Tag: poetry reading

Poetry Reading: LOCKED TREASURE, by LannaEvolved

Read by Allison Kampf

POEM:

In the box
I am sworn to secrecy

Petrified
His gaze against the shadows of the bars
has grown so weary
it deflates in fades
Suppressing the entirety of his remorse

‘To him, there seem to be a thousand bars
and back behind those one thousand bars no world’.
The soft
The righteous
The other step
runs away with the breath of space
In a time undefined by reason
In the smallest of shifts and turns, circling
moves like a dance of strength around a core
in which an eccentric
stands upright
In time there always remains a question
The faith that transcends
The magic curtain slides
from side to side
soundlessly — He is there.

So many possibilities to be free from the beginning, and uproot the past of burden burgeoning like a flower’s ability to withstand change in unpredictable soil and yet still feel alive.

He expands through the tension
the calmness of limbs — and stems
in the heart which fate prescribes to be a mighty will stood parallel to them.

Love is unintentional decision making upon the choosing of a
Solidified destiny
A clairvoyant
romantic

Bat wings in my heart
Calm bleeding
Smiling full

This life is my teacher
Take me to a room
without an education please

Put down a book that moves the table and reads the script from my last piece

Not the other way around

Magical thinking describes our destiny, the rest is fate
I’m not here to school you

Death happens
And clutter builds into a false enamel
Eventual decay
If not maintained

Fleeing toxicity is a freedom beyond understanding

Outside the peripheral
grief spins me upside down

The last flower petal remains
With it’s scent forever reminding
me
Of our song
In solitude

When the streets are lit with lamp designs
And Arabian nights alive in the instrumentals
My senses
mystified

Living within our home without
The perfect combination

Of chivalry, compassion, and attention to the details
This is an emotionally available man

Sin is a perception
Redemption; clarity
Pure mist
The clearance of past partners
Leaves my space
To make rooms upon the doors newly turned
for an atmosphere of hope

The written letter reads as I write:

To my love, I love you with all my being.
For You are everything I asked for when
My mind left me
My consciousness awoke for you to be found by me now.
And that cannot be duplicated.
For I am Gratefully blessed. By you.
To Our eternity.
Cheers to our eternity.

I’m with you.

Poetry Reading: BENCH SOLILOQUY, by Paula Shaffer

Poem read by Allison Kampf

POEM:

This is my Bench; I deem her to be. She minds the Sea dutifully; in silence, splendidly.
Firmly in place on this rock jagged cliff, barrier free, scene panoramic
for the eye’s inner theme: keen, translucent clarity.

This strong tawny throne atop pedestal high, my toes exposed cannot touch
ground; my bare legs swing like those of a child from long time ago. How I had
forgotten how simple fun can so easily be; grace should be said here, deservedly.

The Sun in brilliance stakes his scorched claim; Sister Wind fans back chillingly.
The Ocean’s spittle dampens my face, cools my arms, taunts me to
dare even to breathe. I sit in awe, my smallness aware, how grateful to be.

“Consume me,” says this wild Lady Sea, serving salty martinis, a sun-kissed tease.
So I imbibe, with desire athirst, until drunk with beauty and wonder entwined,
consume her elixir in greed, one last sip to satisfy time.

Two seagulls banter just who will be first to dive into frothy waves white, slicing,
taunting, gravity suspend, to finally break free, a daring bait tease,
vying for bounties now richly exposed, hidden below the shimmery gleam.

Snippets of laughter, tinkling chimes, pepper the sea salt air; and then Sister Wind’s
bellowing roar: “I will be heard,” insistent demand. I hear her song,
passion intent made perfectly clear; I willingly obey, submissively.

A toddler set free lithely skips on the Ocean’s soft edge; wet sand tracing tiny toes
tanned, mapping the claim of this little girl’s glee. A new path to wander and fearlessly be:
magic unleashed, whimsical, untamed, wildly free.

A golden-crowned pigeon in wedding dress white regally sashays into my
sight. “Look at me,” she coos, boastful in sheer royalty. I acquiesce, then bow
in humility to Queen of the Bench, Her Most of Royal High Majesty.

My lips taste the salt of this deep turquoise Sea, seasoned just so, a chef’s risque
dream. Sand, salt and sea; recipe of senses set loose, how simple, how free,
like lovers embraced in a delicate kiss, tender in its intensity.

