of Russian creeps

A cast away washed ashore wounded and weak

Upon awakening such place he has never seen

Not familiar to his eyes, or has he ever being

Struggle to stand, and from his feet he bled

With the buzzing sounds he constantly heard in his head

Stranded at the shore no one seem to be at bay

No ship approaching and no one coming his way

Unconsciously he fainted, fell to the ground,

And woke only to find himself chained and tied down

To a basement in a mansion that’s where he was

With antique items and dirty old rugs

Swiftly and quietly appears a mysterious girl

With the appearance of what seems not from this world

In front of a huge mirror she stands combing her hair

While the lost victim sit quietly and trembled in fear

As she brushed her hair with a sweet humming from her voice

‘’What am I doing here? he yelled’’

You are here for a reason,

And You are here for a choice

With her hair reached to the ground,

By then the humming stops and not a sound

Struggling to free himself from those fetters and chains

The flashing of lightening along with the pouring rain

The child began to laugh and this is what she says

‘’On Russian creeps you stranded for days’’

‘’You are still asleep bound in this maize’’

Here is the mirror where you will find your way’’

As these words spill from her velvet lips

He saw an imprint sign carved on her wrist

Angrily he shouted ‘’let me go, let me go’

She replied ‘I scream those exact words before I die seven years ago’

Her tears became dark, And black as charcoal

With her hair falling out, and the face grew old

Her skin began to fade while he watched fearfully and lingers

And what remains of her was only a ring that fell from her dead fingers

A shattered mirror blast in pieces

While her scream echoes, and all that there is began to depleted

Struggling and shouting but no one could hear

Down from the basement is all a soundless fear

Awaken from a dream, a dream that’s what it seems

Terrified in himself he wonders what all these means

But the occurrence endless and seems to follow

Through the dreadful catastrophe and sleepy hollow

There were noises in the walls

Of little children running through the halls

From his bed he ran to look

Taken with him a cross hidden inside of a book

Looking around in expectation, but all was only a strange phenomenon.

Read Poetry: Part 1 The Lady of the Meadow, by Fiona Jamieson

Silence , silence , everywhere
Not even bird song in the air
In stillness does the river flow
Yet poppies on the breeze do blow
On meadows that do stretch before
Today, as in the days of yore
What horrors does this scene betray
Under sky of blue on summers day?
Somewhere, within a trench unseen
There is a very different scene
Where prayers in silent whisper said
Whilst hearts do beat with fear and dread
And now we see, Tom, Bill and Joe
Waiting for the sign to go
And somewhere, not too far away
Hearts do beat in same way
Tom holds the picture to his heart
Of his sweetheart, sad they are apart
His finger soft, does trace her cheek
As a single tear his face does streak
A stolen glance, Bill scours the line
‘Do eyes betray their fear like mine”?
The whistle shrills, the hearts do race
And now beat at a faster pace
The silence broken, twas the sign
As from the trenches men do climb
And now the third and fourth do charge
As they their duty do discharge
No longer silence, fills the air
But artillery rattles everywhere
As canons blast their heavy load
With deafening boom does it explode
Crackle of gun, and thud on ground
The latter being quiet profound
Eyes blinded by the clouds of smoke
That shroud the meadow like a cloak
Still with his picture , tight in hand
Tom heads with fear to ‘no man’s land’
He wonders, should he take the chance
To stop and at the picture glance
‘Thud’ the bullet tears his chest
He falls, as blood seeps through his vest
With failing sight his fingers seek
And upon her picture Tom does weep
The light does fade, and darkness falls
Tom thinks he hears the angels call
He looks, upon a sea of dead
As poppies toss their heads of red.

She watched the scene, with tear in eye
Knowing many men that day would die
‘I simply do not understand
Why man can cause such harm to man
Why is it such a beauteous place
Bares witness to such deep disgrace
Where poppies red do grow beside
The cornflower blue, both stand with pride
Must I this bloody scene purvey?
When deep upon my heart this weighs
Have I the right to intervene
And save these men from nightmares dream?
Should I show mercy, I know I can
And in doing so such actions ban?
But I am told, ’tis not the way
For man does lead himself astray
The lessons, hard, and must be learned
If man can his redemption earn
I pledge, as now my tears do flow
Forever here, will flowers grow
Meadows filled with red and blue
Dancing in the breeze for you
And whilst my heart aches with regret
My promise: They will not forget.’

