Category: Uncategorized

Read Poetry: FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU by KATHY SCOTT

THE FIRST TIME I REALLY FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU
I KNEW YOU’D MAKE ME HAPPY
MAKE ME SMILE
BUT I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO EXPRESS MY FEELINGS
TO YOU WAS SCARED TO LET YOU KNOW

DIDN’T KNOW HOW YOU FELT ABOUT ME
WAS AFRAID THAT YOU WOULDN’T ACCEPT
ME AS I AM

DIDN’T WANT ANOTHER HEARTBREAK
IN MY LIFE
WANTED TO JUST GIVE UP

THE FIRST TIME YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME
THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME I FELL IN LOVE
WITH YOU

THE FIRST TIME I REALLY EXPRESSED
TO YOU THAT I LOVED YOU TOO
WAS THE FIRST TIME I COULD FEEL LIKE MYSELF
AND I HAD FORGOTTEN HOW THAT FELT

NOW WITH YOU I CAN FEEL FREE AGAIN
TO EXPRESS MY TRUE FEELINGS TO YOU
I THANK YOU FOR THAT AND TRULY LOVE YOU
NOW AND FOREVER

Read Poetry: The Struggle, by RJ Britten

Genre: Personality

Imagine for a moment a room filled with creative people.

You know the types, the real creative people.

The ones who wear their personality out loud.

The ones who have messy hair or even colour it purple, and perhaps have shoes that match or

A bright multicoloured outfit catching your eye causing you to stop and consider

Why?

Then there’s me.

Plain old simple me, who,

walks into the same room,

With my plain clothes, short styled hair and a slight smile to cover what’s happening inside.

You see,

I’m a hyper creative, a real hyper creative.

If I was to allow myself to let loose what’s inside, I would feel a little scared you see,

It’s my creativity.

Untamed and wild like a dust storm of ideas engulfing a traveling caravan of thoughts,

Whilst swimming deep down

into rich blue pools of water inside my own soul as a ravenous feeder, who’s not quite content until he’s well and truly full.

If I was to let loose my creativity,

I would feel a little lost you see.

It can be lonely out here,

Rolling on an ocean of artistry at the perils of my own self identity.

So I find myself hiding, not showing off my person but telling of my being, quietly.

So maybe there will be a day when, I feel it’s ok to let loose a taste of colour, to wear a shirt that shouts loud enough for all to hear, but until then,

I’m just content to be plain old simple me.

– RJ Britten

Read Poetry: Pain is my anchor, by anonymous.

Genre: dark/depression

Pain is my anchor to life

I believe there is no truth in joy

That sorrow is our reality

The most alive I have ever felt is when my heart aches and my insides try to pull at my soul

Trying hard to sever ties with life..

Sorrow is not an absence of joy,

It is intoxicating and rich, like old wine..

It is the womb of creativity

I feel high in this low

Nothing but my body , my pain is real

All the times I had ever laughed, had “fun”, they were illusions

Like magic tricks, fascinating but false and hollow…

Pain is what helps us see through the fog of fake friendships, empty promisses, forgotten lovers, fallen heroes..

Pain is , the essence of life

Rich and intoxicating , like old wine.

Read Poetry: Wonderful, by J.S.T Louise

(after watching Lee Camp interview Eleanor Goldfield)

Golden fields, we’re all sunflowers
Dandelions, clover, and milkweed.

Dawn is passing and the soils tilled
And soon the worms of us will multiply
Into awakening the settled stardust gifted
From the eve of time in which we sprung
Into existence.

Hell’s an invisible tsunami wave
Of Constitutional burning Bills with surgical
Divided poison spitting lies. It’s here. It’s here
Knocking at our door, every hole, all the windows
Are broken. The door is opened wide
And an invisible bully is holding his joy stick —

Into the sun we shall fully see this beast is nothing
But a small percentage of men dressed in kingly
Play clothes, parading a trail of militarized
Jesters and fools, like a house of cards they
Laid down the order of their finest suits
Saving the smears for a bombshell-ed dessert.

Boom.
We threw a grenade of dirts
Mixed with seeds,
But the police took them away
Because someone in the party typed
“Bombshell grenade” on a pocket-device
Causing a trigger of emotionally robotic
Police. Help!
She said bombshell!
Badahboom. Baby

Freedom doesn’t exist anymore.
It’s just all up in your mind.

