Darling We have given ourselves far too many reasons to stay whole when really it is perfectly reasonable to Crash and fall apart and maybe even lose some of pieces in the process. Sometimes growth isn’t about Flourishing with what we had To…
Category: Marathon Poem
Typing -Hour 23
I don’t know who I am any more Names mean nothing now Words are just letters strewn into a blurry line What is a poem? Can I even write one at this point? No. I am just typing sequentially right now. I guess I am…
Prompt 23: Odyssey
Never a night so long, Lashed here, to Homer’s Galley And knowing, sleep’s music, so wrong Would undoubtedly drown me Wholly, completely, sweetly. Pillowed Siren, Scylla and Charybdis I have closed my ears thus far But I nod and your voice softly…
23rd hour – Absolute power (Text prompt)
Gavel conundrum won’t catch this crime whose committer runs the white elephant under strict service to the prince of power bedding the better halves of other royalty by the vestige of heavy crown
No. 23: Solo
I enjoy the solitude of cross country driving My first solo trip was from Arizona to Pennsylvania I marveled at the variety of scenery From the red volcanic stone of northern New Mexico Into the nondescript panhandle of Texas Then bursting into a scene of…
Brett Hour 24
Babajee R’leyhan Elephooctopotomaus Tyranopuffalumpasaurus Tefataplatapilla Djzimann Yeto-opthalamosaurus Endoshnuffleuckapuss Ridge Silly names, true love, Real love’s inspiration’s call, Wherever you lay.
Wonderland
Is it too late to turn back now? If only we knew how to fly, Do you think you can show me how? Through the mirror we go just one more time. Paint the white roses red Please hold onto your head You’re not the…
Compassion
Toddlers and New Yorkers, not always so different. How so? Both stomp about their worlds in a big hurry. Toddlers run after each other Away from you Into danger With a gusto Like a commuter trying to cram on before the train doors shut. The…
I Am A Poet
content warning: intense and emotional, talking about feeling overwhelmed but fuck, a poet’s what i am – i’ve got the rhythm, the way of the words, the metaphor and the twist, the uneven rhyme and i move and manipulate it ’til it looks and sounds…