The Poetry Marathon

Dudes (18)

Dudes who complain about yardwork

Dudes who don’t take out the trash

Dudes who leave the spoons on the side of the sink

Dudes who leave the drain clogged

Dudes who smash mailboxes with bats

Dudes who don’t take their medication often

Dudes who forget birthdays and anniversaries

Dudes who are unusually close

Dudes who work on cars

Dudes who don’t coupon at all

Dudes who read westerns

Dudes who can’t sit through a play

Dudes who slash tires over stares

Dudes who don’t know how to play UNO

Dudes who leave the toilet seat up

It’s us , we’re dudes

she needed a ride home and we obliged

no one at the party knew our names

and were too obliterated to capture faces

you’re handsome and your small talk is distracting

in the rearview I can see her eyes

on your chin and cheeks and collarbones

drinking them in with tipsy lust

keeping your cool, the last one got you too excited

and you punched them in the head over and over

as I stayed on the lookout for cops and nosy drivers

so enthralled by you

and not paying attention to the exit signs that fly by

far away from where she told me to drop her off

flashing like green lights to a place

she’d rather not know she was going to

and not coming back from.

 

Hour 18; Night again

In shadows deep, the lone banyan tree shakes its branches
A haunting breath whispers secrets deep
Amidst the silence of the night, they duet a death dance
The owl in the nearby tree traps its prey
A ghost of memories silently weep
A realm of dreams; their secrets keep
The sun rises, the night is gone and all is well
Until it is night again…

Protected: Trapped in the Dark – H18

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Morrígan

You told me once that you would never heal me.
Had you known it was me, you never would have tried.
Wound the eel of the fen, the wolf of the snow-bound trees,
Wound the cattle that you need for winter.
There comes victory, and what comes after?
There follows not a bright new day.
I told you once that I would never heal you.
Had you known this was me, would you have even tried?
One day I will perch upon your shoulder
And all you will have is dignity.

I’m a monster #18

Spectres of monsters past
Shades of Jabberwok
And Babaduk
Visit me in the wee hours
Old monsters spent and tired
Who’ve long since lost
Their frightening power
But another monster rises up
From the depths to take their place
Rapacious and malevolent
With distilled malice and ill intent
And an all too familiar face.
I can only see him by candlelight
In the mirror past midnight
I’m deathly afraid of who he might be
Because his face looks just like me
He whispers never to fear monsters again
Those monsters who look just like men
And tells me a secret as if with glee
The most frightening thing in all the dark
Isn’t him, it’s me.

H18.P18

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I feel your breath in my air

In my empty bed, my empty room

Your scent reachs me from beoynd

A mix of hunger, rose and mint

Crawling up my nostrils

Into my memories, pulling out tears

Dreams and nightmares crowd my body

My heart thumping, sense strung on nerves

Waiting for you to appear

Crow hour/prompt 18

Crow

creative problem-solver, undaunted by human encroachment,
she uses traffic lights to crack her nuts and gather them only when traffic is stopped,
prophetic symbol of transformation, soaring on wings of freedom
linking the living and the dead, with gratitude.

messenger of Lord Yama, ruler of death and justice. beware should one harm the crow, for she will remember.
time has come for healing and respect for what you might have taken for granted. the karma mirror reflects one’s destiny. each day a gift until your final resting.

Weight, Hour Eighteen

Weight

A family trip across the whole of the United States
when I was six years old
at one point in our journey brought us to an ancient pueblo,
once subterranean but now open to the sky.

It no longer had a name,
nor a living people to dwell within,
its ancestral walls were broken, sunlight streaming through,
yet it inspired the anthropologist I would one day be.

I approached it cautiously with my mother,
carefully traversing the rock strewn terrain
as best my small limbs could manage
until we found the entrance.

We stepped inside, and my childish chatter was stilled,
a respectful hush maintained merely by its gravity,
though my young mind could not yet consciously comprehend
its meaning, I felt the weight of centuries of humanity in this small space.

Voices of the past seemed to keen on the wind
that piled desert grit up its sides ever more with each passing year,
and the combined souls of thousands spoke to my own,
an awareness I carry in memory to this day.

Hour 18 – A Spectral Soul

In twilight’s realm, where shadows play

A ghostly figure fades away

A specter from a distant past

In whispers, memories steadfast.

 

A wisp of life, once bound to earth

Now wanders, seeking second birth

In spectral form, it haunts the night

A spirit caught between the light

 

With eyes that hold eternal pain

A ghost relives its earthly chain

A tale of love, or vengeance sworn

In death, its purpose still reborn

 

It drifts through time, a silent wraith

Invisible to life’s bright faith

A reminder of what once was real

A haunting presence, time can’t heal

 

Though death has claimed its mortal frame

The ghost endures, a lingering flame

In the cosmic dance of fate’s grand host

A spectral soul, a timeless ghost.

 

© Divya Venkateswaran

Hour 20 “Renaissance Fair…”

Hour 20

9/3/2023

 

“Renaissance Fair…”

 

The Garb …hell yeah, ’tis the Garb

and the “steel’ of yesteryear

outside,

inside

heart and whim.

 

It means a different world

earned respect and civility.

Rule of Law and responsibility.

Making with pride

Living in the moment

existing beyond our sad norms

and reaching for echoes of freedom.

 

We wander the times

’til the new “thens” become our “nows”

and yes, we DO miss the smiles we leave behind

…as we exit the parking lots.

 

Chris

(C) Chris Twyford 9/3/2023