Poetry Reading: A Prayer Forgotten But Answered, by Randy Peyser

 

Performed by Katelyn Varadi

Get to know the poet:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

Healing the heart

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

I was sitting at a bus stop, not waiting for a bus, but waiting for a friend. We were going to eat dinner at a crepe restaurant. She was running late. I had just come from a poetry class and felt inspired to write some more. This poem popped out of me and had nothing to do with that class. So, I wrote it while sitting there at a bus stop.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I’ve been writing poetry for four years. Poetry is something I started writing for fun. I started going to a monthly poetry class in Scotts Valley, California. I enjoyed the friendly social aspect of the class. We wrote to prompts and shared what we wrote. The teacher created a strong sense of safety in the class, so there was a lot of freedom to not censor oneself, and just write and explore the medium.

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

Truthfully, my mother, because I miss her. She was totally supportive of me and unconditionally loving. She encouraged my creative soul to blossom, and she was my biggest cheerleader.

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

I was curious and the price was right. ; )

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

I write books – I wrote The Power of Miracle Thinking; and Crappy to Happy, which Julia Roberts holds up in the movie, Eat Pray Love. I’ve been editor-in-chief of a national magazine and have written for many magazines over the years.
I LOVE to get people book deals with publishers. That is what I do for a living. My other passions: I have 17 drums, and for some reason, my neighbors still like me. I also play guitar, dulcimer, and just started teaching myself ukelele. Another passion is art – I do collages, silk painting, and mandala weaving. Another passion is animals. I support many.

Poetry Reading: Cracks In The Sidewalks, by Irene Leland

Performed by Katelyn Varadi

Get to know the poet:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

A melancholy and symbolic laurel portraying the analogy of a relationship that will be crumbling with the cracks in the sidewalk and diminishing with the flattening of the hill.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

Unlike personal motivation for much of my lyrics, this creatively came to me, and I was drawn by its double meaning, as a way to bring a meaningful impact.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I’ve been writing poetry since I was in grade school…for sixty years.

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

That person would be Joni Mitchell, as her lyrics and music always inspired me.

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

I’m an actor and a voiceover artist, and I knew that having my work vocally performed in a professional presentation would give it a special asset.

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

Yes! I’m an author of two biographies, two children’s books, several short stories and articles, a film treatment and script, many poems and award winning songs.

7) What is your passion in life?

My passion in life is to live to the fullest, exploring and fulfilling my dreams and tapping into and sharing my God given gifts of writing and composing! My natural living and creative expression has given me tremendous fulfillment in dealing with the celebrations and the hardships in life. 

Read Poem: Hot New Summer Day, by Rishabh Parmar

’tis a playing field for many kinds
out in the arena, to discern the companionship of the puissant sun
’tis a hot, new summer day , blithe and sound
maketh thou run, run, run…

syrupy voice of nightingale, fills candied fondness
brisk zephyr from mount, gives the kiss of life to excitement
’tis a hot, new summer day, with couthy happiness
pulpous din of childlike leaves, giveth splendiferous compliment

Always, be youthful, thou art not old
sayeth the mighty tree
’tis a hot, new summer day, nitid and bold
thine cravings should never perish that maketh thee free

Last, but not the least
hot, new summer day bids thou for the feast.

Read Poem: Wet Dreams, by Atandi Anyona

Fear blinks endlessly from both her eyes
what kind of soul does this to a child
a love suffocated while still so young
when she sleeps you can hear her dreams cry.

Assigned a mentor exemplary at his work
every teacher recommended him to their class
all she wanted was to be better, to learn, work hard
he pinned her to the dusty chalk board
ripped her skirt and innocence apart.

Her friends dream daily of falling in love
with those tall handsome knights
she can’t stand the sight of a man
can she ever be touched as a wife?

Tonight there’s a knife tucked under her pillow
there’s a feel he’ll appear in her nightmare
she prays she’ll wake in sheets wet with
his blood
she will begin to heal
at last.

Tuck Me In, A poem by Ruthie B

Your voice is like a cradle
It rocks me to sleep
When I’m not able
To shut it all down

On a porch swing made of song
You sing and strum
I hum along
And try to shut it all down

I tune in
When I want to tune out
All the noise that’s coming through

It’s all so damn romantic
Music is my blanket
What’s a girl to do?

With your notes
You weave a hammock
Rhythm, Tempo
Verse, Dynamics

Take me to the Bridge
There’s that sensation
Intro, Outro
False Relation

I don’t know about
Chord progression
Or keys or hooks
Refrains, compression

But here’s the thing…
When you sing…

Sigh…

It’s all so damn romantic
Music is my blanket
It tucks me in

Read Poem: Li-si-bi-fi-fac-man, by John White

Li-si-bi-fi-fac-man (pron. ‘Lissy Biffy Fackman’)
Some of us take many years to work out who we are.
Some, like me, lack wisdom: some bear a different scar.
I’m just over sixty, and I’ve finally worked it out
I’m a ‘li-si-bi-fi-fac-man’ – there’s a few of us about!

 

The ‘l.i’ stands for ‘lift it’; the ‘s.i’ stands for ‘shift it’, 
The ‘b.i’ stands for ‘build it’; the ‘f.i’ stands for ‘fix it’.
And when the lifting, shifting’s done, and the building, fixing too
There’s often ‘fetch and carry’ when there’s nothing else to do.

 

That’s what ‘f.a.c’. stands for, and I’m sure you’ll understand,
That while there’s a time and place for that, It can get out of hand.

 

I for one allowed it; I’ve done it all my life,
I thought the way to happiness was try to please the wife.

