The Poetry Marathon

Quietly awaiting

The break of day

Soon the restrictions

Will slip away

Though they won’t

Be as concerned

With quiet

After I’m done

Next time

I’ll stay home

Where my freedom reigns

No manipulation

It’s just the situation

Sleep

Is what

My body

And my mind need

Tomorrow has come

Yesterday I was up

Just before the sun

The Marathon

Had yet to

Begin

Sleep

The prompts,

they did not want to play.

Felt like my muses ran away

Had trouble figuring out just what I wanted to say

challenging to come up with 24 poems in just a day

Sleep deprived, intensified all of my dismay

My post I would never betray

Even when my brain goes astray

Just wish I could have wrote the words I wanted to convey.

I’m tired

And the sky

Has turned to grey

In my heated blanket

May It comfort me today

I’m hungry

Which seems to take

My words away

Could really use some coffee

I’m still writing

Even though I’m whining

Come what may

Under my umbrella 🌂

The hours fall away

Sliding into yesterday

As if rain

Under my umbrella 🌂

The negativity can’t

Protrude my head

Sheltered is my happiness

Under my umbrella 🌂

I see words used with hate

makes me sad as there is

so much more we can create

There’s a legend about the well

in the center of the garden.

It is said, that’s where she led them.

Bad children and unfaithful men

Who’d come to her

Begging her, to hide what they did

Told to leave a token

As their wish was spoken

Pushed into the grey stone well

Cuz dead ones tell no tale

Facemasks at two am

Snorts of laughter

Due to farts

Joyful tears do impart

In the dark of night

the Poetess

tends her void

healing her wounds

through her words

the affection of her longevity

mischievous curiosity

she surrenders to liberation

only found through transformation

ready to ascend

the Poetess

faces her fears

digs deeper into her truth

ready for the change

due for rebirth

“Born with a gift of laughter, and a sense that the world is mad” Rafael Sabatini

On the day that you were born

It was an honor to be with

Your mom, the experience a

Gift

A treasure of

Love and laughter

Now you’re almost a year, and

Your giggles are a

Welcomed, innocent sense

As your momma worries that

Your safety is in the

Hands of a cold cruel world

The promise of what was

In a place that’s gone mad.

“People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world, is also a confession of their character ”  Ralf waldo Emerson

It’s hard to believe in people

When we see the harm they do

United we are not

Nothing is as it seem(s)

What will it lead to?

When will we realize?

These circumstances cause that

People fully believe in their~

Opinion

This too, I am guilty of

Leading us to questioning the

Many ways of the world

As perception is

A new way, to look at also

Another lesson in a

Silent confession

We are all guilty of

To shift out of “their”

As this life has built our character