Poetry Reading: Tears For You, by KG Petrone

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

Get to know the poet:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

It is a poem from a mother to her children after losing custody of them due to her addiction and mental breakdown. The guilt, shame, and remorse of her decision to leave them in someone else’s care in hopes that they would live a life she could not afford to give them.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

Let’s just say, “personal experience.” Along with a neverending desire and need to apologize for this choice.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

As long as I can remember, but I have just begun to share my talent with the general public. As a matter of fact, my first Anthology of Poems has just been released on Kindle. A collection titled, “The Fractured Ego.”

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

With a doubt, I would need to say, my Mother!

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

Many reasons, but to hear my words expressed by another is a thrill and I couldn’t be happier to share my thoughts and works. I am curious to see how the actor has interpreted my writing. This has been very exciting. Thank you.

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

I currently have two other publications. I have a short story on Kindle titled, “The Menacing House” and a suspense mystery novel, titled “Cycles of Time – Revenge is Mine.” And as I stated above, I have a newly released anthology of poems, “The Fractured Ego.”

7) What is your passion in life?

My life’s passion is to keep it simple, enjoy life, continue healing, and to just be internally happy!

Poetry Reading: The Fisherman, by Robin McNamara

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

Get to know the poet:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

Theme: About an old Fisherman making his final fishing trip.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

Motivation: My father was a fisherman for 40 + years in Ireland living by a fishing village. In summer months I went on the boat with him in my childhood. The poem is a reflection of part of my childhood spent fishing.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I dabbled in my early 20s with poetry. Started writing again seriously about 10 years ago.

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

The Dali Lama, to see what words of wisdom he can give me. How can I motivate myself to become a better person. To discuss with him his views on modern
society‘s relationship with technology & religion. Basically to be inspired by his presence.

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

Why not! How often do you get an opportunity like this? It’s fun it’s a visual and vocal interpretation of a written piece of art. Make it come alive! Reach out to a wider audience.

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

Sports writing mainly football. Satire writing occasionally. Used to be a journalist writing about Health and Social Affairs.

7) What is your passion in life?

Emotional awareness of your surroundings. Appreciation of nature and art which inspires writing. The power of knowledge makes a mind stronger every day. Listen to your intuition. Acknowledge that you’re learning about life every day till the day you die.

Poetry Reading: If You Could Fix Me, by Melissa R. Mendelson

Performed by Elizabeth Rose Morriss

 Get to know the poet:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

They say that what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, but what about the pieces, the scars left behind? What about the harsh memories that chase you when you try to sleep at night or the absence of time that you need to heal, and do we fully heal? Or are we just damaged beyond repair, wanting to be fixed, but knowing that we can’t be, no matter how hard we might try, but we still try, which inspired me to write this poem.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

“If You Could Fix Me” was written years ago during a time when I tried to pull myself back together again. All I could see were the scars, wondering if they would ever go away, and if the damage could be fixed. The poem was originally longer and more raw, but I revised it and cut it down. And then I added it to my book of poems called, “Fragments of Yesterdays Past.”

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I have been writing poetry since maybe eighth grade. I used to write a lot of poetry, but these days, I write more short stories.

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

Stephen King

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

WildSound has always delivered on their performances, giving voice to my words.

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

I have been writing a lot of short stories recently, and some of my stories have been published by Sirens Call Publications and Dark Helix Press.

7) What is your passion in life?

Writing first, Photography second.

Read Poetry: Thank God for Pearl!, by Dennis De Rose

I went to church when I was five,

Sunday school, never missed it.

I looked over; who did I see?

Well, of course, I saw Pearl, teaching.

Time went by and I got older,

I graduated to the “big church”.

I looked over, I sat on the left.

Who was on the right, Pearl.

Once a month, every month,

Usually the first Sunday… Food`s aplenty.

Go downstairs to eat, who`s there?

Pearl, with bowl in hand, always smiling.

Time goes by, I’m married now.

It’s Sunday. Church again.

I look to the right, across the aisle,

and who`s there? Right again. Pearl…

1999, it’s a very sad Sunday in church.

My Gramzer, up front lying in a casket.

I stood up, turned around, I said a few words.

Who do I see? Pearl, handkerchief in hand.

It`s Sunday, Church, Choir time.

I walk up front and once again,

Looking behind me, I see…

Pearl, ready to sing for Jesus.

Time goes by; my whole family is with me.

We’re on the left, as usual.

It’s been 55 years since that first Sunday.

I look over. Who do I see? Pearl.

