The Poetry Marathon

“In some past life, in some other galaxy, some other dimension
you chose your own fate with all its everything.”

Ok… Really?

“Yes, it’s because your soul needs to work out some kind of karmic
debt so that you can ascend to the next level – the 5th dimension.”

Hmmm…

“It’s all part of a grand scheme of things to help the world ascend
to a higher vibration in which people will behave better.”

I see…

So, that must mean that the former President of the US who, with his brothers,
committed some horrible crimes did so in order to prove it.

“Prove what?”

That the American Government is … ok, I take that back… the US Government
isn’t an actual government anymore, and hasn’t been for a very long time.

“How so?”

Well, if we had a government, I can think of at least four Presidents since 1963
who should have died in prison, but instead were given a free pass.

“Really?”

Yes, really. Probably more, but I can only think of four off the top of my head;
which means that we don’t have a government at all – we have a monarchy.

“C’mon, Joy”

It’s true. We have a King and/or Queen Somebody, but they stay hidden out of fear
that Americans might get just a little too upset about being serfs.

“Maybe…”

And, according to your theory, they, too, chose their fates for a greater purpose, so that
the world could ascend into a higher consciousness. Very heroic of them to be criminals.

“Yes, isn’t it!”

Yea… and chances are, the King and Queen of America are really Reptilian aliens who
shape shift between human and dragon whenever they feel like it, just to scare Congress.

“No joke?”

Right… and I should forgive all the horrible things, because some dragon lady somewhere
deserves my compassion in order to release my soul’s karmic debt.

“Makes sense”

Yea… except why are they sentencing protesters of the last stolen election to decades in prison?
Shouldn’t they, too, forgive and forget in order to allow the soul of America it’s own ascension…

from hell?

“Uh… you’re not quite understanding the concept of forgiveness, I think. It’s not about them or
their souls… it’s about you and your choice to ascend to a higher consciousness.”

That so?

“Just forget about all of it and move on, Joy. Move forward into a better life. If you forget about it
they might finally leave you alone because you won’t be drawing in their matching energy.

You chose this.”

Yea… ok, well, I can’t help but wonder why any soul would choose any of this. I had no control
over the behaviors of grown men in 1962, or of the women who rallied them on. I need another word for

bullshit.

Another poem to be written
Another poem about….

Gosh, what’s another word for bullshit?

I realized today how much happier I was
in my naivete…

back when I didn’t understand why
my faux “sisty” behaved so strangely,
demanding that I marry so that she could
“be rich”.

I wrote it off to her lack of an education.

… back when I wasn’t afraid to be myself
because I didn’t actually know who I was
to begin with…

And by “begin with”, I mean my birth.

“The Hunt”… it’s a good movie…
one I relate to in a big way,
having been hunted myself.

I’m tired. No, really, tired… I need to go to bed.

I also need to get this out…
I’m tired – like the beautiful blonde
fighting the crazy rich chick in the movie.

What a great monologue about the jack rabbit
and the box turtle.

I am so f-ing tired! I want to point my finger
at a few entitled perverts and shout
“Straighten up!”

But that’s not my job, is it. Not my job!

Sometimes I wish I didn’t know the things I know.
Most of the time I wonder how human beings can
be so entirely inhumane.

I’m just so tired. Going to bed now. Too tired of it all.
This poem sucks, and I am too tired to care.
I’m supposed to be “forgiving” while believing the strangest things…

Like “reptilian aliens are the root of the world’s problems.”

I am so f-ing tired, that I just can’t think of another word for it…
bullshit.

Good night.

This one is a work in progress, because I think it is a very important topic to cover for the human condition. Rejection hurts! Especially when we want something SO badly that we feel our very existence depends upon it. Our ego needs this THING or PERSON or EVENT so much that it becomes part of our soul somehow. This is my own prompt, so to speak, and I invite other poets to write about it as well.

To me, rejection is a sign post – a signal that, of all the diverging paths before me, that was not the right one. Then, it becomes a matter of whether or not I still want that thing (job, role in a play, etc.), person (love interest, business relationship), or event (film or music festival, poetry marathon).

