POETRY READING: Mantra Of A Bridge Builder, Lucinda J. Clark

Performed by Allison Kampf

Mantra of a Bridge Builder

I am a bridge builder.
I build based upon where I travel

I build on happy days and sad days:
I have built during times I felt I could not— and possibly should not—go on.

My bridge building is based on following a road;
a dominant thought
changes in my worldview.

Added to each bridges structure are things I have seen,
things I have heard,
things I have read.

Ideas I have opened and closed my eyes, heart and mind to.

The length and strenght of some of these bridges are undetermined and,
much too far away
for my mind’s eye to reach

only the passage of time will determine.

Each bridges purpose is to open new gateways,
passageways
and give opportunity,

to those who are and are not like me.
To enrich all just by having come this way.

Maybe,
just maybe,
when my bridge building days are done, what has been built
(even as I lapses into dust)
lives on

@Lucinda J. Clark

Advertisement

POETRY Reading: ABANDON LOVE, by Joanne Rowe

Performed by Allison Kampf

POEM:

So rich man you think you’re gonna survive?
Leaving the rest of us to die.
Buy your ticket to outer space,
watch the rest of us spinning in space.
You measure time by your own insignificant place

Mother Earth is starting to wake
We can feel her moving – Under our feet
Dancing but nobody is watching

She is screaming in the whirlpools of abandon love,
Drowning in the pools of blood,
Crying in the dirty rain,
In the clamour of the wind and rain,
how many lives have fallen?

We have rend her garments –
Emptying out her oceans
leaving her in disgrace,
and just plain destroyed this place.

With our lust for power and greed to have ever more,
Lies and deceit riding on the backs of the poor,
leaving them to eat dirt while
using our abandoned pets as live bait.

Oh all for the good life,
for we are gonna have a good time.
No one’s manning spaceship earth
to busy fighting and dying
while we are spinning out of control.

Oh sweet love divine
where do we go from here
oh sweet love divine
where do we go from here.
You seem to have abandon this place

For why complain –
we are riding on the crest of sensation,
oh for we all have a good life,
oh sweet love divine

Gaia is opening up the book of change
bringing forth massive amounts of
anger, sadness and despair
For we have abandoned her
Now chaos sets the order of the day.

And when the morning sun has risen –
I will walk outside this world of dust
Watching
Mother Earth shed
her garment of expression,
awakening the deep strata of my soul
and sets it dancing with my shadow wondering,
where we will go from here?

After the tears – a gentle rain falls
One can sense a presence
to a life’s sustaining ocean
of a love that is freely given,
not bound to any one person or thing

Asking mankind to wear a coat of compassion
To hold on to what is good, —- All you need is love
For All Life!

POETRY Reading: A LAST LOOK BEFORE LEAVING, by David Cook .

Performed by Allison Kampf

POEM:

Suddenly she hadn’t the heart to quarrel.
‘He’s faithless and won’t change’
and with that thought was freed.
After he had gone out, she packed
and put her suitcase by the door.
A last look before leaving.
The rug chosen together in Istanbul,
chess set lovingly given him.
‘Three years and nothing.’

She walked towards the traffic and hailed a taxi,
in her raised hand the black queen.

POETRY READING: Once Upon A Crooked Time….., by Robert Drusetta

Performed by Hannah Ehman

POEM:

There was a crooked man
Who had a crooked home
He had a crooked fence
And had a crooked gnome

He had a crooked garden
Which people came to see
Have you ever seen a hedgerow
Zig-zag past a tree?

You need a crooked key
To get inside his house
Else no-one can get in
Not just his crooked mouse

He lives all by himself
For he never found a wife
He’s not rich or famous
But has a happy life

In his lounge he sits
On his crooked wooden chair
It’s such a perfect fit
You’d think he wasn’t there

He reads when in his chair
Exciting crooked books
It may sound quite simple but
It’s harder than it looks

By his crooked fireplace
Sleeps his crooked cat
Curled up warm and cosy
On her crooked mat

When he cooks his dinner
On his crooked stovetop
He doesn’t spill a thing
Not one crooked drop

In his crooked attic
Above the crooked stairs
Ornaments are abound
Antiques and crooked wares

Nearby is the market
Where he does his shopping
One day he stubbed his toe
And went home crookedly hopping

A quick walk down his street
Was a challenge in itself
He’d be heading straight for you
Then bump into someone else

He goes to work each morning
Driving his crooked car
He bakes bagels every day
For people near and far

He loves all crooked food
Jellybeans and bananas
Crooked cucumbers daily
Cashews and cabanas

His favourite sport is hockey
On grass or on the ice
Or to throw a boomerang
And catch it once or twice

He said when he retires
He’ll sell his crooked house
And move out to the country
With his crooked cat and mouse

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

Poetry Reading: Run Mama Run by Ruth AKA Rhscribbles

Performed by Val Cole

 

****

Producer/Director: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Festival Directors: Mary Cox, Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy

Camera Operators: Hugh Ritchie, Isabal Cupryn, Aser Santos Jr., Zack Arch

Poetry Reading: Saint – Kathleen my Mum by Patricia Poulos

Performed by Val Cole

 

****

Producer/Director: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel

Festival Directors: Mary Cox, Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy

Camera Operators: Hugh Ritchie, Isabal Cupryn, Aser Santos Jr., Zack Arch

Read Poem: Ending by Jill Munro

Henry sits discretely outside Fleur’s house –
well, as discretely as an antique
Frogeye Sprite permits – wiping
the dials on his dash display,
polishing chrome with a lace-trimmed
hankie that once was hers.

He’s thinking of the days when,
just like this, he waited for her
outside work for stolen hours
of open-topped rides through
Surrey countryside, walks in fields
when kissing gates meant a stop

near every stile, when every tree
became a hugging point, when those
days’ skies seemed brighter blue
than any other and faces
pressed so close they fitted
like puzzle pieces without gaps.

As he waits again for Fleur to emerge ─
Henry holds a rose he will never place.
The Daimler pulls away, its hearse filled
with flower-covered willow, yet empty
in the absence of his single bloom.

Genres applicable: Affairs, Love, funeral, life, relationships, romantic