The Poetry Marathon

Change

to happiness expressed warmly

Look

Listen

to every moment valuable

If only you knew

I wish you could understand

The power behind self love

And your preciousness despite size

Yes, you will take a lot of shit

Grateful for scraps and tidbits

From lovers who could never measure

• to your grace or wit or presence

Yes, you will make mistakes

But do not dwell on regrets

For the well traveled road to healing

Will direct you to the right path

On that road, you will learn to love YOU

Even if others don’t

A spoonful of foggy dreams

from a shelf made of fir

Pour into your cup of coffee

‘Twill make you come alive

And do not forget

to add a sliver of moonbeam

Now, you can handle anything

Concrete or unseen

On the day Mary was alone

She tried to create her clone

She worked with deep brown soil

Slaving away in wasted toil

‘Cos Man was dust plus life force

A special blend of blood and bone

He was a man of cloth

A minister

and mere mortal

He took communion

Broke chastity

Lived without confession

He never took the cloth off

A world separate from worlds

Where spectral bodies roam

without limits

They watch the good and bad

Young and old

Protecting and observing

Maybe they love too

We’ll never know

For they live but are not part of life

Let me in, darling
Don’t lock me out
I lost my spare key
Took you for granted

Let me in, darling
A second chance
Dark wolves encircle
You are my safety

I sat on an old wishing chair
A whining, rickety one at that
I said, “To Paris, away with flair
But it stood there looking like a doormat
” Fly”, I said, “or i’ll thrash you without care”
“I must see Notre Dame and the city of art”
But the chair shook me off, I almost fell by my hair
Then I threatened to pull it piece by piece apart
” No, you won’t”, it said, “you see I have no pair”
“Get off, I prefer kids, not adults so fat”
I screamed and tore at my thick black hair
Jumping and snarling like an angry cat
I woke up sweating on my bed soft and dear
The old wishing chair faded like ghosts of past

Darkness

Dementors

Dejection

Join hands in tandem

Happiness

Ameliorators

Affection

Swim faraway ibidem

He might be here tomorrow

He might not (more…)

My mother is a great cook
You can tell from the tantalizing aroma that wafts through the kitchen doors
Swinging between sweet and savoury
My taste buds ache with lingering torture
pulling me to the source and the end
Egusi soup made of vegetable, sweat and determination
Teach me to trust in the work of my hands
I won’t have to tell
Good results will do the shouting