The Poetry Marathon

Fractured Fairy Tales

Do you hanker after being on Fortune’s100, a zillionaire entrepreneur—

Like a Steve Jobs, a Bill Gates, a Jeff Bezos, and a Mark Zuckerberg?

Do you wish to be extraordinarily worthy if you’re really very nerdy?

Sure, you have an E.E. M.S. degree from Berkeley, Harvard, or even M.I.T.,

But here’s a nano-warning, as Melissa Gates explains, alimony is alarming.

Remember now this cliche, “Don’t count your chickens before the hatch”

Else adultery and a friendship with an Epstein from victory will snatch.

Do you see yourself an American princess, an uber-woke Grace Kelly?

Even if an aging D-list cable-TV actress, why oh why dream of such folly.

Then marry the dim-witted second son of the British Royal Family,

But beware, telling lies to Oprah and bullying the staff ends in calamity.

 

Just the Thing

Great Thor trails in the door
Limp
He’s tired, weary.
It’s been a long day.

Mrs. Claus (she helps him out)
(off season)
Bustles over, “Dear?
You look so burned out!”

He sighs, a great gust of wind.
Whooooooooooooosh…
Ships in the north sea
Pitch on sudden waves.

“Burned out is exactly right.”
He’s glum.
Sits down heavily
(The heavens thunder).

“And I’m not even done yet!”
He moans.
“It’s all the film rights!
Endless paperwork.”

Two rooms over, a glass falls.
Wheeaaaaayy!!
A Valkyrie laughs.
Thor looks baleful.

“You know what you need, my dear?”
“Mead.”
“A nice cup of tea.”
He doesn’t protest.

Mrs. Claus makes the best tea.
Well-known fact.
Fruit teas for reindeer
Herbals for Huldras

Cinnamon for Santa Claus
(Dash of nutmeg)
And for mighty Thor…
A storm in a teacup.

“WHICH of you bone-headed dolts has left this goat in my kitchen again, if you can’t keep it under control I’m sending it down to Fólkvangr myself, you see if I don’t, and DON’T think you can scare me with those battle-axes young man, this is ABSOLUTELY unacceptable…”

Just the thing.

#9- Happiness Pool

My hands holding the rim of the pool,

My feet swaying in the blue depths,

The water lapping against me,

My eyes kissing the horizon.

Stories above the rest,

Looking at the city from my vantage,

A sense of satisfaction engulfing me,

As I look back at all I’ve done.

Proud of all the hard work,

And the energy I put in,

Proud of all I’ve achieved,

And the levels I’ve reached.

So important to take a deep breath,

And appreciate all you have,

Show your gratitude,

For all the good things in life.

A smile smoothens on my features,

As I take in the view around me,

Feeling at peace with who I am,

With who I one day hope to be…

~thryaksha

 

Hour 9 – The Same Water

They say that the same water that

Hardens the egg, softens the potato. 

 

So I try not to take it too personally 

When you tell me that I’m being

Overly dramatic, that the situation

Can’t possibly call for all hands on deck. 

 

I try the tricks the therapist gave me,

Breathe in and breathe out, 

Count out the senses, 

Write it out and meditate…

But the sound of impending doom

Is louder than any trick in the book. 

 

Yet you just sit there calmly, 

Unbothered as I feel the 

World crumbling and 

Leaving me alone, standing 

On uneven ground.

 

What I wouldn’t give to have 

The same self-assuredness,

Confidence in things just

Working out how they need to. 

Like magic. 

 

Isolation isn’t helpful in

The apocalypse. 

Are We There Yet

Confidency she’s, and

Over there standing by the wall.

How nice.

When the Roses brenches up against her,

And in between a palm tree.

In a marble vase stand.

Pretty as they can be.

In the sunlight,

Covered with shade.

Is Ms. Davis in a conversation still?

When its times to go.

One invitation to Las Vegas.

To a party on mascrarade nights.

Here they all go again.

Riding up in a limousine.

One minute passed the hour.

Just before the party begins.

 

 

Transform

In the place between forms

The fog betwixt identities

A place of malleable softness

And fluid mosaic

I release the shell

That kept me small 

That kept me safe

Extract my tender being 

Let it take 

New Shape

For there are horizons to seek

And 

They require wings  

Block – 9 of 24

you were thinking of ending things
you were thinking of ending me
you imagined all of the fantastic ways
in which I could cease to know you
and you loved me most in that moment
right before you snipped,
I felt it! I felt myself floating in the air
like a particle in sunlight
reluctant to make a new life on the carpet

I can’t even find the poetry
in the way in which we severed,
I’ve been out with laterns and lightning
bugs
and despite the borrowed brightness,
the pain is still blocking the sun

The Secret

Once in a blue moon,
I take out an old picture of myself
just to check how many wrinkles I’ve added
since I crossed happy days

Once in a blue moon,
I try to recollect just what you whispered
into my ears as we made love
but all that echos is the crack of a sharp slap across my face

Once in a blue moon,
I drink wine from the flute
just to remind myself that its cracked, sharp edge
can no longer press against my throat as I’m backed far up against the wall

Once in a blue moon,
I use my silver brush to smoothen my silver strands
They lost their dark colour too soon, but my dark secret…
that will last my lifetime and a little more

Once in a blue moon,
I walk downstairs into the cellar
to check for the stench of yesterday
but the rats seem to have wiped away every inch of you!

STUDYING THE BOOK OF KELLS

If there is any holy book so close
to embodying poetry, it is the Book of Kells,
that sacred collection of the four Gospels,
at least those agreed on by Mother Church,
who is not my mother, its God not my God.

The Book, though, is worth more than twice
its weight in gold, filled with the richest
of illuminations, mystical figures, symbols,
all any ‘God’ might desire, and any demon, too.
Made by men who prayed, for men who coveted,

as possession was more important than devotion,
and he who held it wished only to keep it
for himself, to exhibit it with pride to
those who could not read, who believed that
‘God’ was exalted, everlasting, and impartial,

and that it was ‘His’ hand that calligraphed
the letters, guided the brushes of the monks,
stretched and purified the vellum. Anyone
who turned its pages became holy, but the Book
itself is modest, venerable, and hidden.

There is nothing like religion to divide
everything that can be found under the sky.
The Book of Kells may be admired but not
touched, venerated but not read. I would like
to know if one day it, too, will turn to dust.

This Too Shall Pass (Hour 9)

This Too Shall Pass

By: LuvMiFreely

(Hour 9)

The world has been sitting on my shoulders

I feel my posture dragging

I’m often told I have to pick myself up

 They don’t know how often I pick up the pieces

But every shattered piece cuts me

So I rather leave them on the ground

Every time a wound heals 

Something replaces the pain

Until I become numb

I’m told that I’m strong

They fail to notice that I’m weak in my stance

But God holds me up when I’m at my weakest

The world knocks me down

I throw in the towel

He throws it back

Tells me to wipe my tears

Stands me back on my feet

Then He gloves up and takes on my battles

So although my flesh wants to give in

My spirit reminds me that I’m built in his image 

This too shall pass