THE SUPERORDINARY (hour xi)
He is stuck with me
Always telling, showing me
That spirit in me
*Inspired by the text prompt
Hour 11 prompt
PAINTING
A dash of red, a stroke of blue
Is my painting wonderful to view?
No painting can be done in a rush
Unless it is done by a magic brush.
For an artist all his paintings are priceless
But for a layman it may be worthless
Judge the painting through your inner eye
Believe me, it would never lie.
Paint on a canvas
Paint on a board
You are the artist
And the brush is your sword!
Paint for your happiness
Paint for your soul
Stay away from demotivators,
‘Who want to push you into a black hole’.
BY SHREYA SURAJ
Hour 19, Poem 25
Purple cotton candy clouds
Over a city of written dreams
Drifting, gliding, floating
Covering everything in a hazy glow
Not unlike sleep laden eyes
And mind conjuring up vivid pictures
Of fairies, dwarves and goblins
Dryads, elves, gremlins
Mingling in a landscape of serene chaos
Magic and dreams form worlds
More worlds… and words
Of wisdom, love and hope.
I wanted to find something
More than mere words
And give it to you
So this is the place I offer to you.
2023 Full Marathon: Hour 19
It is midnight now – the witching hour
I am drinking honeyed whiskey and writing
in something other then obsidian ink –
so clearly whatever is haunting me now
is not you is not cinnamon or orange juice.
I am not sobbing about the cities we did
not get to visit or the poems you chose not
to read so process of elimination –
this is NOT about you. It will be the
storm’s prime time soon – with more
flooding and too much unnoticed magic
.Shortly after that it will be the
artists hour and even the things that
have never made sense to anyone
gardless of their mental state or
abilities will be crystal and powerful.
People will gather and revel and you –
you will realize just how much there was
to miss. You will understand the haunting
of a lingering poem and the way the
computer eats thoughts from us all.
And time will continue to fly by
because I have conditioned myself
to this and for all the right reasons –
no one would ever notice the cracks.
-M. Rene’
Hour 19 – A Writer’s Cup
This machine keeps me company
I often walk up to it
I find the drip drip drip musical
The fluffy brown rises
Jiggling, filling my cup
Unconsciously finching, taking a sip
It is bitter sweet and I have a burnt tongue
‘Ther’ are bigger things to consider
But ‘ther’ are smaller ones too
And I am in the midst of all
Am I feeling any different?
The intricate fantasies shock me
I see and feel in slow mo
I am unlucky to recognize this
Maybe I am overthinking
My coffee is finished
The brown drops have left a smile
On the bottom of a writer’s cup
I am lucky enough to notice this.
©️ Divya Venkateswaran
Kaleidoscope
The sun-kissed my cheeks.
Imaginations filled my heart,
the first day of college,
was a mighty experience,
a kaleidoscope of lessons,
I’ve learned about Chemicals:
it is everything on earth.
Hour 10 prompt
MOTHERS LOVE IS SPECIAL
When God decided to descend on Earth,
He wondered how people will know His worth.
When He could not think any further
He realised; a perfect creation could only be the Mother.
Mother is the creator of the universe
Without her, life would be a curse
Mother keeps us safe in her womb
Will always love us, even after she reaches her tomb
Her breasts are always filled with love and milk
Her warm hugs are even softer than silk.
She always cooks tasty food
And is always ready to give us advice for our good.
Mother can be called by any name,
But her affection for us will always be the same
Theoretically, there is no special Mother’s Day
Mothers are to be loved and celebrated in every way.
BY SHREYA SURAJ
FIELD ON FIRE
Large open field,
Leaves color of fire,
Crisp cold air.
Hour 17
A kaleidescope of butterflies signals the awakening of Spring,
the typhoon formed from the flapping of its wing’s flirting with my hair
The sun’s rays not yet hot enough to burn my skin
With memories of that which will die again with time.