I long to sail to this Ocean’s far end, taste her salt-sweetness, chilled champagne tea,
reach the magical side of a wanderer’s dream, that thunderous
stream, rushing to wherever it leads, however far faraway is.

Yes, this Bench is mine, and always will be. My solace, reprieve, when tears are on brim;
exposing a world that few really see, dare comprehend, baring her secrets

Read Poem: Scared, by Michael Jackson

You should be scared

Scared of symmetrical smiles
of mystical eyes
white teeth
breath purified

Of have a nice days
the month of May
Everything okay?
Yeah, everything’s okay

Of positive thinkers
steady blinkers
gnomes in gardens
clean-cut shavers

Of old ragged flags
of I love you shags
of trend-setters
in trendy rags

Of the hopers
the delayers
these slayers
of evildoers

Of I wish you were heres
of the small-talkers
the how’s the family
the licenced stalkers

Of nice tattoos
of blue suede shoes
of decorative punks
with baby cunts

Of happy parents
at children’s parties
of bored housewives
who dreams of hippies

Of A graders
degraded B graders
pissed off C graders
and the maybeers

Of sofa violence
on Mary Jane
comedies
of hobby pain

Of live and let live
it’s all the same
just stay out of my fucking garden
and play the game

Of polished lines that seem to know
that points away towards the foe
Rhymes that time perfectly
Yeah, you should be scared of me

I’m just kidding
have a nice day

Poetry Reading: I WONDER, by Philip Brent Harris

Performed by Hannah Ehman

POEM:

What would I do with me, without you?
Do any of us know what might be true?
More than I was, less than I have been,
A part of me missing, no nib in my pen.
Scratching at life, yet, leaving no mark,
Like rubbing two sticks without a spark.
Words are too weak, should I just quit?
Is your sacred fire what keeps mine lit?

If my dreams fleeting, passing clouds;
Will I know wisdom before my shroud?
Sewn into canvas, dropped into the sea,
Buried to nourish a newly planted tree.
Life into death into life, still unknown,
Must know the next life is still our own.
I wonder, the future is all wait and see,
What will you do with you, without me?

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: The Legend of Morven Mere, by Keith Johnson

Performed by Hannah Ehman

POEM:

It was thus in the time of siege and famine:

A poor farmer sold his little daughter

To the asrais and nixies of the mere

So that the harvest might not fail again.

Then the farm prospered and all were fed

So no more was thought of the bargain

Though the reeds at the water’s edge

Sang of the prize that was expected.

And Meggan, growing fair but also strong

Took to ploughing with her horse,

Coming on her sixteenth birthday

To till the rich silty fields by the lake.

It was springtime and fine weather

And she and her horse Meadowmane

Worked quietly from shore to headland

As the gulls followed the turned turf.

On a start, a milk-white charger appeared

Its golden mane and tail flashing in the sun

Its dappled flanks afire with rainbow flecks

Snorting and prancing in courtship and display.

‘I know you Brookenhorse’, said the girl

‘The mount of Jenny Greenteeth Grindlelow

Sent from the dark depths of the mere

To claim me as a prize for the tarn-hag’.

Then the enchanted stallion came up

And nuzzled Meadowmane on the cheek

Nipping the old cart horse on the neck

At which the Brookenhorse shape-shifted

And took up the plough collar and traces

Heaving the ploughshare and coulter

With such force that the task was soon done

And the meadow seared with perfect furrows.

At which the Brookenhorse bolted for the lake

Taking with it both the plough and its mistress –

And she trapped by the reins that she had wound

To the handles was dragged beneath the water.

‘Welcome my beauty’ said Mother Grindelow

‘You my drowned princess are my catch now

Take up your deathly pallor and sleeves of green

And sing with us amid the mere of midnight silver’

‘I have my prizes now – my temptress Morgwen Fey –

And the sharp steels of the foreshare and coulter

With which to forge a sword of endless enmity –

The enchanted plough become the stuff of strife’.

But Meggan shunned the hell-bride and her watermaids

And dreamed of the bright spring meadow flowers

And the warm sun and scent of heaving Meadowmane –

Finding at last the Brookenhorse in its watery stall.

At which it flared its nostrils, reared and stamped,

Abject in its thrall to the monstrous Borrag Queen,

Now become once more an ancient broken steed

Mere knucker bones and hide, bleached by the depths.