Next, there’s the why… why do I want this thing so badly that the thought of being rejected is an obstacle. Then, it becomes the question of want vs need. I want to be an artist full time, but I need a steady cash flow. I want a good lifestyle AND I need a steady cash flow to make that happen. Therefore, I need to work as a data scientist more than I need to pursue a career in the arts.

I want a long term relationship with a man, but I need to be his one and only, and I need to feel that love vibe, and I need some time alone for my creativity. I could go on and on with all those needs and wants.

Rejection, therefore, is a necessary function of reaching all those needs and wants at some point in time. I still wonder if I will ever get there.

Poem to come when I have more time to create it.

Dear God,

Thanks for listening, first of all,
since next to you I feel so small,
but great at the same time,
as I seek to be in tune

with you.

Yes, you. You are pretty cool,
my Lord. And savior, yes, but
not as prescribed by the fool
in need of shedding his own debt.

Thank you.

Every day, I thank you as we speak
together on the mundane things,
and I forget that I am to be meek.
In response to what a stranger brings:

It’s true…

Thank you, Lord, for a mind
that brings me perseverance.
Thank you for the ethic to find
time to study, try, learn, and advance.

So few,

Lord, are willing to listen,
and instead pretend to love you
by not loving themselves within.
You didn’t say “to thine own self be true,”

So true!

The ethic to work and to earn
is a gift from you, Lord,
because you have helped me learn
so that I can afford

being true

to this vessel you built for my soul.
Thank you, sweet friend!
To love you more is my goal,
and love me more till the end.

I hope this is real, handsome man,
and not just another cruelty.
The darkness I’ve drawn in is so adept at it.

I’ve had enough of cruelty in this life.

Oh, but haven’t we both?
I saw her push you away that day
dressed in bizarre white.

You deserve love, as do I. Yes, and don’t we all?

So, I made a promise to God,
as instructed by the song
my child sang under her breath.

“How will I know if he really loves me?”

“Don’t trust the feeling” a parenthetic.
For years, I have not hoped, having forgotten
the sweetness of holding hands.

Your essence has inspired me to hope for love.

You. This. Whatever is going on now,
whether cosmic intervention or human interaction,
has inspired me to be the best version of myself.

I had forgotten, somehow, to enjoy being.

That you know I exist or not is a moot point.
We are so much alike in so many ways.
If we are to cross paths naturally, I hope to be my best self.

Until then, love. Until then, I will simply hope for the best.

Too much carbon in the air
made them all machines.

Squared lips, rounded jaws
of organic steel.

A world of hot diamonds
and melted glass

upon which they roll
on titanium pegs.

A strange experiment!

Round.
Not for appearance,
but for the ease of making.

Nature requires at least an oval
for square is too much effort.

In my youth, pepperoni was it.
Mushrooms were gourmet.

But now, there’s figs and prosciutto,
pesto, and lamb with mint.

Introduce gluten free, and cauliflower crust.
I like it cracker crisp, and the toppings thin.

Spicy tomato sauce, not too much cheese,
and not too oily or droopy.

Pizza! God’s gift to the big butt!!

Running away has been
such a strange purpose
as I am chased by pigs
feigning greatness.

Peace, such an elusive
state of being
in this state of chaos.

I am almost ready to fight,
but I hate fighting.

Until then… I just keep running.

Brush my teeth as water warms.
A towel and a cloth.
My body ready
for its crystalline energy.

Shampoo, then condition.
A foaming gel of roses
meets my skin,
washing every inch in luxury.

Towel off, then moisturize
the face, the arms, the legs
the feet, especially.
Feet so ignored in the past.

Brush in the mousse
with hair still wet,
and wash my hands
of its stickiness.

Conceal the dark
around my eyes.
Chanel, my preferred
five minutes of cosmetics.

Then brush and blow
my hair just so.
Get dressed!
I’m ready to go.

Keyboard and computer.
My fatigue a palpable reality.
I don’t feel like writing.

Sleep.

Yesterday’s latte petroglyph
inside the rim beg for a sip
from a fresh cup.

Sleep.

Two notebooks, one for work
the other for wishes,
though both drift together.

Sleep.

What happened to ButterBeauty?
I think a mouse, perhaps
under the couch.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.