Assignations of the Heart – Poetry Reading by Fayton Hollington. Performed by Danielle Nicole

People should respond honestly, which in my book is that initial gut reaction to something heard, done, or witnessed. That is their true discernment speaking. We tend to push that little voice aside, and find ourselves saying, If only I would have listened to my instinct. That is our inner voice, discernment if you will; leading us away from erroneous decision…. Allow their gut, to speak their truth.

Watch ASSIGNATIONS OF THE HEART:

Get to know poet Fayton Hollington:

What is the theme of your poem?

Pensive love provoking the heart, while boggling the mind.

How would you like people to respond when they read or watch your poetry reading?

People should respond honestly, which in my book is that initial gut reaction to something heard, done, or witnessed. That is their true discernment speaking. We tend to push that little voice aside, and find ourselves saying, If only I would have listened to my instinct. That is our inner voice, discernment if you will; leading us away from erroneous decision…. Allow their gut, to speak their truth.

How long have you been writing poetry?

I’ve been writing poetry for twenty years. I have never actively sat down to write poetry. I was either inspired by something I witnessed, or heard. Most of my poetry comes to me in a dream.

Do you have a favorite poet?

Maya Angelou and Langston Huges, are the two who has most intrigued me. After a spoken word performance, an audience member, told me I was the male version of Mya Angelou. Quite the compliment.

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

Becoming a winning novelist of WILDsound writing competition, I was waiting for our paths to cross, and us being able to sync up at the right time. Being self-published, I put myself on deadlines, and stick to them. I had just completed the final tweak of my next release, when this came across my email. The timing was right.

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

My literary accomplishment includes all genres, self -taught in all. Award winning Actor / Novelist / Poet. Three completed novels, using rough draft screenplays as templates, two sitcom pilots, and a host of poetry; round out my literary accomplishments to date.

As a novelist, I challenge myself by writing within a box. What tighter box is there than the screenplay format. Yes, for me; the working template of a all my novels, begin with a solidified screenplay. This makes the novel a breeze to construct, and fun to watch, as the characters, locations, and subtextual nuances in a screenplay, come to literal life in the novel. This is my process, and I have never experienced writer’s block. Before the first words are placed on a page, the outline has to be thoroughly flushed out in my mind.

What is your passion in life?

My passion is to enlighten, unearth, and serve up reality, unfettered to society. As an artist; one on a mission, this is coming to fruition.

__________

Screenplay for my novel “Conception of A Dialysis Patient (the untold truths)” now completed in Los Angeles.
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Kindred Spirits, Poetry by Inis L. Fal

One early morning as I slept, I heard a distant sound,
And coming wake, I stepped outside, and gasped at wondrous sight.
For there below in sparkling sea, touched here and there with gold,
Swam a Labrador, and aft an fore, a herd of porpoises.

Genre: beauty and inspiration

Kindred Spirits
by Inis L. Fal

One early morning as I slept, I heard a distant sound,
And coming wake, I stepped outside, and gasped at wondrous sight.
For there below in sparkling sea, touched here and there with gold,
Swam a Labrador, and aft an fore, a herd of porpoises.

Take heed all ye on land and sea, in calm and deep blue bay,
A Labrador, gleeful and gay, the porpoises did chase,
As long ago his ancestors, had often done before,
In the salty seas, of histories, and olden times afore.

Many a sun has set and done, before the Labrador,
When Spanish galleons floated o’er, Atlanteans of lore,
When land and ocean first began, and man did sail the sea,
Of mystery, and history, and porpoises did play!

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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PAIN, Poetry by Sophia Margulies

Tears stream down my face

As I breathe heavily

My eyes stare into my reflection

Not a blink

Tear drops roll slowly

Genre: Sad

Pain
by Sophia Margulies

Tears stream down my face

As I breathe heavily

My eyes stare into my reflection

Not a blink

Tear drops roll slowly

Then all at once

I grab the counter hoping for some support

But end up losing my strength

And falling

I sink until I am having trouble breathing

I gasp for air

But I end up breathless

My heart pounds so loudly

My ears ring

I close my eyes

That is when the flashbacks occur

I see the fights

I hear the words

I see my hope diminishing

I put a smile

Because that’s all that’s left of me

My eyes shine

Not from happiness

But from the acceptance of one thing

Pain

Something unfixable

I tape up the fractures dug deep into my skin

But tape is replaceable

With new wounds

That can now only scar

Maybe one day

I will be happy

This life full of maybes

When will I finally

Smile

And

Mean

It

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

To love a life, Poetry by Christopher Hughes

Eccentric maybe…but I know that I’m in love but my demons they torture me. My Love. Have you ever closed your eyes and just pictured bliss. Or even better yet dear love; closed your eyes and seen shear terror amidst your bliss? To love unconditionally, my soul? My dear and sweet heart. My soul tear at me, yet I can not find the person to fill my void. I’m trying to love myself. But where can this love come from if it has literally died and dried up from my life.