 

But I now know that’s not possible, I wish I’d known before;
I wish someone had put me straight and let me know the score.
I wish I’d had the wisdom to know what was good to do,
I wish I’d had the courage, to do it and see it through.

 

It seems she doesn’t realize it’s not my job to be
the one to make her life the way that she thinks it ought to be.
That her life’s up to her, and my life’s up to me,
And whilst we help each other out, we let each other be.

 

But I know it’s up to me to say ‘enough’s enough’,
(It’s like a bloody game of golf that I’m playing in the rough!)
I’d like to be accepted just the way I am,
And valued for the qualities I value in this man.

 

I know that my life’s up to me, I said that earlier,
I blame myself for where I am; I’m not blaming her.
I wish we could see soul to soul; live our lives with ease,
Better dying on our feet than living on our knees!

 

So come on, brothers, stand up with me,
Let’s get on our feet.
Let’s treat our wives, our sweethearts
to the real men we can be.

 

Strong and wild and gentle,
and wise as heaven too,
Knowing what is right to say
and what is right to do.

 

Not just to please another
to satisfy a whim
that only comes from ego; 
the child of original sin?

 

But, rather, let’s commit to hear
the spirit voice within
the deepest centre of the soul; 
from where life begins

 

to appear in its true form; 
not the pale cut-out shape
of a world devoid of colour;
politically correct…
pathetically inept…
tragically bereft
of uniqueness – the primary design
of this amazing  creature, 
dynamic and divine.

 

And let’s go on with you and me,
each one of a kind.
Let’s find and celebrate that ‘one’,
let’s never let our minds
and souls be deflected from their design;
let’s find and live the ‘me’
that each was designed to be.

 

Not bow to any pressure
for any pale reward,
What travesty! What disgust!
a carrot where a sword
should be wielding, cleaving
evil from the good.
My brother, my sister, I beg you,
Live your life: don’t take on board what belongs
to your husband or your wife.

 

And don’t allow, I beg you,
their wants to pressure you,
The world is dying the tragic death
of one trying to live for two.

 

So, Li Si Bi Fi FAC man,
If that’s what role is yours,
I want to say that it’s OK
If that is your choice.

 

But please don’t demean yourself:
the glory that is you
this tired world needs;
a palette of every colour, 
a palette of every hue.

 

And you are one essential shade;
without you life is bland.
Your partner’s lost a hero,
your partner’s lost the hand
that really would be useful
if only it be allowed
to do what it, alone, could do
if free from expectation,
free from trite demand –
free from unaware request,
free from fatal harm.

 

So, my friend, my brother,
my Li Si Bi Fi FAC man,
I beg you, claim your ‘holy ground’,
the ground on which you stand;
the ground that God has given you
belongs to no other man –

 

or, especially, to woman –
that delightful, frightful sex
who, in their desire to be secure
often overstep the line
that actually belongs to us;
the unacknowledged
warriors of former times;
the saviours of tomorrow
if only we heed the call
sounding deep inside.

 

And let the bear awake,
and let the god arise
in all its glory, all its power;
all its wisdom too.
All your beauty, all is lost
if you will not be you.

 

John White, 2011

 

 

Read Poem: Listen, by Symonera (Okwemba Simon)

You are not the only one.

 

When the sky is clear blue
Your own trumpet you blow
Yet the truth you know
Listen,
Your luck away you throw.

 

When I chose to be cool
You made me your fool
Assuming that I’m one to rule
Listen,
I’m not one to rule.

 

With my people I fought slavery
Hopeful and with bravery
Away from my granary I dismissed you
Listen,
I have no diplomatic hypocrisy.

 

My kindness gave you strength
As you spent your life in a grabbed land
While you pushed me to the tents
Listen,
I’m human, I’ll never forget.

Read Poem: The Things I Learned as a Bartender, by Tricia McCallum

There is no such thing as the perfect martini.

Jazz musicians make lousy tippers.

A couple can walk in fighting and after two shots of tequila

hold each other for dear life on the dance floor

like they did in high school.

A woman doesn’t notice her date’s drink order

as much as how he treats the waitress.

No matter how cool the pickup line

women want kind.

Even with nothing to gain

people can be small and mean.

A table of plastic surgeons

can be more obnoxious, abusive than

a convention of professional wrestlers.

The plain girl alone at the end of the bar

has an achingly beautiful story

no one will hear.

The busboy with the bad skin.

His will also go untold.

Some people cannot be reached.

The hulking cab driver

who climbed the back stairs for his double cheeseburger

every night at 8:30, month after month,

stayed mute, no eye contact. He’d pay with a twenty

and wave away the change.

Leave without a word.

From him I learned

it’s impossible to imagine

all the damage done.

Read Poem: Something New, by Christina Crahall

Something new is born,

All ears and eyes are drawn.

It is praised, blessed, and noticed,

But time steals the title “new.”

Days go by and the novelty wears.

The fleeting moment of freshness, originality,

Energy, and glazed glow is now gone.

Something new is old.

Read Poetry: Shakespearean Sonnet#1 – Dot, by Rishabh Parmar

Dot maketh a man blind, beware of the outcome
’tis a drought, fandangle dingus
maketh a relationship, acerbic as rum
’tis not an espousal, ’tis a fungus

Humans , worshipers of everything
Gods, demons or a fane
find occurrences to dance, and sing
a merry song written by the bride that is dead

Laud the groom for his kingly stratagem
thou art foolish, methinks
thine foolishness will ingest the mankind
in no time, entire world will shrink

Dot indites a mephitic story
expounds its frail glory.