ORCHARD’S SEED AND THE FALLING OF STARS by LiianVarus

 Genre: Dark, Family, Life

Procreation is a dying breed;
I am its hope, a sighing seed.
Nestled amongst foliage,
I hide from my heritage
between cavernous spaces
of Autumn’s dead leaves.
Coming from an old growth orchard,
it’s expected that I carry on our lineage.
Deforestation,
family ties uprooted,
all the deadfall;
I’ll live in the moss of their graveyard.
Ancient bloodlines circle through me,
but I won’t spin its rings.
Monumental pillars bracing infinite sky –
royal sentinels history, long collapsed;
an apathetic seed left tracing time elapsed.
This is why stars fall.
I will not grow tall.
Oh no, I will stay small.
I will remain insignificant.
I am a contrarious seed.
In the wake of another crashing giant,
leaves rustle through its thunder,
but I hold, I hold; still I hold defiant.
This is why stars fall
and will continue to do so,
until our great phratry is no more.

The orchard’s seed and the falling of stars –
How I yearn for that day to come.

~LiianVarus

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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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Watch 2015, Poetry Movie by Gloria D. Gonsalves

Best Poetry of 2015 Runner Up.

Poetry by Gloria D. Gonsalves

Narrated by Steve Rizzo

Editing and Visual Design by Yujin Song

Produced by Matthew Toffolo

2015, Poetry Movie by Gloria D. Gonsalves

Best Poetry of 2015 Runner Up.

Poetry by Gloria D. Gonsalves

Narrated by Steve Rizzo

Editing and Visual Design by Yujin Song

Produced by Matthew Toffolo

Today’s NEW Poets and their Poetry

Read the best of NEW Poetry from about the world:

Read the best of NEW Poetry from about the world:

ASSUMPTIONS, by Denise P. Isaac: http://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/29/assumptions-poetry-by-denise-p-isaac/

ALONE, by Anderson Gomes: http://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/29/alone-poetry-by-anderson-gomes/

RED WRISTS, by Sanchana Krishnan: http://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/29/red-wrists-poetry-by-sanchana-krishnan/

SHACKLES OF LIFE, by Lois Terrans Bradbury: http://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/29/shackles-of-life-poetry-by-lois-terrans-bradbury/

DAS NICHTS, by Juan Antonio Garcia: http://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/29/das-nichts-poetry-by-juan-antonio-garcia/

COUNTING BRICKS, by Lee Pettengell: http://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/30/counting-bricks-poetry-by-lee-pettengell/

THE LENGTH OF A KALPA, Kristen Textor: http://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/30/the-length-of-a-kalpa-poetry-by-kirsten-textor/

ODE TO MARY, by Jordan CROMWELL: http://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/30/ode-to-mary-poetry-by-jordan-cromwell/

SHORT POETRY, by Vyom Sharma: http://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/30/short-poetry-by-vyom-sharma/

DON’T, by Eirini Spyridoula Antoniou: http://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/01/30/dont-poetry-by-eirini-spyridoula-antoniou/

 

 

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2015, Poetry by Dawdu M.Amantanah

We all slid into 2015
On the tremulous wave of last year
Surfing past years
In Jeremy Clarkson built time machines
Mercury chats to the stars in the dim light of retrograde moonwalking super moons
Awakened by the force of stars

Genres: politics,love,inspiration,revolution,science,society,death,rhyme and popular culture

2015
by Dawdu M.Amantanah

{Poetic Culmination}

We all slid into 2015
On the tremulous wave of last year
Surfing past years
In Jeremy Clarkson built time machines
Mercury chats to the stars in the dim light of retrograde moonwalking super moons
Awakened by the force of stars
Women walk below them embracing the sparkle like diamonds
Wearing dresses we can’t quite determine the color
Was blue the hue?
Most say glistening gold
No it must be purple
We all need to hold hands
Singing hymn’s praying in circle’s
Cause the mass shootings and police brutality
Birthed looting and revolution
And the pain of the slain
Drips like sewage in the ghetto’s all across the world
with no one sticking around long enough to pay attention
Hilary Clinton’s personal emails got more attention
While rockets are launched into orbit chewed on like gum by the atmosphere
And salvaged like precious metal
What a 2015 we had
Closer to Mars we are
Rest in Peace
Tamir Rice
Sandra Bland
Laquan Mcdonald
And the hundreds
Unnamed that were slain
I pray the cease of 54 years of limited cargo
Breaks the embargo between American and Cuba
I got 8 quarters in my pocket
Gas is under two bucks
What luck!
The blizzard of 2015 broke records even the abominable snowman gave up
This is just a poem
As the world jot’s down
Two thousand and fifteen ways to evolve
Yet each year we have more to solve

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2015, Poetry by Adrian DeBarros

Deflategate:

Goodell likes his woman’s ass flat, like a crepe,
ok not that flat, more like a pan-cake.
When he saw those footballs
in the AFC championship, it drove his jealousy up the wall.