She from his hand, the picture took
Determined she should take a look
A beauty, it was clear to see
Did from the picture look at she
Peach coloured cheeks with dark brown eyes
She saw how Daisy, was Tom’s prize
‘Yes’ she thought, ’twas worth the chance
For Tom to take that one last glance’
A moment, Tom begins to stir
But all around does seem a blur
He knows his heart no longer beats
Yet finds himself upon his feet
Confused, he stares with eyes aghast
Upon his chest ripped by the blast
Blood flows still with growing speed
It seems the very earth doth bleed
He casts his eyes, for treasure lost
Which Tom must find at any cost
The picture gone, where could it be
The only treasure dear to he
Touched, she softly calls his name
Holds out the picture, Tom reclaims
And with a smile says ‘ take my hand
Its time to leave this no mans land
The dark does fade, departs the night
And we must walk towards the light’.

Tom turned, and took her outstretched hand
And together they crossed no mans land
As they walked, before his eyes
A thousand fallen men did rise
A smile, a wave, for Tom sees Joe
The one who’d been the first to go
No longer torn by sense of fear
Just led by she who seeks to steer
Yet Tom is troubled by the thought
Of his sweetheart Daisy, now distraught
‘Lady, I know not your name
And do not know from whence you came
Are you an angel, tell me please?
Do you come to now our souls release?
She smiled, with finger touched his cheek
‘I’ll give the answers you do seek.’
I am one, who guides the way
To every soul on judgment day
But now I have a special task
For I know that which you do not ask
Your lovely, Daisy, yes will grieve
For a telegram she will receive
But I promise , love has no regrets
And her Tom, she never will forget
There will come a time you meet again
Your hearts freed from relentless pain.’

‘Come , she said ‘and watch with me
Come, Tom, see what I do see
Spring forward twenty years or more
See Daisy, stood, her heart still sore
Though older now her eyes still shine
Her heart for ever still is thine
See how she stands before the grave
Lips tremble, yet I know she’s brave
Look, Tom, she clasps unto her chest
An image of you, she loved the best
Watch dear Tom, she’s in a daze
As falling tears her eyes do glaze
Listen Tom, hear her yet’,
‘I promised I would not forget.’
‘Go now Tom, its not remiss
And on her cheek plant softest kiss
Go dear Tom, for I know its true
She knows that kiss does come from you.’

Alone, walked she, among the dead
That o’er the summer meadow spread
She stopped, and watched, still poppies danced
By those who fell as they advanced
She saw how flowing blood did feed
The also fallen poppy seeds
She knew that by the month of June
The meadow would with poppies bloom
A sudden breeze, a summers chill
For Tom did stand beside her still
His face she saw with angst was torn
‘I know my Daisy, how she’ll mourn
I know how deep her heart will ache
Lady, please, for Daisy’s sake’
With outstretched hand again he spoke
‘Please give to her this envelope.’

She took the note and promised he
It would find its way to dear Daisy
Its words did tear her heart in two
For she knew the words were pure and true

‘Love, if you this letter read
I beg you, let your heart not bleed
I did not weather storm of night
And blackness now has dimmed my light
But give to me your loving smile
For I’ll be gone, for just a while
Cry, not for me, my Daisy please
For I come to you on mornings breeze
Let not your cheek be stained with tear
Just call my name and I will hear
Remember me, and times of joy
And kiss for me Arthur, our boy
Know my soul is filled with love
And looks upon you from above
Bonds that bind both you and I
Cannot be broken when I die
Ask my friends to raise a cheer
And drink for me a pint of beer
Smile, my Daisy please stay strong
Always , your own beloved Tom.’

Still stood amongst the poppies red
The cornflowers too still swayed their heads
The Goddess knew what she must do
To Tom’s request she would be true
The letter was a precious gift
She knew would Daisy’s spirits lift
A gift that she would always treasure
For through it Tom would live forever
Across the meadow , she did screen
Her eyes upon the tragic scene
‘How many men did die this day
Too short their lives to end this way
How many Tom’s their lives did give
For those unknown, that they might live
How many Daisy’s now do grieve
When their telegram they do receive?
How many hearts today now break?
For them my very soul does ache.’

