Letters. Words. Numbers and images Not enough I need Worlds. Creatures. Powers and silences A new feeling A new definition A new poem You and me
Category: Marathon Poem
compartmentalizing
drowns his worries in a bathtub, compartmentalizing and filling each thought into a bottle to pour out shot by shot another day one at a time or too many at once till he is drunk on the confusion swimming in what overwhelmed feels like there…
That’s Not Normal
(for hour 7—“normal” prompt) That’s Not Normal I woke him with the dreaded whisper, “There’s someone in the livingroom.” Having no reason to doubt me, he leapt from dream-state to Dominant Male Protector inside of a second. Then I whispered, to warn him,…
Hour 7: “A Weed is a Flower Growing Where You Don’t Want It”
As the grass and the weeds die and wither A building is growing — spots of color but little diversity My eyes are drawn to the yellow door’s handle to the red door’s oval spot calling attention to themselves breaking up the rectangles, the squares…
7. Normal
The new normal wants so badly to be the old normal tries so hard to be carefree. Maskless is the new breezy. Everybody wants to be the new Marlo Thomas smilingly skipping across a busy New York street tossing her hat into the air not…
Hour Seven – Elfchen Poem
I learned about an Elfchen poem from Donnetta Norris this past week. Here is one about walking from the last hour’s prompt. Stride to find all the hopes promised in arriving ready Strong
Hour 7: What is Normal?
What does it mean to be normal? A question I have asked myself. I do not like the word normal It should be put upon a shelf. I used to use the word Like a lot of people do Until I became the mother Of…
Before – Hour 7
I remember The last breath of unfiltered air On a cool evening I stopped and raised my hands in the air And filled my lungs as much as I could I remember Trying to hold that breath Because words cannot explain How pure and…
Level The Tide
Storms blow and disappear The atmosphere absords in fear She exhales fear into tears It is cool with long threads And tames the old man’s rest
Retail (a cethramtu rannaigechta moire)
To all who live must sell to earn rent and must tell all who buy what angels are they to heed the call: Do value your own mind; let them clothe their own hinds.