Read Poetry: Love (Maya), by Puneet Sangwani

Tender touch onto a wounded Smudge;
A Radiant Smile spreading Sun-shine.
Dear Mother’s midnight trudge;
and her plight to the almighty divine.

An up-to-the-last-minute journey;
Scars of a lonesome battle,
which they vehemently call as suffering
towards the end, a worthy companion.

Musings of a Sad artist
Tunes of a stringed guitar
Munificence of an old gardener,
watering the tranquil flower.

Love is all but one.
Confidence of everything or none,
The song I wrote for you;
your smile that beamed back.

Read Poetry: Agony, by Sujoy Bhattacharya

An apathetically toxic sound entered my mortal
visual organ .
Dandified with the foppish arrogance of cosmic
supremacy the
sound reverberated in my frozen heart preserved
at the core
of Antarctic effigy emanating sigh of vacuity .
Dead dynasties
delineated perpetually flapping flag of time studded
with space spacious !
Flippant cosmic rays cooing with the dead stars –
corpse love !
Coffined human love taking a flimsy phantom
figure was
pouring elixir -stolen from Egyptian mummies.
My amputated
organs scattered over the oceans were reading
the inscriptions
of time over the tapestry of space dew – drenched!
My severed
tongue was licking languidly the spilling psalm of
humanity !
Millions of mouths were chanting dogged dogmatic
doctrine
to establish monuments of ephemeral discourse .Lonely polestar
was politely polishing the rusted metal deity of
compassion ,
so that it could radiate again the theory of relationship!

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.

Poetry Reading: Im Zweifel zur Wahrheit, by Erich Ruhl Bady

Performed by Carina Cojeen

POETRY 7 questions:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

We can be sure on our way to truth if we allow (ourselves) to doubt. We need to doubt.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

In an exibition I saw the installation of three signposts – two pointed nearly to the same direction –  to the direction of truth and doubt – the other signpost showed the way to the opposite … the indecisiveness (deutsch: Unentschlossenheit)

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

Since about six years, even more since three years

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

Barack Obama

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

I think there could be the chance to increase the range (I hope I’ll be allowed to show the link on my pages…) – and the other reason: I would like to hear my poem spoken by another voice (because I’m a narrator as well – all my 50 poems are to be listened on AUDIYOU –    https://www.audiyou.de/benutzer/smoothenergy99/0.html

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

Sometimes reviews about books or films – in my main job (Journalist / Press officer) I write articles and speeches – The other side job is audiobook narrator (should be more 🙂

7) What is your passion in life?

I will never stop to believe in the possibilities of personal development and in the power of compassion and dignity – therefore sometimes I try to consolidate my thoughts and my deep sentiments into a poem – and my wife, my two daughters and my four grandchildren motivate me to carry on

POSTSCRIPT:
THE POETRY FESTIVAL is a real great project which brings together open minded and warm-hearted people.
Thank you for this grand idea.

 

Poetry Reading: A WIDOW’S STORY, by Terita Buchanan Moore

Performed by Carina Cojeen

Get to know the writer:

 1) What is the theme of your poem?

The theme of my poem is how I overcame the tragic loss of my husband. Triumph after an unexpected tragedy.

2) What motivated you to write this poem?

I wanted to inspire others in whom may have suffered an unexpected tragic loss, by sharing my pain and the power to overcome.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I have been writing poetry, since I was twelve years old.

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

It would be my late husband Frank Moore II.

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

It is my desire to share my gift of poetry with the world.

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

Yes, I am a published author of “My Sweet Thoughts of Poetry.”

7) What is your passion in life?

My passion is to uplift and encourage the masses in sharing my story.

 

Read Poetry: THE FISHERMAN, by Robin McNamara

The sea swelled and splashed
Against the hull of the boat
With its green net mountain
Disappearing into foaming waters

The fisherman’s hope and security
An old sea dog salted
And weather beaten from a
Lifetimes toil upon the waters

Times of hardships furrowed upon the brow
His story told by scarred hands
He respects the sea
Which has taken many a soul

Bowing his head in mournful grace
For comrades long gone by
In this forsaken element
Names inscribed on the memorial wall

Baptised at a tender fourteen
Saltwater dripping from forehead
As his arms ache from the harvesting
Proud to be gone from boy to man

Conquer of all that rises
from the living sea
Shimmering and glistening on deck
Pride on his fathers face

Now decades gone, no more to come
He will be spoken of in years to come
His eyes as deep as the Ocean
Have glanced their last trip.

By Robin McNamara