Unseen, she stood beside her bed
And watched her toss and turn her head
Stifled sobs, and breaking heart
What wisdom could she now impart?
She took the letter from her cloak
And then to Daisy softly spoke
‘Sleep, for you will find your peace
And from your pain will come release’
Slowly did the sobs subside
As she moved to stand at Daisy’s side
She placed the letter in her hand
And a poppy red, from no man’s land
‘Daisy, though your heart does ache
Tom begs a smile, for his souls sake
The words he wrote I know are wise
For he sees beyond his own demise
The bonds that bound you and he
Will last for all eternity
When you do feel the summers breeze
It’s Tom’s kiss that does gently tease
And yes, he stands beside me now
With gentle finger strokes your brow
Listen to your place of dreams
Where all is not quite what it seems
Dream dear Daisy, he calls your name
And says his death was not in vain
Know that when you feel despair
Just call his name, for he is there
Another time, in depth of night
He’ll come to lead you to the light
A light to lead your new journey
And then, I know, you will be free.’

Twas another forty years and four
Before Daisy saw her Tom once more
Daisy, sick, lays in her bed
Confused, she cannot clear her head
Baby Arthur, long a man
Does sit and hold his mother’s hand
A whispered word, ‘Mum night does creep
It’s a good day for your longest sleep.’
The clouds do lift from Daisy’s eyes
And joyous from her comes a cry
For stood, beside her she does see
Her Tom, who says ‘I’ve come for thee
Come my Daisy, fast comes night
And walk with me into the light
I promised then that, you and me
Will live our life eternally.’
Gently now, he stroked her hair
And whispered ‘Ever still my Daisy fair’
Come, for now the lady calls
To take you to the judgement hall
Come, my Daisy, here’s my hand
Its time to leave this mortal land’
Come my love, ‘no time for tears
The light shines bright, the way is clear
Come my love, begin anew
Your Tom is now returned to you.’

The Bane of Whitechapel – Poetry Reading by Lee A Forman

 

 Performed by Val Cole

Get to know the Poet:

What is the theme of your poem?

Horror / Historical

What motivated you to write this poem?

A documentary about Jack the Ripper.

How long have you been writing poetry?

I’ve been trying my hand at poetry for about a year.

If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

Jules Verne.

What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

I’ve written stories for audio drama podcasts and hearing your own work read aloud is very enjoyable.

Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

I have written many short stories, magazine articles, and will soon be publishing my first book.

What is your passion in life?

My greatest passion in life is writing. Always will be.

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

Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: John Johnson

Camera Operator: Mary Cox

Escape – Poetry Reading by Farzleen F Khan

Performed by Val Cole

Get to know the poet: 
1) What is the theme of your poem?

Drama

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

Watching the documentary leading to Amy Whinehouses’ death

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

Since I was 12 after I received my first diary and got into it actively after signing up for a poetry writing class back when i was a sophomore in 1998 at Western Michigan Uni Kalamazoo

4) If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

It would be Sylvia Plath

5) What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

Just the mere thought of having someone else read it for others to hear and hopefully relate to is we inspiring

6) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

Short stories and copywriting

7) What is your passion in life?

Seeing and encouraging others esp young women to ultimately live their lives to the fullest (put aside their careers, family, issues etc) for themselves first and to experience some form of joy and contentedness going through a journey of creativity whilst witnessing a sense of fulfillment it brings.

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

Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: John Johnson

Camera Operator: Mary Cox

Beautiful Dead Dragonfly Why – Poetry Reading by James Gaynor

 

Performed by Val Cole
1) What is the theme of your poem?

Is there a moment of clarity preceding the final darkness that is either night or death?

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

My friend, the photographer Andrew Guest,  took a picture of a dead dragonfly that I found oddly beautiful. I started thinking of the insect’s life, one defined  almost completely by  constant aerial movement, now finished, attested to by still and iridescent corpse on the ground.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

More than 50 years

4) If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

Sushi with Jane Austen

5) What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

I hear my poetry read by a voice inside my head. Oddly enough, it sounds just like me. I was curious as to what it might sound like read by someone with a beautiful voice, someone I didn’t know.

6) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

As #HaikuJim I write regular commentary for OTVmagazine.com and have just published a new book, Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice in 61 Haiku (1,037 Syllables!)  https://www.amazon.com/Austens-Pride-Prejudice-Haiku-Syllables/dp/0997842830/ref=tmm_pap_title_1?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1508089031&sr=8-1

7) What is your passion in life?