But Meggan wept that it had lost its rainbow glimmer

And placed her arms around its neck in comfort

Reaching to her kirtle purse to find a scrap of bread

That she had kept to share with Meadowmane.

At which the Brookenhorse glowed fine and white again

Lustrous and resplendent in its strength and beauty

And she broke down the stall gate and freed the horse

Leaping to its back as it bolted for the sunlit sky

Seizing the sword of enmity now become destiny

That mystical Cut Steel – Cleft Evil wand Excalibur

Until at last they came to safety and the light of day

Where she became her maiden self with Meadowmane.

And her father threw his arms around her with joy

Lamenting only the loss of his much-loved plough

But handling with amazement the magic sword

That shone among the peaceful fields of plenty.

So in time a knight came, seeking justice and love

And found at last the sword beaten from the share

Taking it up reverently from the Lady of the Lake

Bringing her and her treasured milk-white foal to Camelot.

—

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: THE YEARNING, by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Performed by Hannah Ehman

Poem:

In a lifetime spent yearning

through which came wishing and dreaming

within many splendid, unquiet enthusiasms

a voice murmured back the word, prayer!

I was needy and you were solicitous,

my mind always straying to paradoxes.

Instead I uncovered brazen devotion,

the perkiness brought such euphoria

and so I screamed, ‘Is that a blessing?’

Mattering and assaultive within theodicy

Urging and purging within my slyness,

shyness or otherness, I could not awaken.

Tossing its ghost into all desires,

‘It’s that barrenness,’ I muttered

Quirkingly back into my memories

craving the eccentric, eclectic fantasy

the yearning, an essential evanescence

an evolutionist laughed at me in retort.

‘It’s that piety,’ I whispered.

The saintliness simply smiled.

Read Poem: DISPOSAL, by ­Sahana Arun Kumar

You complete asshole.
I dare you to find another woman
Another who’ll play your games
And pander to your insecurities
And caress your ego
I dare you
To catch another unsuspecting youngling
To flaunt yourself
Another woman’s arm, another woman’s work
Another woman’s brilliant mind and worth
And show her off, like you know best
I dare you
To let her believe it’s her you’re seeking
Let her believe how much you care
Lead her into your heart’s lair
The heart that will ensnare
In the garb of protection
And love
That will promise and seal
That she comes to no harm
That she may never feel lonely
Or needy or unloved or small
That your shield will always remain.

And then when you cannot take
That she also is a burning fire
Drop her and leave.

I dare you
To speak on a forum for her
With her, to her
Your validation is exactly what she’s in search of
Your words of encouragement,
Entrapment
A hole that she has no idea she’ll fall into
I dare you to play the part of her saviour
Her knight in shining armour
Free her from distress
By lauding her learning, the learning you
imparted
And praise her for learning you
That feeds your own male­cious ability to teach
I dare you to touch her hand
Hold it close
Let her know you’ll protect her
You’ll make sure she comes to no harm
Strengthen it through the promises
And words and gestures of love.
And when she finally begins to feel safe,
And secure, and free to be herself,
To open her heart to you,
And let her power shine,
Drop her.
Just leave.
You, your shield and all.

I dare you to leave her to ponder
The pieces she cannot put together.
Everything that shattered from her own power
A power that she may never realise
Because you ensured that that very scorch
Was nothing without you.
Nothing.

But that scorch will burn
And burn her blue
She’ll fire and power through
And rise from the ashes
And when she rises,
She’ll know that she alone was capable
Of rising out of it.
You on the other hand
Will remain in the grip of your own neediness,
Loneliness and self­serving satiation.
You will remain
A love that can never love
Or be loved.
­Sahana Arun Kumar

Read Poem: Pixels, by Viktoria Emelkin

I am a leafless tree.
Green is fading to grey with every day
That turns into minutes
And seconds;
Time is picking up speed and taking off.
I can’t follow,
I am busy counting numbers and pixels.
Absorbed by the monotonous sounds
I don’t raise my head towards the other pair of eyes;
It’s not looking at me anymore.
I see shades of blue directed elsewhere.
Longing for the past,
Reminiscing of the lost,
Of the useless.
The dreary air is crawling into the lungs
And greying me out.
I am pixelating.
Now you can’t tell me from the pixels
That I was so busy counting.