The Poetry Marathon

“Banned Book”

Hour Eighteen: Haunting

This library book must be long overdue, because I remember when you took it out years ago,

Too ashamed to take it back? I’ll carry it for you. No? Why not? Don’t touch it?Don’t open it, don’t look in its center. Well I just did, so there.

You’re kidding! Come back here!

My ears aren’t ringing, I’m hearing an internal song, never heard it before, but it goes on and on “It’s only a book. It’s only a book. My fingers are cramping, it’s only a book. It’s only a book, my chair just shook, it’s only a book, it’s only a book. My fingers are cramping, and my arm is taking the shape of a hook. Oh, it’s one of those banned books. DMW

Hour 18 – Ghostie-Ghost, Come Out Tonight

Ghostie-Ghost, Come Out Tonight!

Arms linked
We marched around the yard
Shouting and shivering
In fear, in the dark

One o’clock – no ghost!
Two o’clock – no ghost!
Three o’clock – no ghost!

Somewhere in the bushes
Or around the next bend
A companion waited
To jump out and scare us

Ten o’clock – no ghost!
Eleven o’clock – no ghost!
Twelve o’clock – Ghostie-Ghost! Come out tonight!

Having played both roles
I now wonder which was scarier:
Looking for the “ghost” in the midst of a gang
Or waiting to make the scare – alone

Hour 18: Pitcher Plant

A pitcher plant attracts its prey

With the smell of sweet nectar

And bright, beautiful colors

So the naive insect

Falls through a trapdoor

Into a pool of fluids

And there it is broken down

 

Your smile

Your laugh

Your honey-sweet words

All nectar calling to me

Ignoring the slippery pitfall

Until I was neck deep in your poison

“Whelve”

I run across an abandoned place,
On a signed erased by rain across the road.
The house stand still despite it aged,
The squeaking sounds and random cracks
Breaks the silence.
The old house speaks its language.
It tells a story of an orhpanage
On how this place used to be a saving grace
Of kids who’s been abandoned by life
Or people’s escspe from a knife.
One day, they said one burned the
And all this place was burn down.
Some kids were trapped
Their screams and shouts
Remains in an eerie quietness of the place.
People whelve on the story
But i kept it as a mystery.
An unforgotten memory
Haunting me,
Once more.

 

Text Prompt : Write a poem about a haunting, real or imagined, detailed, abstract.

 

#POETRYMARATHON2023 #HOUR18 #24HRSCATEGORY

 

 

The Struggle

I’m not sure how I survived this state of being for so many years,

especially as a developing young woman,

drifting back and forth between the verge of sleep and being spoken at.

I didn’t allow myself naps until college, and by then I was so sleep depraved

I spent most of my free time catching up on all I’d missed

and now spend more time wandering the plots of my dreamlands

than fostering empty goals in the woken world.

(Hour 18)

Prompt Eighteen – The Sacred Crows

Hour Eighteen – Text Prompt

Write a poem about a haunting, real, or imagined, detailed or abstract.

Image Prompt – Ravens and Crows

 

You always know, when you see a crow

Of the powers that they own

For those who die, are unable to fly

Up towards salvation, alone.

 

Their soul just flows, into our crows

Till they’re ready to leave this earth

Its not a haunting, not even daunting

They merely await rebirth.

 

This is a fact, not a made up pact

Hindus believe this to be true

The crows are fed, when our own are dead

So, we feed our own folk too.

 

For as long as it takes, no one breaks

This sacred circle of life

To ether they go, the humble crow

Carrying, parent and child, husband and wife

 

When you hear crow caws, please just pause

And say a silent prayer

For they’ll fly away, in the next few days

To deliver the soul to Universe’s next layer.

 

 

2023 Hour 18: Stack them up

I’ve never understood …

How there are people who believe there are tiers
of people, with their own kind
at the top.

What qualities can they possibly
see in themselves that jump out and
shout their inherent worth?

Where lies the beauty?
The intrinsic value?
The enduring goodness?

I’ve never understood …
The arrogance is both
baffling and
maddening.

(Hour 18) 15.30pm-16.30pm. BOTH PROMPTS: haunting + photo of 2 corvids

three ravens

somehow : out of the shadows : three black birds : hover : the first we have seen : if indeed they are even there : for they float : on air : without sound : almost without movement : & do not caw or cry out : at our approach

Milky is the first : to protest : with a gentle whine : then Ben : by stopping : then Priya : till we all stand still : no one knows why : but no one wants : to go closer : something about : those three ravens : screeches : silence

Stella shatters our spell : by croaking : although I see no crustaceans : i can think of better places : to picnic 

& we wander on : away : wondering : what calamity occurred here : worse than elsewhere : to flaunt its : torment so brazenly 

Wisp

Ghosts are everywhere if you know where to look
and you’re willing to die
just enough to get their attention
tuning your ears to the extremely low frequencies
the government uses for weapons
ELF – machine elves – basic stuff
It’s where they live

Prompt #18

I never believed in ghosts. But now,

I look out for them

inhabiting old spaces,

cold and dirty and

ready to make me believe

they exist.

Maybe afterwards

— when the haunting

becomes commonplace —

you will reach out to me and

tell me it’s alright to

be scared. To be wary,

even, of the dark places

so old that light has forgotten

about them.

You’ll tell me I’m right

about everything except

what makes you move

so deliberately, so discreetly, away

from me.

You’ll tell me that death

is inevitable, even as I

am cajoling you to wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up.