I’m a classic Scorpio. Make of that what you will.  😎

 

****

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

Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: John Johnson

Camera Operator: Mary Cox

Maybe, There Is Still Hope – Poetry Reading by Melissa R. Mendelson

Performed by Val Cole

Get to know the poet:

What is the theme of your poem?

Even when we are at our worst, there is still a splinter of hope.

What motivated you to write this poem?

We have been invaded with horrific news day after day, and in today’s world, there is a lot of fear and a lot of hate. And I fear that would kill humanity, but then natural disasters happen. And we move past all that monstrosity and remember the most important thing: To be human.

How long have you been writing poetry?

I started writing poetry in middle school and really got into it later in high school.

If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

Sam Waterston. Seems like an interesting guy, and he was great in The Newsroom.

What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

Words carry weight, but when spoken, that weight resonates more.

Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

I have written numerous short stories over the years. A lot of my short stories have been published by various Ezines such as Gadfly Online and Antarctica Journal, and recently, I have self-published a few short stories on Amazon Kindle.

What is your passion in life?

Writing
 

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

Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: John Johnson

Camera Operator: Mary Cox

INDIAN SUMMER – Poetry Reading by Vihang A Naik

Performed by Val Cole

Get to know the poet: 

FFP : Festival For Poetry

VaN : Vihang A. Naik

FFP ) What is the theme of your poem?

VaN ) I was exploring the theme of Summer with reference to India . As against to western poetry cannon of poetry. As you find summer related poetry more romantic which one would not find in India . In India and eastern countries one would find hot unbearable summer which would make you think of hell. The spiritual experience associated with Summer.

FFP ) What motivated you to write this poem?

VaN ) The impulse running underneath the is letting go of physical and realising the spritual.

FFP ) How long have you been writing poetry?

VaN ) I have now been writing poetry since more than three decades .

FFP ) If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

VaN ) Dinner reminds me of the last supper. I wish i was with nine Disciples of Christ.

FFP ) What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

VaN ) To me poetry is performance as well along with reading it out aloud with certain specific rhythm.

And Festival for Poetry has come out with indescribable idea for performance reading my some one who

for other field of arts. An actor. It is always exciting to see how your poetry gets performed.

FFP ) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

VaN ) I practice writing poetry in Gujarati language ( my mother tongue ) besides translations

I often translate Gujarati language poetry into English language besides my own Gujarati language poetry .

FFP ) What is your passion in life?

VaN ) The ultimate passion in life is to be human. I love this life where we are human beings.

Is it not true that when you wake up to see the world and switch on your television

and you see all nations torn apart and that centre cannot hold …

Vihang A. Naik : Indian poet writing in EnglishHe also writes in poetry in Gujarati and translates from Gujarati into English language. He lives and works in Gujarat, India. He can be visited at http://www.vihang.org

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

Director: Kierston Drier
Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne
Editor: John Johnson

Camera Operator: Mary Cox

Read Poetry: LORD MANDERBEEL, by Dale Clement

Epic Gothic tale
A somewhat artist friend of mine asked me stately meet to dine

And sure enough without no quiver a horse drawn carriage had delivered

Me from ones abode so cold draped my shoulders cloak of bold

And unsurprised by candle light the carriage master cracked a strike

The two strong steeds did quickly carry

My bones and skin were yet to marry

Over cobbled roads then tracks

The city lights had faded black

Snorting nostrils flailed saliva

Relentless whip cracks braced the driver

Headlong fast grazed open fields

We race toward Lord Manderbeels

As two makes one as one makes right it often takes the chance that might

We share alone our own appraisal and fortune dine at others tables

When chance arose and of thine breast a nervous beating filled my chest

As if a mist or sprite dust moon had somehow faded through my gloom

A taste of dread and fiery leather

An ink well smudge contained by letter

An endless longing plagued my head a crimson sun of ghost white red

Over the fields on horse drawn wheels

Over the fields to Manderbeels

 

