The Poetry Marathon

I’m seven and you’re nine,
And I don’t question, nor wonder why.

You’re a precious view of summer,
A sunlight, A lily or sunflower,
You’re my forever and ever.

In my everyday, I see it through,
You are my greatest color hue.

My lovely light, in my darkest days,
A twinkling stars in every way.

You make me happy when life gets sad,
A funny joke when I gets mad.

You are my best friend, lover and companion,
Having you always means,
I am a true champion.

So I’ll take the seven and you take nine.
Coz’ I’m a winner, when you’re mine.
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Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour08, Text Prompt08

Here we are in black and white in the world of brightest colors.
Some people are red or blue then turns into yellow.

I need to be black at some days where I need to go.
But you backing me up into white means, I’ll just be back tomorrow.

I see ourselves in photographs from 10 years, younger days.
Years and years, months to weeks, and I still adore you anyway.

We are now here in modern times,
And now turn old and grey.

But always remember that from black and white,
I still love you, everyday.
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Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour07, Image Prompt07

Dear Old Friend…
Its been awhile, isn’t it?.
12 years passed and gone,
And you’re too busy growing up
While I’m too busy fixing myself up, again and again and again.

Dear Old Friend…
I’m sorry, That I turned insane,
And that left you confused, broken and alone.
That left you wondering, until now.
That left you wondering, why? or How?

Dear Old Friend…
I’m sorry, That I turned out to be this way,
And as a result, you were left to a friend that was not even a friend.
That should be me, but I’m sorry, I’m not well.

Dear Old Friend…
Despite it all, you accomplished so much.
All the hurdles, the pain, all of it.
You made it through without me,
I am so so proud of you, you are so strong.

Dear Old Friend…
I hope you still remember me,
I am Janine, your childhood friend,
Your only best friend since birth,
My only companion before I fall.

We played lots of imaginary games,
We played under the rain,
we played mud dirts and sung songs that the radio don’t recognized anymore.
We are each others fun,
We are each others run.

I wish you well dear friend,
I wish your future turn out the way we imagine it.
Though I wish I’m still with you right now,
Laughing and talking about our hopes.
But then I’m lost, and I’m praying that you are not.

I wish you happiness all through out,
I am here, always… despite the absence.
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Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour06, Text Prompt06

The only window in my room,
Remain open, without a view.
The outside world, is too poisoned.
Too dangerous to even peak.
Now covered with old mirror, it speaks.

Mirror, mirror on the window,
What can you share to me?
How was the world going?
Is there still place left for me?
Mirror, mirror on my window, speak!

Please! Let me know what you see.
Let me know, is there still room for me?
Does this being can still see,
A happy place apart from here?
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Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour05, Image Prompt05

Can you hear that? oh la’… oh la’…
As the piano key speaks.
Can you hear that? Oh la’… oh la’…
As the melody creak.

All were from the narrow road,
Now haunted, Not wanted.
Can you hear that?
The eerie sound as I speak,
now, hear it now, now ….

The end of the song was played,
ages gone…
But for me, its not yet done.
I found someone, someone else’s body.
I found someone, someone, that is me.
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Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour04, Image Prompt04

A tree that bend from a hill,
Often cast a spell to kill.
Its chant whispers through the wind,
And slowly sips, and sips your blood.
It stoles whatever love you hold,
You will do things as it was told.
In a summer heat, underneath
Blood dripping from its leaves.
It is your own, but you can’t smell,
You’re still under its spell.
So, I warn you now to run down hill,
Run for your life, kid. Run to feel.
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Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour03, Image Prompt03

I calm my head and go to bed,
And think twice about the line he said;
“And miles to go before I sleep”
“And miles to go before I sleep”.

I stared so hard, up naked sky,
And think about how would I die.
In life, I’ve seen some terrible cries,
Hard situations, awful people and lies.
I wonder if I’ll just do the same,
Or be the good and kindest at my game.

For sure, I’m no poet as good as his,
I’m no noble person, or philanthropist.
But I dreamt to write to touch one soul,
And read about it, as I get old.

His tragedy and my worst life,
Might be differ by its time.
But I wish, I wish, to touch one life,
Just like how, he touch mine.

Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour02, Text Prompt02
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Giving honor to Robert’s Frost Phrase “And miles to go before I sleep” from his poetry : Stopping by woods in a snowy evening

Bound to lose these strong stories,
I’m a nomad from mainland “worries”.
The course I took was heavy… heavy,
I found places, walls pain with ivy.

When you look too hard,
There’s a terrible mystery.
Frame, frame seen on me.
Game, Game, life can be.
I’m a nomad from someone else’s story.

From your tears, I found my name,
Game, Game, What a shame.
Unknown stories not heard from my side,
No, no, I’m drowned just to hide.

Heat, heat, water drained
You took me hard to release.
In my sea of waterless brain, you see.
A story that made of something,
A universal see of nothing.

Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour01, Prompt01

Chosen first line of the book — >  “The pain hit with sudden furry”

“Untitled”

As the pain hit with sudden furry,

I stumble back acting in a hurry,

Even I’m not chasing any.

I am just there, a bit weary.

The bad memories keeps knocking back.

I’m a fool to even bother by it.

I was on feet trying to open the door,

Until I remember your face once more.

Ring the bell to hit this head.

I am long gone and dead,

I remember, that’s what you said.

So be gone, just be dead.

(C) M. E. Flores

“Latvia”

You always share latvia’s story,
A small country with big history.
A hills surrounds with chilling feels,
A place I wish to see for real.

You promise to take me there one day,
Though I live a million miles away.
I hope to steal a quick visit.
Take me there, even just for few minutes.

Imagining that quick strangers chat,
A walk in a small town, when no one’s around.
Or a feel of chilling wind in my head,

Just like what you have said.

A long ride, as you share few stories,
Of country memories and old songs.
A travel that will not last that long.
Yet a kind of memory that is never wrong.

(C) M. E. Flores