The Poetry Marathon

Every day,

I ask myself

“Are there any questions?”

way too many to mention

but I will, with intention.

Do I look fat?

Should I eat that?

What should I wear?

Does it make me look thinner?

Should I sleep early?

Or stay up too late?

Will morning be dreary?

Shall I leave that to fate?

What foods should I choose?

Shall I buy me some booze?

Will it make me happy?

Or make me a fatty?

And why, oh why

do my feet suddenly dry?

Why does menopause try

my patience?

Why lose elasticity?

Why night sweats do I mop?

Why does my stomach pop?

Why do I feel shitty?

When will it ever stop?

Why do we hurt?

Do people need to be jerks?

Is life just a farce

with rage, wrecks and cars?

Why does traffic bite?

Why have a yellow, bright?

Or red, is it right?

Why blow through this light?

Will they come home tonight?

Why, oh why?

Does life have to drive

me crazy?

Why can’t I stay dry

even with an umbrella?

– Sandra Johnson, 6/26/21

“Are there any questions?”

 Credit: The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood

When I think of Paris

mostly in my dreams

but thrice in reality,

I see my heart fly.

Just the drizzle of chocolate

on warm and cold profiteroles

or inside a croissant;

when I think of Paris

I glow like a sunrise.

All those tiny pixels

in Seurat’s Sunday park

Rodin’s dainty ballerinas

hanging greens at Monet’s bridge

make my eyes pop wide

and I melt

with happiness.

Oh, the music!

When I think of Paris

a lone guitar, violins

strings jumping, fingers thumping

makes a subway ride

more like a dance hall.

My soul is bouncing.

The markets!

I like to say “marches”

when I think of Paris

juicy fruits and crunchy breads

jeweled tarts and creamy pâté

make my tongue quiver.

And the Eiffel …

oh, it stops my breath

all the city beneath my feet

what bright jewels to behold.

When I think of Paris

it refreshes my mind.

There, in Paris,

a friend, of twenty years now, 9-11;

I think of your calm and comfort

when those towers crumbled,

and the world trembled,

in my mind

never forgotten.

– Sandra Johnson, 6/26/21

He licks all the time

loves my edamame, whines

begs for food

and anything from mommy.

Give this dog a bone

it’s a favorite

a treat, you say?

by your side, then away

before you know it.

But this guy’s a Chiweenie

they’re stubborn little guys

rare poop outside

and he tries to hide

his puddles.

A ball he loves

just throw and he goes

comes back with two tho’

for more fun!

What’s this, a halo?

he loves them, too

waits patiently and you

watch him chew juice

and beg for more.

A thief he can be

Poof! Food you see

left alone is “for me”

his jaws chomp freely

on the remains.

Just the rattle of a door

his tail wags, and more

front feet off the floor

he jumps to welcome you home.

Buddy, a hug

when we have a flu bug

or after work we sigh and shrug

you make it all better.

– Sandra Johnson, 6/26/21

My sleep is done

this ain’t no fun

am I the only one

who hates the morning?

My body says no

to work I won’t go

a few snoozes, tho

will it really help?

But this poem here

is ringing in my ear

this Saturday, I fear

i can’t sleep in.

Still in my bed

such a sleepy head

I should have instead

hit the pillow sooner!

I make excuses

but Dr. Seuss’s

mindset sluices

in and out of my brain.

This poem is done

bring on the sun

coffee is on

wake up, this girl is ready!

-Sandra Johnson, 6/26/21

Hi poetry friends! Sandi Johnson here. This is my third year in the marathon and second attempt at the full 24 hours! I’m excited and can’t wait to get into the poetry zone! I live in Houston but originally from New Jersey. Hot is the key word down here. Good luck to everyone!

Congrats to all full and half marathoners! We did it! Feels so amazing!

Sleep is the best gift

a writer always wants, needs

once words have sown seeds.

– Sandra Johnson

(I did it! 24 hours!)

If pet imagined, it would be

my beloved Godzilla, all healthy

bright and bubbly, neon green-y

my spirit guide, alebrije

perching on my shoulder near

watching o’er the others there

soothing my worries,

healing my fears

an acrobat he’d sometimes be

run of the house, he’d jump with glee

back and forth, from knee to knee

when I miss that creature live

I rub ghost belly and watch him thrive

closing eyes in love sublime

he brings back his real face to mine

lime green, long tail, around finger entwined

and when the day is almost gone

I put him in his terrarium

where he was king anole

and others loved him,

including mum

and soon he rests

on invisible tree.

(I miss you, my sweet baby.)

– Sandra Johnson

The world’s a giant, sooty ashtray

holes in walls, with smoke-black stains

our sins, the earth’s full burning pain

the trash, we dump in bucket loads

glass on sidewalks and crushed in roads

they cut the ground with fractured nodes

each hole spies a different window

where shadows lurk, and poisons go

or ghosts of once a rugged life

got tired and offed his scathing wife

then he himself, with stabbed knife

graffiti it will sometimes be

the smoking offal of gangs and rings

drugs, they rot people about

smacked loves and lives near inside-out

drunks they wreck the homes and highways

then steal the lives of others‘ days

pollution, the final slow demise

as it kills our land and skies

and construction, always promising trees

I know that I will never see

land finally will a desert be

and burning, screaming volcanoes

will torch what’s left in fiery throes

when ashes cool and finally mend

creation can begin again.

-Sandra Johnson

(Muse photo courtesy of Unsplash)

What am I longing for so deep?

yeah, that’s it, I need sleep!

fluffy pillows

beckoning blankets

eyelids closed

my brain on hold

wish the sandman

brought extra pajamas

tryptophan, or melatonin

I long to make so many zzzs

in between lines of poetry

poems remaining, only three

till slumber I shall meet thee

and darkness closes down on me

and if I rhyme before I wake

I pray a poem I don’t make.

– Sandra Johnson