Pearl, I thank God for you…

Read Poetry: Super Geezers, by Bob Grant

Super Geezers – Just some Teasers
Civilities rambunctious Sneezers.
Belch at any Time of Day,
no Concerns of What they Say

Have no Time for Politics,
Pick their Noses just for Kicks.
Speak their Minds without a Care,
take a Nap most Anywhere.

Cranky if They want to Be,
Dirty Jokes and Laugh with Glee.
Dot to Dot on their Age Spots,
Hide their Trash in Flower Pots.

Reminisce ‘bout Fond years Past,
answer Questions never Asked.
Complain about the Younger Age,
Read a Book to Feel the Page.

Thumb through Photos in their Hand,
Skip their Meals if they’re Bland.
Talk about their Aches and Pains,
to Heck with Staying in their Lanes.

Super Geezers have the Power,
Certainly their Place and Hour.
what Remains is Up to You,
Do just what You want to Do.

Genre: Aging, Senior Citizens, Seniors, Geezers, Life, Death, Relationships, Society, Senior Centers, Retirement, Independent Living, Assisted Living, Medicare, Old, 65 and Older, Social Security.

Read Poetry: PARENTAL LAMENT, by Mike Reed

My boy is sleeping safe in bed
Without a tumour in his head.

No hepatitis, septicaemia,
No lymphoma, no leukaemia.

His heart is strong, his breathing sure.
The marrow in his bones is pure.

No ADD, MS, ME,
CF, MD or HIV.

We drove him safely to his school,
And back again. He swam the pool

Untroubled, laughing, loving it.
No seizure, stroke or fatal fit.

No aircraft engine yet has failed.
No train come lethally derailed.

He moves from trampoline to tree
To bicycle, to skate and ski,

Unharmed, unruffled, innocent.
No injury. No accident.

He sleeps. We sleep. Another day
Is passed in ease. We made more hay.

No horror here, no sudden shark.
No plunge into the depthless dark.

No slip from sunshine into sorrow.
But there’s always tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

Read Poetry: the Tunnel Performance Society!, by Bob Eager

Old Vision : “This is What It Is”
Just a space for bikes to pass through ;
Next to the Underpass cars passing by it seemingly bland and irrelevent,
Practical place but inconscpicous.
Darkly lit at night families ride bikes through it in the day and others pass through it at night.

New Vision : “This is What It Could Be”
Seen through a new lens this place becomes a Unique experience;
Darkly lit ambience becomes something else entirely,
Not an afterthought in a coffee shop or poorly planned night with chairs turned
in the wrong direction. Creation of an open “UN” Mic!
Party for Creative’s….
Express ourselves however we choose poem, dance or song.

In the tunnel, we own the event. It is all about the art not a forethought or afterthought but the only complete thought needed.

Join Our Movement

——–

The Ringmaster Bob Eager invites you to join a new innovative performance idea. As artists shouldn’t we challenge the conventional thought of where a performance should. Join us in challenging the boundaries of what we call an artistic space.
Bob’s work appears also in Stray Branch, The New Beatnik, Oddball Magazine, Indiana Voice Journal and Tuck Magazine.

Read Poetry: LEAVE ME WHOLE MOTHER, by Pat Ashinze

leave me whole, mother.
let my body sing pristine symphonies,
like seraphs praising the Holiest High.
let my shell be coloured in glazing spectra,
like the eonian beauties of space
let my thighs bleed for the will of nature 
and not for the sick myths of men.

 

leave me whole, dear mother!
for i remember the yells and screams. 
i remember the gagged pains of my sisters.
i remember how they succumbed in naivety.  
i remember the blood: fresh and fleshy.
i remember how they described the knife
that the elders used in ‘purifying’ them.
i remember how you marred portals
with diseases and superstitions. 

 

leave me whole, i plead and pray.
let my spirit pray for you in mirth.
let me enjoy the loving presence of man.
let me feel him flaming as he fills me.
let my passion flow in his motion.
do not let them make me one-eyed –
a girl with a mutilated honeycomb;
a woman with half-demised tentacles;
a fire with no heat and no smoke;
…a Saturn without rings!

 

 

Written by: 

Pat Ashinze.

Read Poetry: Ballad of the East Wind, by Mark Anthony Tierno

Author’s Note: The following was paced to the tune of Ghost Riders In The Sky.

I) In a place of long ago,
and not so far away;
A wind did there rose,
straight out of Ca-alay.
Swirl the wind did round,
up and over ground;
Then went it up and through,
and over, Ocean Blue.

 

II) Then across the way,
a hillock it did spy;
Upon which sat a man,
‘ere here to die.
He was a sage of old,
with much knowledge to be told.
So, did the wind swirl and toy,
and ‘pon the hill did form, into a boy.

