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I'm a foreigner
at the crossroads
what you see from a distance
wave hands
say hello to you.
I've been confused
ever since stand alone in the crowd,
no one sees me
except for a pair of eyes
that is lodged in people's heads
which I never knew before;
and the clouds turn blue but don't hurt flowing right over the head
then the birds rise expel the wind
who had tossed my long hair.
I just stare at them,
hope they don't look at me.
However, the world suddenly stopped. And my world seems to have a limit
to transcend isolation.
I'm a foreigner
at the crossroads,
which has been left behind by old memories,
and when the new comrades have become adept at reading signs,
and therefore we have bonded
like a relationship
that we are not really aware of.
I'm a foreigner
at the crossroads,
greet you as a stranger too,
but now everyone is busy making their own festival,
and don't ask,
I make a festival for whom,
except for the day
when I'm not known anymore.
Indonesia, 30th November 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
Balkus Sep 2021
Partying hard
every day, every night
at the Festival of Poetry -
the festival of my life.

My bracelets
are flickering in the moon.
I'm kissing
the flowers, they make me bloom.

I'm drinking
the sweetest wine on earth.
I'm dancing
with a naked silhouette.

I'll be dancing
until the very last breath.

There will be no hangovers,
no regrets.
kevin wright Sep 2021
Hands of the dead push up on barefoot souls
Flowing music chasing revenant spirits away
On life’s vapour trails some peer into the void

Festovians on waves of sound, rise and fall
Reaching down most grasp and recover
Floating in space many now a ghostly form
The music festival allows the transformation of spirits
kevin wright Sep 2021
On tippy toe the brown mud smiles
Trails of mud trapping some unaware
Boots no match when bare footed with painted toes

Drawn down into caressing clutches
Suckling mud burgeoning a surprise
Rain washing suffering from ones muddy eyes

Freshly cut hay thrown into the melee
A raft floats on muddy surf
Regretfully, revellers begin the paddle home
Musical festivals bask in everything from sun to mud
kevin wright Sep 2021
Eerie stirrings in reedy beds
The watery depths holding pipers in yonder voes
Charging bulls run with musics charm
A crescendo of Tartan kilts harnessing all asunder
Celtic music played in many instruments
Daivik May 2021
Eid Mubarak
ईद मुबारक
عید مبارک ہو
Mystic Ink Plus Mar 2021
For a while
Don't tell me you know me
Looking into my eyes

Color me
As you like
I need
To feel more alive
Overwhelming the senses
The spirit and soul
Until I feel whole
With a rich color of delight

Tell me
Who do you see?
By the way, you look at me

But, I'm a rainbow
Raw and visual
Amidst the vibe
Or something soulful
Close to that
Pause in applause

And relax
Let me paint you
With the galaxies of joy
Where your spirit soar
And You'll effortlessly
Transcendence as
The most beautiful
Piece of living art
Theme: Inspirational
Theme: Contagious Colors
Author's Note:
Ideally you need to feel the most romantic creature for a time being, what you are, the world is, happy holi. So here I am.
Salad and veggies squeezed
in a bow, no space to dance.

Spring blossom whispers
Is it time to skateboard?

Tick tock, French onion soup say cheese
Who is that lady who lives
in her homeless shoes ?
# Chinese Spring Festival # Skateboard sports.
Lead K Jan 2021
Festival time - A favorite time of year
When Mothers and Fathers sing the their children as gifts
Dance in the love of Old Grandpa Wally
Even when he can't find his socks, or sits on the dog
Aunt Dorcas bought the tickets to the Fantasy Festival
So all the good little Girls and Boyos can play!

Open your arms
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your family
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your Daddy
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your Mommy
To the Fountain of Clowns

Will you go with me to ride the Spring Mares?
Or see the sights at the Showy-Magic Tent?
Maybe learn  what the Pizzazz Wizard sees for our Tomorrows?
Maybe a kiss at the Promisatorium
All of your Sister's dreams can die and be born again
If your tired, rest your head on Brother's lap and take a drink

Open your eyes
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your heart
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your insides
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your mouth
To the Fountain of Clowns

Laughing and Crying are the flavors of love
The scars on your heart will open its flowers
Look deep in the eyes of the children who surround you
Ask them for love with your arms and your tears
The sun in the sky was meant for your Heart
Maybe the Queen of Summer will never end

Open your past
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your future
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your body
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your heart
To the Fountain of Clowns
Take a walk with me to the festival grounds - Let us see what magic we can make!
Chris Chaffin Jan 2021
Steinbeck’s restless ghost whispers to me
as I tiptoe along a stone seawall.
He steers me away from the bay
back to the old sandstone churches
built by native hands,

back to music festivals and artisan fairs
full of mild, white cheeses
and would-be novelists arguing
about Henry Miller’s tropics.

But I’ve grown tired of his whispering
and no longer wish to dream of these things.
I would rather descend into a watery haven.
I will wave goodbye to John
and I will run down sandy paths
that lead to the sea.

I wade into the depths and sink
into a canyon where kelp shivers
in underwater breezes,
and the only stars I see will be
suction-cupped to the rocks below.
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