Poetry Reading: DAUGHTER OF THE DUST, by Fadrian Bartley

Performed by Val Cole

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

Festival Moderators: Matthew Toffolo, Rachel Elder

Casting Director: Sean Ballantyne

Editors: Kimberly Villarruel, Ryan Haines, John Johnson

Festival Directors: Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy

Camera Operators: Ryan Haines, Temitope Akinterinwa, Efren Zapata, Zack Arch

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.

Read Poetry: DAUGHTER OF THE SEVEN SOULS, by Fadrian A. Bartley

The cloud overcast, and with rain droplets

On the street of gallium valley

Silence in the atmosphere

Except the sound of a noisy boot worn by a priest

Walking swiftly down the wet lonely street

A little book in his hand

Wrapped around  it

Is the hanging rosary

Swinging above the ground

With the expectation of something sinister have him surround

Looking behind all is clear

But a priest on a mission seem to fear

Reaching the end of a frightened  journey

Begins a chapter of another story

Scream piercing through the walls of the antique building

Looking up to the broken window  is the appearance of a child

Dressed in white looking down at the priest

Entering through the wooden gate, then like magic she is no more.

A rushing wind approaches

As the priest force himself through the door

Entering the house of wooden floor

Where the door slams behind, and  a horse shoe fell to the ground.

An heart beat echoes through his ears

But courage for a priest without fear

The scream continued up the stairs

Coming from a little girl

With the changing tone of an old hog

Swiftly up the dusty steps the he ran

Bursting through a door of expected event

There’s a child with a raging force, surrounded with elders of seven

Incantation within the forceful creeps

Windows smashed to pieces a voice telling the child go to sleep

In Christ name leave this place

The priest command with a sinister force in a tangled state

Seven elders went up in smoke

A large mirror fell to the ground and broke

With Bloody red eyes the child spoke

A rushing wind surrounds their presence

Trembling forces and the house was shaken

How powerless thy faith, the child utters “you priest must be burn”

Take me not from this body, now is not your turn.

Objects fell and turn up sided down

Even crosses on the wall

Everywhere through the hall

Up to her face he held a cross

Leave this child at all cost

Lips frosted with spit dripping down to her cheek

Multiple voices with sparks of lightening illuminates all around

A rosary in the hand of the fainted priest all scattered to the ground

The priest have failed, but the child remains

Written By Fadrian .A. Bartley

Read Poetry: ANNABELLE, by Fadrian Bartley

Object succumb to silence from an alley of dark void

Fouls air flowing through the old wooden window

The expression of fear on the face of an old woman in a rocking chair

One finger prick by a cushion needle, when utters a verse of old riddle


Reflection from the moon through a dusty curtain

With the sound of a rushing wind swiftly disturb

Something flowing in the misty air looking to be settled

Trapped to an object of affection, a gift the child find infatuated


Doesn’t breath, no eyes to see

No trace of heartbeat pattering

Hollowed look and strange eyes, rest in the hand of a little girl

Standing at the doorway with a length of hair blowing in the misty wind


A metamorphic grandma have seen

The child utters ‘’you are in a dream’’

The slamming window and banging doors, the frighten child scream

And dropped a strange looking doll on the floor


A prayer whisper from the old widows lips

While a thick dark cloud causes the sun to eclipse

Only to lid a candle stick, she spoke ‘’pick up the doll my child’’

Foot steps ascending from the wooden floor beneath, And the child was nowhere to be found


The silence patter with an heartbeat

A  leaking pipe dripping softly from the other side of the silence

Up the stairs on wooden floor

Are heavy steps from tiny feet’s

The turning sounds of an open door, there stand a doll with hollowed creeps