2015
by Adrian DeBarros

Deflategate:

Goodell likes his woman’s ass flat, like a crepe,
ok not that flat, more like a pan-cake.
When he saw those footballs
in the AFC championship, it drove his jealousy up the wall.

Brian Williams:

Gave little white lies,
while staring at you with his pearly white eyes,
he said he was in a chopper,
he meant in the kitchen – onion chopper.

Super Bowl XLIX:

Rumplestillskin made straw into gold with a pact of first born line,
Russell Wilson made everyone’s jaw drop on that one yard line.
Ticking time and a ball thrown on a skewed line.
Lockette was locked – knocked aside on a whim
and Malcolm in the middle was back at it again.
Brady and the bunch made lunch,
Seahawks were hungry,
but the Patriots beat them to the punch.

Ferguson, MO:

Could’ve waited for backup,
instead,
bullets flew and Wilson backed up.
A painful state resides in Truman’s birth state.
Bess lived longer than her mate,
nearly one hundred years – Someone bless their state.
Sweet are Missouri peaches,
Whiskey Sour and Missouri teaches.
Ferguson, Independence, and Lamar,
all have their stories, near and afar.
The Arm of the law no longer reaches, instead,
bullets fling in its drawn out speeches….

Hong Kong Breast Attack:

Cop was real, Cop was for real,
he wanted to know if they were real,
so he cop’d a feel…
Judge asked for reel,
on a tape, her bloody nose was for real.
That’s all there was before the deal was sealed.
Lady didn’t give her consent,
Cop said an attack was her intent,
Cop cried nipple dent,
So three months in jail she spent.
That’s longer than Lent, I hope that Cop doesn’t make rent.
Loses all he has and doesn’t even sleep in a tent.
This Cop’s obviously not a gent…
I hope he wasn’t breast-fed,
he doesn’t understand – nipples are infant’s bread.
and not something to assault you or make you dead.

Instagram banned the word curvy:

Instagram, instagram, where do I place my pict-o-gram?
in-a-van, on-some-sand, next to a skinny man?
better yet, weightless – next to a-moon-man.
Discriminate against women’s weight?
solve the debate, take strides with a healthy gate.
Push open up the curvy gates.
You take em on a date, give em a diuretic,
hopefully they piss on you – water weigh-it
they’ll still look good even if they don’t shed-it.
You can’t even speak on the topic, so you can’t visually TED-it!
Ironic a Facebook turns face and snaps a photo-sharing app with 1 billion faces,
iconic curvy looks hashtagged with curvy hooks,
seemed to be your disgraces, so you removed them faces…
They’ll still be gorgeous, curvy, while marketing pays a moral-fee,
women curvy in floral bikiNis, hashtagging #Curvee
Women think about their bodies everyday,
at least one thought sad, one bad, all because of visual fads.
dammit I’m mad, a ban on curvy shouldn’t make you glad.
Women genetically have curvy parts,
we know you think the world is flat and you’ve lost your smarts!
Instagram has gone topsy turvy
becoming a big dummy, and afraid to say curvy.
Funny how your instagram logo has all curvy letters,
without curves you wouldn’t even get IT​.
You really should revolve around the issue a bit more better.
Weigh more than a gram?
then you have no fans in a curvy band on instagram,
cuz curvy is banned, doesn’t matter if you’re woman or man.
You censor cuz your moderators really aren’t sure,
they can’t tell the difference between a naked Pauly Shore and a curvy Demi Moore!

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Star Strider, Poetry by Tricia Wagner

North of nowhere,

stars advance,

firestorms of other worlds,

they rage,

and we are lost in them.

Star Strider
by Tricia Wagner

A tribute to New Horizons and the dawning of Pluto on the eyes of humankind

North of nowhere,

stars advance,

firestorms of other worlds,

they rage,

and we are lost in them.

Starsong shivers from invisible peaks,

capped with coal clouds

obliterated in the black belly of an absent sun.

Rafters holding starborn choruses and bells

are grazed by the golden notice of snowy owls,

touched just by wingtips,

soaring,

lost in the wilds of flying through the winds of many suns.

Star wings shade your reddened cheeks with blue,

weaken knees that bend to touch the arc of the Earth

in exaltation.

An angel flies; a star,

and you are lost.

Disintegration.

Time and motion sweep memories from your soul

and take away the sky.

A moment of clarity.

A rising round of ice and dust,

and you are found,

someplace.

Kneeling in the mist that hangs across the heavy moon,

blanching with the cold of creeping night,

we watch for sylphs too old to bear a name.

Tendrils of foreign atmospheres curl over each shoulder,

the weight of the universe bolstered by your frame,

a mind thinking,

laden with questions

and dreams,

seeking for the reach of another,

some mind ascending, crossing distant, dusky seas,

to cry an answer to the question posed

of whether or not to be.

