The Poetry Marathon

Not Tea

I’m English, we solve everything with a cup of tea,
I joke with a smirk as I pick up my drink.
I breathe it in, and then frown a little,
For this drink is not my tea.

Darker, stronger, but just as hot,
Pungent smell and aftertaste.
This I have tasted before –
But this is not my tea.

Another breakfast drink,
Not English by a long shot.
Full of flavour, energising for the day,
But not always my cup of tea.

Rapunzel

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,
But the princess in the Ivory Tower
Was too busy studying,
Reading and learning
To go to a party right then.

She stayed in her Ivory Tower
And obtained her degree
A doctorate later,
And she was free.
Having built her own ladders.

Dear Doctor

Here you are again,
On our TV screens again.
Showing us that it’s what’s inside
That matters, no matter the face.
One person can make a difference,
Fixing things with a screwdriver –
One thing at a time.
Call you, in your little blue box,
You will be there, answering our need for help.

Taking over Saturday evenings,
Science fiction and fantasy on prime-time again,
Flying the flag for imagination and creativity.
You may be fiction,
But your message is true.
And you inspire so many,
To be their best,
To be real.

Portal

An archway, a portal,
Hidden doorway in a secret garden.
Touching my hand to the trees lining the path,
I step across its boundaries.

I enter another world,
Of stone and ice and wind,
Just five steps further,
And I lose sight of the way back home.

There is no turning back,
And so I venture forward,
This hidden land a vast expanse,
Which leads to who knows where.

Head down and eyes half-shut,
I place one foot
In front of the other,
Trudging on, so slowly.

Sometime later, I remember
A shape in some trees,
Sunlight through branches,
An opening of some kind?

And then it flees my memory,
And there is only ice and snow,
Where the wind battles on,
And so must I.

Death

To beat death at its own game,
And live on and on forever,
Is this the dream, the wish,
A hope for everafter?

I do not know,
And, then, what is the point?
For Death must surely come for all,
To carry on alone would be awfully cruel.

We hope there is an afterlife,
And live a life good and true,
But this mortal world will close to us,
Whatever we try to do.

So life your life,
And make it count
Be remembered in good words and deeds,
And add your verse, for others to read.

The Piano At The Station By The Beach

I looked one day
And there it was.
A colourful, striped piano.
A Punch and Judy themed instrument,
Clear centre of the station.

I laughed, and looked again.
The piano was standing still,
A red and yellow beacon,
Announcing to the crowd; here I am,
A lantern shinning full.

Donated by the local council,
A sign proudly proclaimed.
For all the people to stop
And play
Or listen, on their way.

Towards the city centre,
Or straight down to the beach,
With music in their ears
And songs to guide their feet.
This piano at the station by the beach.

Liberties taken with changing beech to beach and laughter to laughed!

‘To what and to whom does one say yes?’

One says yes to love, to adventure, to life rich and full,
One says yes to dreams.
Under pale moonlight in the dead of winter
Anything seems possible.
This man is a prince
And you are only a princess if you wish to be
Or else, you are adventurers together, together in a mystery,
As an old rhyme goes.

Back in the warmth and light of day
It’s so easy to shake off these dreams,
Regain the life you had before,
The magic of night useless in harsh daylight.
Shadows hide but also invite
Adventure and mystery,
Intrigue and romance,
That must not be forgotten.

Oh yes, one wants to say yes.
We must say yes!
Be a prince, a princess, a romantic,
A knight in shining amour
And an adventurer brave.
But most of all,
Be true and be real,
And say yes to dreams.

Title taken from Caryolyn Forche’s Elegy

A Voting Poem

1: History

They fought long and hard
Fought to be seen and heard,
100 years ago
Equality a dream,
They strove to make real.

2: Vote the First

Now I am part of history,
Now I can make a difference
I place my mark alongside those that came before –
Feeling their weight,
And their courage.

3: Why?

He asks why, questions the difference it makes.
He is one of the elite – straight and white and male,
But he too has his battles; I tell him
If no-one makes their mark, just one cross,
We can blame no others but ourselves.

4: Just History Repeating Itself

The social media – the one only that matters now
Posts photos, 50, 70, 100 years apart,
Points to similar poses, dress, expressions,
Misses the full picture –
History repeats, the fight continues, because we do not learn.

5: Not Our Fight?

I have but one fight of my own,
Do not always need to stand up and be counted
But I am part of the human race,
And equality should be for all.
If we do not stand together, we fall apart.

Morning

Morning has broken,
Not the first
And not the last,
As we sleepwalk through routine.

Bleary-eyed we stumble,
Somehow weave past each other
As if still in dreams
Not yet destroyed by shrill alarms.

Cold tile starts to seep through us
As we prepare for the daylight hours,
Breaking through the fog
Of half-asleep minds.

Eventually we emerge,
Hot tea and dry toast
Break a self-imposed fast,
As we finally acknowledge a new day.

Blackbird sings,
And morning dawns,
Buses screech, and children laugh,
And today is here.

Hi everyone. I’m Laura and I live in Sussex, England, so I’ll be contending with the difference in time zones as well as writing poems. I’ve signed up for the half-marathon, for several reasons. I’m hoping to get some good poetry motivation and prompts, as I haven’t written anything for quite some time. I’ve previously found the National Poetry Writing Month challenge of 30 poems in 30 days very interesting and useful, but am looking forward to a briefer yet more intense challenge to really get me writing again. I also look forward to reading everyone else’s work. Good luck, all!