 

III) His robe was spun in silken blue,
his hair of blackest night.
His eyes shine did like moonbeams,
his smile did twinkle bright.
Then towards yonder sage he did walk,
and bent down he for to talk.
Said he, “I cometh here to talk to thee;
please, listen you to me.”

 

IV) Now, the sage did look up,
with his eyes of grey.
Said he, “please let me die,
please if I may.”
But the boy in silk was undeterred,
said he, “I wonder if you’ve heard;
Of Faerie dust and Dragon’s Wings,
and the babbling brook that just but sings.”

 

V) Then said the old man,
“What are these to me?”
Spake the boy,
“I’ll teach you to be free!”
And then up in a mighty blur.
a Blue Wind he did stir;
To carry them up in windy hands,
for to see, of unseen lands.

 

VI) The Wind carried them onwards towards,
out East across the Sea.
Passed they through colored clouds,
and waves a-flowing free.
Then stopped they ‘pon a musiked land,
with candied trees near at hand.
Where Faeries with fragile wings blue hued,
did flit about, quite nude.

 

VII) The Silken Boy then showed the man,
many a magic sight;
From Cochel Shells with magic spells,
to dragons taking flight!
But said the old man, “how frail these things be,
they are but Fantasies to me;
Let me show you now of my home land,
Come, ’tis near at hand.”

 

VIII) The man then went and showed the boy,
of streets all filled with grime;
Of lands so filled with filth and puss,
But persevere the Boy did now,
not die, nor flinch, nor even cow;
Not he when shown how murder greets,
nor poverty in yon streets.

 

IX) The man did finally give it up,
and turned to the Boy and said;
“How can you resist it all,
come down ‘pon ’round your head?”
But the Boy did but wave his hand,
and blue mist cover did the Land;
And, when the mist did clear,
’twas Paradise come near.

 

X) The East Wind’s Boy then turned around,
and spake to him like mist;
“For the Secret of Reality,
but listen you to this;
Reality is what you will,
more fragile still ’tis than your hill.
For do you not it but deem,
’tis all, but a dream.”

 

XI) The man was whisked back onto,
his hillock, thence turned to cry,
“How may such a Land exist,” he cried,
“please before do I die!”
As the Wind turned to leave it said,
“This Land you seek is everywhere you tread;
You have but your self to make it True.”
and thence he turned, and bid adieu.

 

XII) The old man now is quite the Youth,
and dreams oft’ of Dragon’s Wings.
He makes the World a happy place,
and listens as it sings.
So, see if you a Blue Wind Fly,
please to hurry out and cry!
For it may take you to the Land that sings,
of Faerie dust and Dragon’s Wings.

Read Poetry: Back Speaks, by Patricia Biela

made

of

unbreakable

bone

and

flesh

like

binding

for

book

pages

and

hard

cover

i

work

with

arms

to

clean

bobby’s

socks

sally’s

slips

vertebrae

and

i

harmonize

blues

The ideas for this poem was derived from “The Migration of the Negro (The Migration Series)” by Jacob Lawrence, Panel No. 57. exhibited in The Phillips Collection, Washington D.C. (May 3 – October 26, 2008) and located in the books Jacob Lawrence and The Migration Series from The Phillips Collection (odd numbered panels) edited by Elsa Smithgall and in Over the Line, The Art and Life of Jacob Lawrence edited by Peter T. Nesbett and Michelle Dubois. Currently, the 60 panel of artwork, portraying the epic event of southern African Americans migrating North, is shared between the Phillips Collection (odd numbered panels), Washington D.C. and The Museum of Modern Art (even numbered panels), in New York.

Bio
Patricia Biela is a native of Maryland and is a UVA grad with a BA in Psychology. A first generation American, she is of Angolan and Haitian descent. Biela is a Cave Canem South Fellow and has participated in 18 writing workshops including Callaloo, Cave Canem South, How Writers Write Poetry–International Writing Program-The University of Iowa, Hurston/Wright, Provincetown, and Dr. Tony Medina’s Poetry Boot Camp. Her poems appear in Barely South Review, Berkeley Poetry Review, The Caribbean Writer, Drumvoices Revue, and World Haiku Review among others. She has a poem exhibited in Epiphany Salon and Spa, Washington, D.C. Biela has editing experience, and has written over 25 articles, some of which appear in Brainworld Magazine and Funds for Writers—Writing Kid. She is a third generation educator, teaches poetry workshops to retirees, and to other adults. Biela is honored to be in the Duke Young Writers’ Camp teaching family. Her poem, “Please Leave a Message” can be found on CD Baby, iTunes, Apple Music, iHeartRadio, Spotify, Napster, Google Play, and more