Chins uplift.

Mouths unlatch,

gaping to swallow; to speak,

or to breathe,

if breathing comes

by vapor pressed from swollen cheeks

of cosmic clouds,

leaching metals and fire and smoke

into your lungs.

Clear oxygen resolves inside of spaces

separating bodies,

the elemental thoughts of other minds.

Today we are unsure what light conceals,

bright matches striking fires from the past

and from the greatest fields;

a meteor skimming surfaces,

plunging through intangible mediums

full of liquid emptiness and nothing.

You, standing on the tip of Earth.

All of time has come to this.

The hammer strikes of molten stone;

the shuttering of rocks into churning waters;

the rumbling of the Earth through space,

rolling; unridden;

solitary in the many moments stars were spinning.

Will there be an ear to hear?

Can a starstrike have a voice;

a nighttime, an anthem?

The greatest dreams compound:

the densities of neutron stars.

Newtonian physics is one thing,

but a legend spoken out of dark energy and solar flares is another.

The gentleness that slips through grasses

pushing at our feet,

striding lost in avenues of space,

these are chemical memories;

the sighted sharp and black unknown.

One star, so bright,

speaking in a language we have never understood,

the rhythm of a wheeling world,

vacant, maybe,

is constant.

The song of the galactic poet, though,

is aberrant; asymmetry; strange.

Akin to the soul encased inside a human skull.

The Earth, sweeping debris,

wearing crowns of miasmic stars,

rolls around the iron sun.

Before our eyes,

stars fall.

Lost in the deeps of countries unfathomable,

except by stretches of unmeasured time,

a heart contracts on a white landscape,

crimsoned by alien ore and dimpled by pocks of vapored ice.

It simmers in all desolation

beneath an indigo shell,

an echo of Earth trees, breathing.

Colors streak through places that were absent.

Flukes curl over one horizon, sinking through shores of snow

into we know not what submersion.

There is no east and no west to mark the course of the flag-runner,

rushing past,

or screaming past, had it a mouth.

But eyes it has,

and a memory,

and telepathy.

Minute by minute,

electric signals tremble back to Earth;

impressions of the passageways through many worlds.

Water worlds.

Winged worlds.

Worlds of aether.

Worlds of gemstones.

Presence… declension… arrival

scatters on the pages before bespectacled souls, vigilant.

The destination? Forever.

***THE END***

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2015, Poetry by Danny Karl Fleming

2015, by Danny Karl Fleming

The Kansas City Royals won this year.
The Warriors also won their game this time.
Chicago Blackhawks captured on the sphere.
The movie Birdman conquered summertime.

New England thwarted football, tops this day.
Musicians Grande, Swift, Adele, are stars
With Gomez, Bieber, Carey here today.
The Martian hits the screen; the planet Mars

Has water, Pluto photographed up close.
Much trouble in Paris, Ukraine, San B,
And Isis strikes. It was a year of gross
Events, but acute hope and bravery

Can bring success. It never works to make
The happenings become a bellyache.

Genre: Rhyme, Hope, Motivational

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2015, Poetry by Gloria D. Gonsalves

It was a year of everything and nothing.

A home.
Tight-knit family.
Happiness.

They came and robbed us peace.

A chaos.
Disintegrated family.
Loss.

2015, by Gloria D. Gonsalves

It was a year of everything and nothing.

A home.
Tight-knit family.
Happiness.

They came and robbed us peace.

A chaos.
Disintegrated family.
Loss.

Then I met Louis Phillipe.

Cherry finish.
Classic.
French.

He sat me down to write it all.

Memories.
Laughter.
Mostly tears.

* 2015 saw largest exodus of people fleeing from the Syrian Civil War. There were also other events which shook the global humanity. Some continue to occur (e.g. the eastern Congo as the site of the deadliest conflict since World War II and the Israeli–Palestinian conflict) and others were quickly forgotten (e.g. Nigerian girls abducted by Boko Haram, the Nepal earthquake and Germanwings plane crash).

 

Writing gives me courage to face grave realities. Prior to the end of the year, I was gifted a Louis Phillipe writing desk. It is there where I continue to find solace for my soul and spirit to have faith in the goodness of humans.

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Biography

In her spare time, Gloria D. Gonsalves is devoted to writing poetry and tales for children and adults. Her literary works aim to support humanitarian projects and inspire creativity in others, especially children. Not just a writer, Gloria is a creative promoter for writing itself: She has founded World Children’s Poetry Day (WoChiPoDa), an initiative aimed at instilling the love of poetry in young people. She is also a contributing author/poet to various online literary magazines, platforms and journals. Occasionally she writes opinion pieces for newspapers. You can find her online at http://www.auntieglo.com

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