Poem #11 — Haiku
Gentle ambiance
Light jazz and couples dancing
Wedding memories
Life Ranger
I’ve dreamt about
being in gumboots
As a Forest Ranger
I’ve viewed Chicago
From the tallest skyscraper
I’ve seen clouds
Form and rise like sourdough
I’ve longed for
the Storefont
dressed in periwinkle
I’ve always danced
To the beat of my own drum
I’ve fixed and made things
With needle and thread
I’ll spread
Love, light and happiness
Until I am dead
Tweets From my Pew
1. I look like none of you and it makes me feel like I have failed God #lol
2. Still haunted by that time I thought my mom got raptured and sometimes when I don’t hear from her I panic a little bit. #tbt
3. God is punishing me for masturbating as a teen by denying me a job in my degree field. #wouldyoulikefrieswiththat
4. Is this conviction or anxiety? #Sundayfunday
5. Scared to pray for things because the answer could be ‘no’. #how2talk2boss
6. My friends still think I believe in fairy tales and remark on it often. #bestfriendsforever
7. Thomas Kincaid’s paintings are terrible. #sorrynotsorry
8. VBS theme this year: Adventure in a time where the economy didn’t suck. #startemyoung
9. Why do they make pews out of trees still. #memoryfoamwouldbenice
10. I have to try and remember the people Jesus hung around. I have to try and remember grace. I also have to remember to show it myself. #perspective
A Beautiful Day
She asked me to explore with her
And her tiny hand grabbed mine
We touched leaves and collected flowers
She splashed every puddle
And giggled all the while
So thrilled when we painted the flowers
To hang on the fridge
Her laugh stays with me forever
And I can’t see her smile enough
The color yellow will always remind me
That she wanted to spend time
And giggle and paint
Dark Deals and Color Wheels
pour pastel plant paints
across gloss colored canvas
brighten darkened doors
bring the bright nights back
don’t let darkness deal us out
color fills our fold
Poem II: Reassurances
What if I have no more poetry left in me.
All my grief drained in these metaphors,
what if I have written all my poems
and all I have left is bare bones.
I’ve been here before
and I’ve conquered
but what if I
don’t have it in me anymore.
No—
I’ve been here before
and I’ve conquered.
My words are in a state of war
but I have sworn to sew
all my words into a throne
to testify to my hustle.
My struggle
will not be meaningless.
I am my own definition of success
because poetry is not how many eyes
peruse your verses but how many hearts you touch
More poetry via Instagram @anjaanography
Eyeache – Hour 11
I’m sleepy as hell
And tomorrow is Sunday
Church is by 12:30pm
And I plan to be early
But I must stay awake
And write new poems
Hour after hour
Until 4pm tomorrow
So I’ll spread my eyes open
And if I fall asleep
I know I’ll dram of random things
Like periwinkles and forest rangers
Or skyscrapers wearing gumboots
Even though I have no idea what gumboots are
And I’m too sleepy to google it
I’m 17
My bed sheet tonight is camo
And I love everything camo
I’m tired
So goodnight world
Beating the market | Surya T | Poetry Marathon Poem 11
The storefront was crowding
The market watchlist was in full boom
Despite it being a cafe, it was filled with traders
Trying to make a quick buck for a small move
I gaze upon them from behind the counter
To catch a glimpse of the things they do
Market, Bitcoin, Crypto, trading, cloud services
These are the only words in their vocabulary
Beat the market, this is the only goal they have
Beat the market, even if it is just 1%
Moving large amounts of money in transactions
Just for a change of one ten-thousandth
Their goals are in the sky
Making a ton of money is their only goal
A 2% return one day puts them on cloud 9
even though the next month is entirely losses
Beat the market, this is the only thing they know
They aren’t skilled at anything else
Even if they are given $100 to count the floors in a skyscraper
They’ll end up not even reaching to 1
Spread your skillset, trading isn’t enough
You wait for luck to move the needle
Your knowledge is almost nothing
and you are incompetent
Work hard, there’s no other alternative
beating the market happens after that
first learn to work on your ownself
Then start capitalizing on others’
–Surya T
Prompt 11, Hour 11: Building
Rain had nourished the Periwinkle;
a beautiful blue flower with petals shaped like a fan.
The little girl took them gently in her hands and sniffed them
then she returned to jumping in the puddles nearby.
Her black gumboots were caked with mud and she had no care in the world.
A single cloud remained in the sky after the storm.
Her mother took pictures and spread them out on the table;
Admiring each one closely, pressure to choose the right one for the newspaper building.
She has to beat the best local famous photographer in the contest to have her picture printed.
She glances up and looks out at the window,
Spotting her daughter’s lit up face, turned to the sky, her laughter sneaking in the nooks and crannies
of their house and filling her soul with peace.
She can’t help but smile and lift her camera once again.
St Patrick’s Day Gumboot War (Hour 11 Half Marathon 2021)
St Patrick’s Day Gumboot War
I am not in the habit
Of using words I don’t know
This list includes single syllable
And multi syllabic words
I have a decent vocabulary
And understand words in context
Passive knowledge
I do my best with metaphors
And similes
And meanings that twist away
Verbal optical illusions
The skyscraper cakes into a periwinkle
Sourdough magenta St Patrick’s day gift.
As the cloud drops into a fog and spreads along the storefront.
As the cloud drops from the sky into a fog along the storefront.
As clouds, fog, periwinkle, magenta mix in a confusion of camouflage
And lemon or lime meringue.
The gumboot chitons sensing diversion, rise from the sea
Crawling along the streets until
They meet up on the hill above the storefront.
We call out the national guard
And they in turn misunderstand what the gumboot chitons are
And call upon the forest rangers
Who also have no clue what they are dealing with.
The owner of the skyscraper
Along with the storefront tenant
Came with their shotguns
And along with the national guard
And forest rangers declared war
On the molluscs
Who fight back with needle precision.
Neither side could beat back the other.
A national emergency was called
Until chefs from the Caribbean contained them
In boiling pots though some were fried.
The war ended with a feast
Of gumboots, wine or beer.