The Poetry Marathon

Full breakfast at three in the morning

To counterattack the sleepiness and yawning

When my stomachs is empty

That is when i get sleepy

Sizzling bacon, breaking the silence of the whole apartment complex

Makes me feel like I am doing something I should not have been

Noise ordinance for crackling pork?

That’ll be the first

The fried eggs will soon follow

Along with some dark roasted espresso

My brain waves are already swimming with energy

As my stomach rejoices with ecstasy

Delicious burnt bacon all just for me

“Gather yourselves, ladies, prim and proper” Mrs. Havensham said, “with your powdered pearls protruding from your bosoms like so”

She continued, “Be certain to display your ivory white gloves, upon your intricate lil hands. For you see, Tea is high society and high socialites you shall be”

A voice rang out from the back, “How high?”

Mrs. Havensham was not pleased but continued on, “If a concerto is brought up in conversation be sure to mention how much you adore Mozart’s violins and or Bach’s organs”

“Like his insides”

“Don’t be ridiculous, not the internal kind, don’t be so crass. They wouldn’t like that. No woman should ever be so brass. High tea is serious business” She said with much composure “And you shall pursue it with illustrious gracefulness”

Pressing on, Mrs. Havensham sighed heavily and addressed the rest, “As you lift your cups and saucers to your lips, extend your pinkies out like this”

“Oh so we can pretend and put on the ritz”, the voice rang out teasingly

Red in the face, Mrs. Havensham approached the voice, “I would be remiss to say that your constant interruptions like today are liable to get you dismissed. And your etiquette lessons will wash away with your dreams of being a good wife. No man will ever want a woman who jokes about during tea time or sits around drinking wine and smoking cigarettes from time to time. Now sit up straight, legs crossed and keep quiet at all times.”

The woman raises her hand to Mrs. Havensham, “One last interruption, if I may. I believe a correction to your lessons needs to be made.”

“Such as what, exactly?”

“Such as, I do not wish to be put on Patriarchal display. Cluttered and tattered upon those shelves of double standards. Although, I speak my mind-I am quite polite to those who are deserving. It is my choosing if I want to wear white gloves and pearls and discuss the many overtures in Mozart’s Figaro. And I most certainly do not smoke cigarettes. Why, I bide my time by drinking wines of all kinds but what really gets my spirits going is a fine robust cigar with some bourbon or rye”

I want to lay my head on the grass and have mother envelope me

Grow above and over me

t Swallow me whole

My soul wants to stomp hard, barefoot on the ground

Breaking Earth letting my foot slip pass the turning core

While my roots

Slide through the dust and dirt

Searching for somewhere to be

Somewhere that use to be

Feeling inside out with an unbearable nakedness

My spirit is not here,

My spirit has gone to the future

Enjoying what would have been

Flashing back to what was

I’m not here

I’ve escaped to the wind

I’ve transported myself to somewhere you all have not touched

To where colors beyond your stretch exist

Gone from all of the worries

Gone from the uncertainties

Gone from the obvious hinderances

Gone from ever being bent, used, depleted

Gone from these things to brood in my splendor

Just for me

Only me

Never took a liking to or understood the term

But I knew well the purpose of its composition, to make others squirm

Nonetheless

I must protest

My work was executed with fine precision

Every sling a premeditated decision

That no other would ever match

My art was, is beyond the measures of the past

I carefully cut those corroded cadavers

Only to have my craft be honed down to an unscrupulous mad hatter?

Who are they to dub me a flittering clipper?

I am far too slicker

To be a mere evening thriller

My hands never faltered as I sliced precisely right

Ha, let my craftsmanship speak for itself

For to this day, not one has yet

To forget

And figure

Who, from HELL, is Jack the Ripper?

Let me tell you the tale of my mother

Not the one who physically bore me

The one who the High Priest stated that hovers

Over me, protects me, lives through me

Known to Catholics as Our Lady of Charity

Best known to our Afro-Boriquen brothers and sisters as the

Goddess of fresh waters

Beauty

Love

Luxuries

Pleasures

Fertility

Sexuality

She approaches her children walking through the rivers of many plights

Dancing in her yellow gold dress, adorned in peacock feathers

With tears of joy forming in her eyes

Sweet as honey she seduces love and compassion amongst all who call unto her

Brought over to our Puerto Rican people from across the African seas

Her Spanish name, a cover, La Caridad del Cobre

Her true name divine, la mas linda (the most beautiful), Oshun

Well my dear

Is this how you imagined our years

Together upon this porch

Watching our children recklessly search

For fireflies to fill their mason jars

Did you dream the both of us would be beaming this evening

As we hear our lil ones laugh uncontrollably

At the frogs who they believe are serenading them, gleefully

When the storm unexpectedly approaches

Let us together, put them in their raincoats and boots

And unitedly, watch the growth of our little fruits

Your land of fire and ice

Still flows through my senses

Raw brisk air hits my lungs

My body begs for warmer defenses

But my eyes did not want to miss your fiery sun

Slowly but vibrantly it raises its beams upon your land

I am watching intently by your Viking ship I stand

I feel like a brave foreigner on foreign fields

Enraptured by your glorious golden terrain and curious steers

Witnessing ancestral spirits reaching across the dark skies

Whistling at the glowing green rays of the Northern lights

Just to see how close they would come to me

I am still in awe for seeing Iceland in all of her glory

Your leave will only be for a year

But I feel like I should acknowledge you

It’s always fun when you come near

And an even greater pleasure when you’re through

I must admit, I will miss

Your hot kisses

Against my burning skin

If I’m to be honest then I must accept your internal glow makes me lose myself

And when you rain on me

Unexpectedly, without any warning

You leave me yearning

Soaring in the showers of your tenacious storming

I will never declare you as my favorite

But we had some good times that where savory

A few months of this seasonal love was more than enough for me

So like every year, take it with stride

Another will take your place to fulfill me with glee

You all have your special place

Slightly different glide but sort of the same

So…so long sunshine

So long sunny storms

So long Summer, we had a ball

But here comes crisp cool Fall

There’s fire ablaze on top of her head

Her curls lay dormant around her cheeks

Intertwine, deep…rooted las the willow tree

The harsh cold winds blow through her flames

Revealing her soft spotted face

The emeralds in her eyes

Shine a light through the mist and fog

Leading ships upon the safety of her shores…back home

Her soft ballads and lilting calls for still waters

Back home…in the arms of those we love dearly

In the crooks of her bracing seas

Back home is where we all long to be

Indigo, your blue haze and purple embers of grain

Makes a lover’s oath of starry nights

And yellow moons in shape of sunflowers waning in the winds

Your azure hue brightens my mind’s eye to the limits beyond the skies

Every speck of silver lays its head upon your crisp violet robes of royalty

Kings, Queens, Gods and Goddesses alike tried to emulate your cerulean celestial chroma

Only to paste, in haste, a wasted tint of your glow

There is an enchanting intensity in your blush

No other shade can grasp a person’s aura as much

You leave an existential existence into the heavens

Beckoning to the dwelling of all that witness your blessings