Genres: Love and depression

To love a life
by Christopher Hughes

My Love? How dare I address you so?

Or maybe I’m the crazy one…

Eccentric maybe…but I know that I’m in love but my demons they torture me. My Love. Have you ever closed your eyes and just pictured bliss. Or even better yet dear love; closed your eyes and seen shear terror amidst your bliss? To love unconditionally, my soul? My dear and sweet heart. My soul tear at me, yet I can not find the person to fill my void. I’m trying to love myself. But where can this love come from if it has literally died and dried up from my life.

It’s quite painstaking…to say the very least. Your soul has left your body and yet what do you do?? Your yesterdays are gone. You can’t take them back. Your heart yearns and begs forgiveness yet you never get any. Do you really deserve forgiveness? Or should you just continue to beg?

I try to keep my head high and be hopeful, but finding a love and losing it is a hard one.

What is love?

To me it means this: Giving yourself unconditionally to someone and despite their faults and failures…you accept them unconditionally. Yet I have failed the ultimate sin of infidelity. Oh my heart and soul…how you torment me.

First we must dig within ourselves to love ourselves.

 

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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My Daily Prayer, Poetry by Angey Cravens

Each morning I wake
I say my daily prayer
Thank God for waking me
With a fresh breathe of air

Genre: religious inspiration

My Daily Prayer
by Angey Cravens

Each morning I wake
I say my daily prayer
Thank God for waking me
With a fresh breathe of air

Thank you for showing me
How beautiful life really is
Nothing makes life complete
Like true family and friends

Thank you for every obstacle
You’ve placed along the way
They’ve made me the person
That I am today

Thank you for every blessing
I cherish each and every one
From the smallest flower growing
To the Angels that help me carry on

I pray warmth and shelter
For those out on the street
I pray they are fortunate enough
To always have food to eat

I pray protection and safety
For those fighting for a cause
Then pray strength and love
To those who feel lost

I pray God be with me
As I know he always is
I thank him once again
For all his precious gifts
AMEN

 

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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Astral Moments, Poetry by Kirstin Maguire

The bridges of Amsterdam shine in Spring,
Down river, wild current churning wide.
Twitching free, a young man slips in,
Along crooked warehouse and factory line.
Trips between buildings, viaduct drift,
Swift dip of huge river’s golden dreams.
Steam engine rolling, thunderous roaring,
Steelworks of old working-life’s gleam.

Genres:Love, Fear, Relationships, Promises, Hope, Loss, Astral

Astral Moments
Inspired by ‘Astral Weeks’ by Van Morrison
by Kirstin Maguire

The bridges of Amsterdam shine in Spring,
Down river, wild current churning wide.
Twitching free, a young man slips in,
Along crooked warehouse and factory line.
Trips between buildings, viaduct drift,
Swift dip of huge river’s golden dreams.
Steam engine rolling, thunderous roaring,
Steelworks of old working-life’s gleam.

Backstreet ditches,
Many we stumbled,
Many a night and many a sight.
Disappear from view,
Hide and then stop,
Many a night and many a sight.

Daylight cracks paving,
Deep river shining.
Many a light and many a sight.
Sunlight ripples,
Twinkling shimmer,
Many a light and many a sight.

She eyes him from dank riverbank,
She stirs, she heaves, she hurls.
Drags him under arms to reeds’ banks,
She strokes, he wakes, she soothes.

Zealous fingers comb wet hair,
Promise it will all be alright.
To lay him down in silence easy,
Dreaming all that wandering night.

He gulps new breath of refreshed world,
Silent kissed eyes open wide.
Translucent outline, rise and unfurls,
And views himself, he’s his own guide.

A gleam on the breeze, a trick, a flicker,
A glow in the air, a spark, a heartbeat.
With renewed view and refreshed spirit.
Reborn eyes with new insight.

Sun setting radiant wonder,
Leaping waves; wild ocean roar,
Crests are choppy,
Gathering wildly,
Lapping softly,
On quiet breeze.

Each tide finds its shore.
As far as eye sees,
As far as mind winds,
To horizon.

