Poetry Reading: Egypt’s Shifting Sands by Helen Whitten

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

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

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Poetry Reading: THE PROMISE by Arloa L. Means

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

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

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Poetry Reading: LOVE BASKET by Silas Ola-Abayomi

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

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

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Poetry Reading of FREEDOM by Mustofa Munir

 

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

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

Director: Kierston Drier

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Camera Op: Mary Cox

Read Poem: Middle Path by John Blyth Barrymore

The middle path is the hardest road for a man to walk with grace
I’ve spent my life in a cold dark cell or else, well, lost in space
My heart full of peace, harmony, love, greeting each one with a smile
Or hanging out down on Hooligan Street with O.J., Erik and Lyle
People would say as I traveled their way, “There goes John; he’s sober and
chaste.”
Or else they would point as I lit up my joint and say, “There goes John; what a
waste.”
A fit vegetarian, healthy of frame, living on sunlight and seeds
Or making my way down to Tom’s Number 5 to score a cheeseburger with
speed
Then back in A.A., at least for a day, with a promise never to swerve
Or down a dark alley, syringe in my arm, determined to fry that last nerve
It’s a struggle, my friends, to live a moderate life when your personality leans
to extremes
Some said it was youth but to tell you the truth, I think that it’s mostly my
genes
Nevertheless moderation’s my goal; my resolve is unsurpassed
(Hope springs eternal in the heart of a man who refuses to learn from his past)
Still this is my row, though it’s a hard one to hoe, and I frequently feel God’s
wrath
When I come to that three-tined fork in the road, I’ll head for the middle path

Read Poem: We will breath again by Michael Gonzalez

After the wind is gone, only the memories of it are left wandering adrift the surface, like one cast away in the middle of the sea hoping to be found.

If only I could hear the sound of it once again and embrace it, as it caresses my face making me feel complete; then complete I will be, and no longer should I have to yearn for your touch or seek you where you may be. Yes, the gift is given as a breath; a breath of fresh air filling up the emptiness left within, as my spirit clings to the thought of seeing you once more, feeling you once more, loving you once more, breathing you once more.

Drowning. I try to stay above the waters but my body fails me with out you present my dear love. The sun continues to sing it’s song and rejoices each morning, but the days pass me by, as if it were only a brief shutting and opening of the eyes, and the night quickly becomes my day, holding me captive.

Someone come and rescue me from these treacherous waves, beating against my flesh in a violent attempt to take away my very last breath; the only breath that I have left, the breath of your breath.

There it goes, fleeing from me, wandering in the wind like a kite without string. But an existing hole renders it flightless, bringing it back to the land, where it’s pieces are recovered and put together carefully.

Oh, how I wish I could soar with you between those soft and lofty clouds, flying along the four winds with those who see us, but us not them, spreading both of my arms as wings and giving in to you with out any control of my own.

Oh, how I seek that day, where I wake up to your voice, as you speak whatever words that fill the air around me; words of wisdom, teaching, and the gentleness of love. Nothing satisfies my being than the thought of this and more.

Kindness comes back, luring me to follow it, saying: “No more do you have to hate yourself”, it tells me. I turn my one ear to hear clearly these words, nourishing the want in me to listen.

My heart aches from the pains unwanted and I try to sedate it with more pain, as if it were a remedy. But it slowly disappears as the years flee along with tears, dried up in a deserted past.

Years of my youth were many, and restless nights even more, and as they moved forward in numbers, the rest that I longed for and left behind has caught up with me, reminding me that the happening that has happened is gone, just as
the wind that came and went, leaving only the breeze to listen to.

Mend a broken heart and it will heal over time, but time has no patience or recollection of itself. It only leaves a trail of clues pointing to what it was before it left.

On a day when no one was listening, the winds blew past and whispered a calming sound; a sound of peace and restfulness. It entered and exited with such glory that only those meant to hear it, heard. A goodbye without saying it, so that those who were listening knew of the farewell.

Mother, how could I ever know what you were going through, how could I know what you were thinking, how could I feel all the pain that you endured in your last days, what were your thoughts knowing that you had to leave us behind, how
could I blame myself for your departure, how can I see you again? As this past is left behind us, I am reminded each day of your wind that resides in me, and I will breathe it till my last breath, until our winds cross again.

