The Poetry Marathon

(or The Menagerie, part 1)

Esme

• white & black long-fur, markings look like a hat and cape
• aka ‘Fancy Nasty,’ cat matriarch
• pees wherever she wants just for funsies
• will screech if off schedule
• simply cannot

Thor

• orange tabby long-fur, too many toes
• does not live up to his name
• spends most of his time dissociated
• nauseous lump of anxiety
• mistrusts men

Astrid (deceased)

• black & white short-fur, almost named her Moo
• a true NYC bastard who thrived on chaos
• endured my trauma across two coasts
• adventured in public like a champ
• zero chill

Willa

• stout brown tabby short-hair, part bear
• equal parts bashful and bold
• once broke through the window screen to meet a bird
• uses baby voice for questionable means
• wrestling champion

Fenrir Pan

• black short-hair, TNR-docked ear and a cloudy eye
• tucks himself into the covers even for naps
• sweetest little boy who can do no harm
• just kidding, he throws paws hard
• mama’s boy

(Hour 4)

Hello?

Are you there?

Do you know what happened?

Do you blame me?

Is it nice where you’ve gone?

Were the others there to greet you?

Is the snowfall still peaceful, and the night jeweled with stars?

Can you still hear the symphony in the evening crickets and the morning birds?

Are the blankets warm, and the food delicious?

Are you happy?

Do you ever go back to the home we shared?

Do you ever wonder where we went?

Do the doors stay open for you?

Can you still hear me?

Is that you in the shadow of my sight?

Are you still causing mischief?

Are you lonely?

Does your waking ache with grief, too?

Are you waiting for me?

Can you send me a sign?

Will you be there for me when it’s my turn?

(Hour 3)

I spent my childhood on a stage

refining the art of attention

for your satisfaction

Now I’ve got no strings to pull me

and seem to have forgotten

how to scream with my own voice

(Hour 2)

How to Prepare

For 24 Hours as a Writer Poet

In 3 Easy Steps

Step 1 Rise

Shake off the rot sleep,

tuck your nightmares dreams to bed,

dust away the cobwebs,

fill the cat bowls,

greet the dread sun, slowly rising,

and accept that today,

anxiety is part of the fun

Step 2 Ready

Brew the coffee

FOCUS PLEASE

set alarms to the :40,

jog the brain, lagging still,

Wait what’s the time

pull up your inpso boards,

Am I missing…

send off the good lucks,

and don’t forget

the pens, pencils, papers

in their multicolored sanctity

GET A MOVE ON

Step 3 Write

Buckle in, everyone.

It’s going to be a rough wild fucking ride.

(Hour 1)

I am a Mexican-American writer from Southern California. This year is my third attempt at the Poetry Marathon. I completed it in 2019 but not in 2021, and after another lull I’m hoping to make it this year with support from my friends. Wishing everyone a lovely day of writing and hoping for lots of fun!

Sending love,

V.R. Dannenberg

I can’t tell anymore

whether smog, fog,

or smoke sits at the edge

of the world this evening

I have many eyes to do my watching

and little detail to spare

for the monster

lurking in the corners

teeth bared, tail low

The sunset is behind me now

Where the night belongs to him,

Tomorrow is mean for me

(Hour 10)

I’ve been inundated

with that self doubt and loathing

great tides of fear

indoctrinations of my youth

The ram assures

eyes steady and sure

the rain must come

so the garden will grow

(Hour 9)

so deceptive that

soft fire that burns

in the hearth, warm

between clutches of herbs

flowers and spices

when let out

beyond your boundaries

what damage she does

to those unsuspecting

(Hour 8)

The world must have started

in a land like Illinois

where the land is flat and modest

without obtrusions of outrageous color

or geographical interruptions of

the Greats like Vesuvius

(Hour 7)

You’ll forgive me if I appear to lack

the gravity expected of a

professional author

I’ll have you know I take my craft

as seriously as sin

And still despite my publications and certifications

for the countless ways I’ve been asked

“What is a poem?”

the best and truest answer

I’ve yet to muster is,

“Whatever the fuck you want it to be.”

(Hour 6)