Blends, fades and folds,
Transient ascending,
As translucent-self pictures self.
Many depths plundered,
Rich skies greet pale seas.
Textures singing and sweeping free,
Grit in feet, sand creeping toes,
Questioning look on forlorn face.

Braving red skies sunset’s blaze,
Lines each texture and every crease.
Colour fade and in-betweens,
Hands wrapping tightly behind back.
Translucent vision pushes the raft
Of old oak door mounting vast waves.
Wheels way and venture revolution,
Meet sea, eclipse, find ultimate source.

In twitching dark corridor
Of bitter cold night,
Dim lights flicker along their hallway.
Pots and pans rattling,
Behind closed doors.
Raised voices spatting,
Behind closed doors.

Forcing door he tumbles in,
Tattered suit dusted
From door’s crashing.
Arm stands to attention
Behind sunken back.
Stray flowers he clutches;
Fine bastions.
The hopeful picking and
Desperate plucking,
Wilting and fragile,
Stalks sweaty palm.

There she stands;
Startled, bemused.
His breath smells of liquor
As he awkwardly shuffles
From one foot to other,
From moment to moment.
Pledges and promises
Of fine intentions.

Scratchy ‘Black Betty’ emanates vinyl,
She examines his picture hanging above.
Tracing Leadbelly,
Enshrined in gold frame,
His face so alive
He could come back to life.
She stands and watches,
In quiet confiding,
Seeks wisdom in pain
Of those old blues tales.

Winter sun streaming,
Old sash window.
Lights floor under foot,
Etches warmth on her face.
Some rare femininity
Striking her rags,
Embellishing them with
Raw beauty of
Pure golden seams,
Tinted moonstruck beams.

Long linear living room of deliberations,
Is stage to some kind of play boasting
Aristotlean Values of time and space,
As he’s struck with fear of her dalliances.
He envisions her showing out a guest,
Whispers in hallway,
Smiling strutting.
Landscapes of art all down the corridor.
Lonely image he’s imagining.

As she stands before translucent him,
Stream of sunlight strikingly free.
Not subject to window’s passage but free,
Free; its life all-consuming,
Tinting her hair, and cheek and eyes,
Shining as her glistening speech,
And they smile, and standing closer,
In mind’s fair painting of imaginings.

Small boy strolling,
By her side.
Side-parted softness,
His red shoes tap.
‘Make sure he has clean clothes to wear.
Will you see to it that he has clean clothes.’

Brave crossing room,
He’s seeking comfort.
Along fragile wall,
Designated as kitchen.
His fingers explore
Wood’s grain and knots.
Staggers at side,
As she stands centre stage,
Centre stage and further away.

Sweet memory recalls
Bridges and viaducts
Of quiet kissed eyes and life’s renewal.
He imagines them, somehow younger.
No lines of worry on bitter faces,
No signs of tiredness’ deep traces
No sign of etches of hidden regret.
Playing and laughing, holding hands,
In meadow of sun’s play
All the long day.

In living room, the sun is setting,
Shadows her face, at centre stage.
Centre Stage and further away,
As he lurches worktop, shoulder dips.
Soon twilight will arrive and night will drift in,
Leaving only distance and sweet memory.

 

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

 

My Whole Heart, Love Poetry by Buffy Sammons

I will promise you to give my entire heart..
My Love, all I asked back is for you to give “us” a fresh start..
To breathe fresh life into my broken bones as well as our broken spirit to drip down into our very broken soul..

Part of the 2016 LOVE Poetry Festival.

I will promise you to give my entire heart..
My Love, all I asked back is for you to give “us” a fresh start..
To breathe fresh life into my broken bones as well as our broken spirit to drip down into our very broken soul..
Giving me your tender touch, your arms wrapped around me, it really helps me continue towards a goal..
To fight for all that I believe only together we can beat.. With our love I know that I can always face it, my sweet..
To my love, I ask you with all I am and and always will be..
You were my first true love and will be the last love that I ever have, and even then I could see..
I never used to believe in fate but the way you made for me fall for you so quickly it’s always been you that I absolutely adore..
So I beg of you on bended knees just open up your eyes and look into mine the way I remember you did before..
You have my whole heart and have been my entire life so now my love, please just be..
My other half and what may come because there is no cause to my fight if you are not here with me..
Anything is possible my love, so just believe that we still have a future but more so, a here and now…
With your hand in mine together it gives me hope and faith that we could beat absolutely anything somehow..
You are and have been for so long, my entire family, my best friend, and the love of my life..
Nothing could have made me more proud than the day that I became your wife..
We have been going through an awful lot of bad times right now but never for one second think..
That we haven’t had just as many good ones in fact a lot more great ones, it just reminds us that it can all be taken away in just a blink..
We can be happy again my love, I just know it, but from here on what I really do need..
Is positivity to keep me focused on your love for me, and strength to keep me up when the days get rough indeed..
I know it’s been a lot to ask but I will promise to give you all of me, my love, from deep down in my heart, soul, and so very much more..
With you by my side I can only beat this so that we will can make new memories and together we will again soar..
Just please help me in this fight because I feel so alone in the darkness sometimes, so don’t give up on me my love, for there will be no future for me, without you..
My world would be over without your arms holding me tight, your lips locked on mine, and your eyes in my view…