The stately gates my eyes did view I recollect I thought of you

Hidden deeply in your slumber lovelorn breathless shrouded lover

Inside your hidden solemn shrine your fruitless cherry lips of thine

Do speak no more laments of larks or madrigals to melt my heart

No longer shall our limbs entwine

No languished kiss caress nor sign

No lightning bolt to break my thunder

Just I alone without my lover

I alone fast horse drawn wheels

I alone to Manderbeels

 
The horses failed in such a hurry the drivers face a mud splashed slurry

He broke the reigns and bowed his hat with eloquence of streamlined rat

A murmured whisper broke my ear ” beg pardon sir, we are now here”

A step thrown down with such disparage as I descended from the carriage

Yet time stopped still, no cogs no wheels

Time stood still at Manderbeels

At first perhaps on casional morn the frost may first concur with dawn

Yet as its sullen glint line crashes sunlight burns away its ashes

Leaving lost abundant feelings time for thoughts and time for dreamings

Freezing sorrow ice melt frost ultraviolet fire bleached loss

Infiltrate the hair line cracks go forth the days of looking back

Tense the strength of hidden pleasure unaware its at our leisure

Unaware its at our heels

Unaware at Manderbeels

Now as ones psyche twinkles bright alas that God forsaken night

It had but found its cloak and cane and swiftly parted from my brain

It found its hat in such a hurry it gave no time for fear or worry

It gave no time yet half insane broke all but glimpse of earthly chains

It rattled through my bones precisely

Joyous,unashamed,unsightly

It left my body grasping leather

Wind swept hairline seeking weather

My soul would rather taste the steel

My soul slipped grasp at Manderbeels

And now I stand but steps away

I’ve often wondered,wished and prayed

For chance the chance I have right now

Remove the frown lines from thine brow

Dissolve all trace of shallow grave

Unmask the earth from china glaze

Connect the eyes of thine eyes gaze

Exchange the sallow silky haze

No cataracts to blind loves wonder

No withered lilies bending under

A silhouette made turn my heels

The silhouette of Manderbeel

Inverted night lights shine my face

Informing eager eyes that gaze

That i show fear from mine eyes gaze

And bitter sweet regrets that save

All tortures bitten from thine grace

As eloquent as new thread lace

Hello old friend,my blood congealed

Hello old friend spake Manderbeel

I follow him by beckoned light

Ascending stairs of marble white

Until ten pass we reach a door

The entrance I where once before

Did enter to the house of pain

As dripping feelings fill my brain

As tender teardrops weep with rain

And all that lays as naked chained

Go through the door let past times heal

Release your thoughts of Manderbeel

As now as sure as I stand cold

A hand shake smile with grey roots rolled

Has shaken tightest grip of bold

And shivered through my very soul

As turning arm does point past fold

To garnished splendour draped with gold

And finery from all the globe

“Come grace my table Andrew Peel”

“It’s been a while Lord Manderbeel”

 

As I stand as if to stare adjacent to my out pulled chair

I realise what now is there underneath the candles glare

The licking dancing burning flames shine like diamonds filled with pain

As I alone connect my pain to languished orchards in thy name

And prey inside to break remains of tortured souls that writhe in pain

Whilst chained to tables naked drained

“Sit my boy”, the banquet squealed

A gong banged loud at Manderbeels

The eunuch man-boy trayed in wine

Of two out three I did decline

Until my pallet settled fine

A taste accustomed to my spine,a laudanum laced cherry brine

The same I had that other time

When lips so sweet I did confine to everlasting blackened night

And prayed that she returned to light

As feelings burst the wretched plight that chase my senses through delight

The angered madness lost insight and crimsoned eyelids filled with sprite

A silver knife wrapped tight white steel

I aim my lunge for Manderbeel

He gazed then grasped my knuckled lance

“Andrew Peel you are entranced,your eyes have glazed your pupils prance

like times before when lovers danced awash with juice from poppy branch

your clouded judgement longs to reel

your smile has cracked with tinctured zeal

inside our realm we have to deal the cruellest cards so we can feel

the bleeding that the tortured seal

and turn our backs on all that’s real”

“Refrain”
“Refrain”

Her fate lay sealed

“Refrain”
“Refrain”

Gasped Manderbeel.

 

Dale Clement 2013.

Watch the OCTOBER 2017 Poetry Readings

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morris

Poetry Reading: The Painter, by Theresa Pio

Poetry Reading: LOVE SONG OF A JOURNEYMAN, by Vihang A Naik

Poetry Reading: Precious Little Girl by Murna Safford