The Poetry Marathon

HOUR #9 (Desperation Haiku)

At this tip of pen

The sun sets, and my words fade

Against empty page.

EmoGirl vs. EmeGirl

EmoGirl vs. EmeGirl

“ I saw mountains, how high?” Imani Ruz 

EmoGirl shy in the corner 

not easy to make friends with at first.

Until you see her true potential 

hear her words speak honesty.

EmoGirl doesn’t sit at home

in front of screens,

get fat on bon bons.

She’s busy writing, reading, living

to feel sorry for herself.

EmoGirl isn’t a #1 fan, doesn’t have to say she is.

Won’t stalk him, lie about him with other’s opinions,

fake herself friends, steal pictures from someone else’s 

social media.

 

EmoGirl won’t have more handles than she can count.

She has one and a handle on her own life,

lives it inside her own pictures.

Emogirl doesn’t ask for self pity,

her mom died too.

She celebrates her mom.

Knows her mom didn’t want a wake

or funeral.

Wanted the people who loved her 

to do so when she’s alive not dead.

EmoGirl wants this too for herself.

EmoGirl knows mental illnesses 

Emotional breakdowns

Anxieties 

PTSD

Anger

Hurt 

Depression 

What’s wrong in the world,

but never once does she pull down someone else’s success 

to burn them.

She celebrates in the company of others.

EmoGirl doesn’t see mountains as obstacles,

she’s far too busy rising from the flames

to set any fires.

EmoGirl pushes record, screenshots the lies 

so tomorrow will see the hidden truth and learn from it.

Nahar’ Girl

Gem

you are what laughter is

at 3 am after a long conversation

unexpected, loud, bright enough to fill

every empty crack with light

smile strong for all the hope

that is possible

stand tall for all the strength

that is potential

you are whipped cream melting

off a cake in the summer sun

are the lilting high notes of a violin

yet carry the lower registers too

looking at you blinds me and

draws me in at the same time

and I don’t even have a crush on you

all I’m saying is you carry joy like

other people carry a title

swing it through rooms like a signature

that promises not to be

inauthentic, forced

you talk of your flaws like

a jeweler trying to make a bargain

by exposing anything that might

bring the seller to drop the price

you don’t need to buy what you already own

don’t need to prove to me you are

validated in selling yourself short

I won’t believe you

I may not know all of you but I can see your glow

I may not be close enough to count your scratches

but I can tell you bring your own warmth

 

 

Transform

Shifting prismatic

Light that shatters

Fracturing 

Against the edges of reality

Sorting

Through the fragments of color

Selecting 

Each facet 

Rebuilding

The mosaic of identity

Transforming

A liquid vessel 

Taking 

The shape of its contents

HOUR 10 Sculpture in Waiting

Sculpture in waiting

 

My Mistress of unlight commands pursuit of the brutal and profane,

Ever insipid in her own crimson distinguishability,

Clawing and demanding of my dark and tortured affections,

I will yield to that which you desire with presiding intrigue.

 

Inner self and commanding force molding you unwittingly to my will,

Your innermost desires to be met at the graciousness of my hand.

 

My Mistress of the shadow wishes dark desires fulfilled,

Impulses that will be thoroughly shaped into mine,

With subtle hand and masterful stroke will you be made anew,

Painted and commemorated in the images of wretched obscurity.

 

The imperious nature of myself yielding with slight of hand,

Every wish I shall acquiesce to your murderous intent.

 

My Mistress born on the scarlet wings of hellish inclination,

You shall want for nothing in accordance with my framework,

Mere clay to be shaped in accordance to my fire fueled Hadean craft,

A beautiful and terrible image modeled on my perceived subjugation.

 

With your permission obtained I set forth adoration,

Ever aware of my task at hand and the unknown bending of your will.

 

My Mistress created of a tumultuous relationship we savor and endure,

I shall become docile in your quest for the perfect victim,

One to be molded and statuesque in splendor,

Our love to be completed by my own bloodied artistic impression.

 

 

 

 

 

Ode to the Storm Gods

you did it again

you are thunder and lightning

answering the call

 

we raindance in awe

raw power crashes the sky

inspiration calls

Killing Two Birds with One Stone (Hour 9)

Pandemic times arrived like a thief at night.

It stole and stole and stole from us.

Now that I can remember grandma’s voice

saying, no pain no gain,

I wonder what one can gain from a thief such as this pandemic.

 

So I count my losses, pitch my tent with the hard lessons;

I count my gains, my gains are not on the fatal statistics.

 

I will step forward and backward,

cast wary looks to the left and to the right,

and then cross that lane with vest,

as i kill two birds with one stone.

 

 

Written from Hour 9 text prompt.

9th Hour – Puppy-Butt’s Poem

Puppy-Butt and
Kitty-Butt talk
Often on the phone

But Puppy-Butt
Is fading fast
Living all alone

So Kitty-Butt
Reads poetry
In an even tone

Puppy-Butt will
Soon just ashes be
With some bits of bone

Then Kitty-Butt’ll
Toss her happily
Where she’ll no more moan

A Baldy’s Notion

A Baldy’s Notion

 

I haven’t a baldy’s notion

 

A famous Irish saying

Meaning no idea

 

Bald men must have some notion

Annoying for sure

Likely my bald head will perceive me

Don’t judge us as fools though

You’ll be the one left gobsmacked!