The Poetry Marathon

cycles of armies of men exert their power

and weaknesses over the weakest of waves

to propel the huge ship forward against the wind

and storms faster and faster to reach the shore first

to finally celebrate the end of being weighed down by ringing

alarms dancing sexes scrutinising eyes and a crew that cannot

stomach any strong opinion or facial expression

but over time hearts exclaim their faded

colours and deformed shapes

and donate all their blood

into a body of unrest

knowing the ship will hurl

its best hurt men

at the restless

disturbing protest

‘till they either return to bed

or pretend that the ship never squealed

beneath its routine laughs and coughs and deaths

each night in bed my hands clench

the edge of grey skyscrapers

my fingers cramp &

disappear in the

depths I scream return to

mid-air wait while autumn leaves

drop underneath the sight of city lights

highlight buildings I’ll visit next time I hang

& cringe on repeat till morning I land

on our kitchen chair to hear

my dad say God

is warning me

that my homeless

soul might sink to the depths

of the abyss if I don’t pick a room

in his house or at least keep reaching

against the gravity that seems too heavy

even for the Almighty if I don’t keep clinging

with shoulders that have always been too weak

I shrug off the wings he stitched to my body

from birth his battle cries have frightened

fallen flesh that would rather cling

to anything but a cloud of hope

rather fall again just to hang

& eventually fall

asleep

eyelids motherly

• clean fragile eyes from daily dirt
• shield against harsh light
• defend from parasites that need entry to nerves and brains

sockets do nothing

but fatherly hold

eyes back from fleeing

cosy hollows

tonight each shadow is bright

enough to scorch the darkness deeper

can someone please weld our eyes closed

we can’t wait for the morning

sun to blind our sight

I’ve moved down the street in and out

of every empty house but no shadow

would dare to plant a seed in me

or pollute my sterile house of cards

each time you open your fertile mouth

words feed swamps into a home

for every light and living being

• tug at God’s pants or dress
• see my echo face to face
• assimilate into nature without being stung or bitten
• unveil the thickest and darkest of skins
• smell each blurry feeling
• ricochet the rain
• taste music

after a lifetime of wearing

the clichéd compliments I tore to tatty clothes

and lying awake over the taxes

you paid for trying to love me

and hiding under the bed

each cent of your evaporated dignity

I will suddenly believe

and start collecting mists and rain

to shower down on your shoulders strained

and water each thirsty furrow around your eyes

till they flower into withering relief

the thick mantle hidden deep beneath our feet

melts bit by bit and fists of molten rock thrust

themselves into already cramped chambers

but my mother always strokes restless

eyelids closed to try stop even

the lightest bit of magma

erupting through one of many

cracks in the earth crust surfacing

as scorching lava from my eyes and mouth

• Day job: Dietitian at the South African Military Health Service.
• Daily cravings: Poetry, music and controversy.
• Motivation for entering the poetry marathon: Lately, writer’s block has been constricting my throat.
• Link to my music: https://soundcloud.com/jemimameyer
• Links to my poetry:
  • https://medium.com/ja-magazine/poetry-two-poems-by-jemima-meyer-d56051de825c
  • https://kalaharireview.com/may-your-day-fb8be836cc45
  • https://medium.com/ja-magazine/poetry-skyscrapers-83b8abfcb6f1
  • https://medium.com/ja-magazine/poetry-04-42-519c86dba485