Written by Michael Gonzalez

Cati and Mike Gonzalez
Independent Filmmakers info@catiandmikegonzalezfilms.com

Read Poem: Life is art by Brendan Lee

https://iamtherforeiquestion.wordpress.com/2018/11/20/life-is-art/

Life is art

There was not very much that made me feel alive anymore. Life was just one bland mixture, painted on an imperfect canvas, with fading and cheap colors. Amateurish, ugly to the rest of the world.

I was ugly on the inside, which distorted my reflection on the outside. my colors ran, they bled out.

Yet someday, somewhere, someone will find beauty in it. Someone found beauty in me. Poor and priceless, it would mean the world to them.

In rags or riches they cherished me.

Then one day you’ll realize, art is never bad, nor ugly. But unique to its creator and its admirer.

I was never bad, nor ugly. Just too focused on everyone else’s palette to appreciate my own.

Love is the same way, this is why the most unlikely of souls find one another and become interwoven by the hand. Walking through a confused and appalled world bathing in their originality. Spiting all critics who lack their own masterpiece.

Silenced Poet.

POETRY Written by Copy Kate

Here it comes just hold on tight,

We hear about it day and night.

I haven’t even started buying,

My Christmas cheer is slowly dying.

Got Christmas spirit another way,

It’s Baileys!-best drank at day.

Gotta buy crap I don’t need,

Plus ten people I need to feed.

Christmas dinner won’t be a mess,

If you cheat and shop M&S.

Not home made I have no shame,

All that cooking I’ll go insane.

I’m wrapping presents in a jiffy,

I’m using foil just like Smithy.

I’m writing cards with no joy,

And trying to find the latest toy.

If Argos says sold out again,

Oh so help me God, Amen.

I’m sewing tinsel on a dress,

My lounge is now a sparkly mess.

Apparently she’s a Christmas fairy,

I’ld like to know who the fuck got Mary?!

The nativity play is welcome bliss,

From the endless fucking to do list.

Santa’s getting all the glory,

What about the Christmas story?

School wants money I’ve none left,

Might consider a bank theft.

Christmas jumper day? oh fuck!

I’m trying to find it with no luck.

The gingerbread house is a flop,

The roof just won’t stay on the top.

My Pinterest Christmas is a fail,

I’ll hibernate till January sale.

My house looks like Santa’s grotto,

More is more that’s my motto.

Come on guys we can do it,

Pass the Baileys we’ll get through it!

Written by Copy Kate

Genre: Humour, Christmas, kids, family.

Read Poem: Jamaica by Janet Audrey Wilson

Jamaica, an Island in the Caribbean Sea, North American Continent, where God Almighty is present in mind, soul and body of the people in love, strong, mighty, faithful and free,.. perpetual sunshine, green meadows, rivers embedded in mountains,hills and valleys, flowing into the Atlantic and the Caribbean sea, some rivers cascading into falls is a mystery in places yet to be seen,..as in creatures, caves, roads, yet to be paved, trails where hikers have left a mark for the opening of a camper or recreational natures park.

Jamaica, an Island to behold, where volcanoes uninterrupted and lava has not flowed, filled with gems I am sure, to be discovered, stones such as silver and gold, rich with foiilage of many shrubs and trees, the blue mahoe, lignum vitae and bamboo are hardy and indigenous trees, their woods, among these, a national flower blooms herein mentioned, as in the Ackee the national fruit, fully ripen cooked and eaten with spices and other mixtures as an entree or to compliment a meal;

Jamaica an Island in the in the sun, is for vacation and fun, blessed with all the fine things given, its uniqueness is for keeps, in the rhythms of reggae music and dance grooves as for the thrill to see a humming bird the nations tiniest and mightiest is also picturesque to many, another national symbol as the coat of arms representing ancestry and the flag of green, black and yellow, depicting the people, land and sunshine, resources in minerals, bauxite and agriculture where farmers are happy to reap the harvest sown, exhibiting produce they have grown.

Jamaica an Island in the world and universe is alive with people of all nations today, spectacular to bring about a greater intent of futures, of peace, love and greater prosperity and wealth as the people of the past are few and the knowledge of God Almighty last through and true….Jamaica, the people and land are blessed, come what may, caring for each other as always, being wiser in the advancement of technology…the era of machine and medicine…. proud and true in freedom, reign until the last of our days seemingly, naturally… Jamaica.