Dedicated to my true soul mate Matthew..
I will love you forever and always..
Buffy Sammons
..Still fighting..3-25-2016

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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BEST MUSE, Poetry by Lilian C Misoy

So many notes written,
About a muse unforgotten ,
Both beautiful and dark,
Most so deep, enough to leave a mark,

Genre: Love

Best Muse

So many notes written,
About a muse unforgotten ,
Both beautiful and dark,
Most so deep, enough to leave a mark,

Yet,
He still writes about her,
His angel ,so close yet so far,
He might at times change his flow,
Finding another beau to adore,

But still she remains,
His favourite tale even in chains,
For she may be locked away,
In his vault all year every day,

But,
In his mind alive she will remain,
A love he might have loved in vain,
And always she’s his main,
Breathing , living ,keeping him sane.

By Lilian C Misoy
254 (Kenya)

 

 

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

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MASOCHISTS, by Poetry by Kyle Jones

Your masters,
sick;
masochists.
Savages wrapped
in lavish masks,

Genre: Dark, Rhythmic, Deep

Masochists
by Kyle Jones

Your masters,
sick;
masochists.
Savages wrapped
in lavish masks,
the past unraveled it.
We’ve traveled
backwards,
cataract contact,
laughs with
con-act actors.
Intact cause our dad’s
dads were bastards.
We backtracked paths
and sat on past answers.
Planned for the damned
and we laughed at disaster.

 

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

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My First Love Letter, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

I don’t know, I can’t tell

But there was she

My classmate

With jasmine teeth

A dance perched on her feet

Bothering my budding masculinity

Genre: Love

My First Love Letter
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

 

It was when I was just in class three

Hovering around the tenth year of age

Something bothered me in the hours wee

A sweetness, an aroma, sweat

Or was it the morning dew on grass

That kept me awake

Rolling on my smelly bed

With a sweetness that blazed my glands

 

I don’t know, I can’t tell

But there was she

My classmate

With jasmine teeth

A dance perched on her feet

Bothering my budding masculinity

 

I knew I wanted her

I couldn’t make out what for

In a frenzy that engulfed me

Like a forest fire then I wrote

On the inside of a discarded cigarette pack

Slit open like a bleeding heart

What I felt, the first love letter

In words that moved like ants

All over me and my heart

 

I handed it to her brother

Two years younger

In secret, behind the school toilet yonder

Hoping it would reach and vanquish her

 

But, there was the maths teacher

Fondling his scorpion tail moustache

Watching the goings-on

Who intercepted the missive

From the hands of the shivering brother

 

I thought I was in for hell

Punishment, beatings, no one can tell

But nothing happened to my surprise

Till at last I noticed

The school headmistress at my fence

In a rare bosom chat with my mom, her friend

 

I was playing behind my house

Rolling stones in the setting sun

Like a forlorn Ulysses adorned in sweat

Yet I knew I was their subject

 

Days passed and Diwali came

The Indian festival of lights

It was time for the early morning bath

Under the glistening stars

My mom poured warm water over me from a tub

And I misbehaved in a gleeful jump

She cautioned and slapped me on my thigh

With a fire unknown in her eyes

“Idiot, have you begun

Writing love letters at this age? ”

 

That was the first and last time

She ever beat me

A lovely mother was she

And, often I wonder what happened

To that passionate missive of mine

 

Perhaps, it was blown over by the winds

Over fences and thorns and profusely bled

And withered in the sun and rain

Decayed down the channels of time

 

And I met her of late one of these days

At a temple festival when I braved

To tell her about my missive missed

That perhaps could have changed our fate

 

She laughed out in a guffaw

An aging grandma of three

And I could see at sixty-eight

Her jasmines were still intact

What more could a lover want

When he has only a toothless smile

In exchange, Oh, why do we age?

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

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