The Poetry Marathon

The Change

When you say normal                you think about                         the past

& the things you depended upon        & the things that stayed the same

then you              learned that change         was the only thing    that you

could depend upon            you learned that you could resist        or  you

could let go               & be thankful         when       isolation arrived again

you had to adjust     to change           alone in your room       you worked

the new norm                  people said when you met                 on ZOOM

some said the weather was never this hot         or smoky &       they said

they were scared                         & again                      you recalled what

it used to be like         & thought             this is a new life            move on

be the change       make art        read        write       make  love       adapt

Hour 6 – Prompt from the song

it’s all spread out before me

Earth

His footstool

Skies

His Glory

 

these places I thought I travelled alone

pathways I’ve forged

seas I’ve crossed

the wilderness that tried to claim me…

but He saw it all

 

He shows me

the limitlessness

of His Kingdom

He tells me

I have access to it all

 

fingers laced with His

I rest there

my Bridegroom

gives me everything

and I give Him all of me in return

Normal

 

 

Poem 7

Normal

 

I could say normal is typical or regular or average,

which begs a question. Is it desired in any way?

 

At times normal is a beacon of light as I am

giving up hope, so lost in the fog.

 

Other times it has shackles that make my wrists

and ankles ache from locking them in.

 

In nature it can be the natural pattern and

we may seek the usual in verdant lush gardens.

 

Normal can be healthy and routine when we

think of our bodies.

 

Normal is orderly and customary and sane

but let’s be honest here…it can be boring.

 

After all it’s what’s expected and current

and proper and decent by some accounts.

 

I mostly rebel against normal because it’s

not weird and weird catches my eye.

 

Doing things as expected is predictable

and satisfying and in your genes if you’re

in a lineage of farmers.

 

If you’re from a city, you’ve watched

normal change like sheets blowing

off a clothes line and into the sky…

 

You may want something different.

 

We’re all different, so why would

we want to be the same?

 

Isn’t that thought normal?

 

 

 

Front Street (Lahaina, Maui) part 1

Millions have walked up and down my sidewalks. Some come to shop, to dine or just to feel my island warmth.

Suddenly I was alone, deserted. I was calling out with tears of desperation. People where are you?

Where are the footsteps that trod on me. Where is the laughter and the joy from feeling the ocean mist, seeing  a spectacular sunset or just enjoying Aloha. I was feeling such emptiness. Then it struck me. This too shall pass.

They will return as they always have. And why? Because no virus is greater than me. I will be here long after it is gone.

I am Front Street

 

 

Books-A love poem/Hour 7

Books were my friend
when I was a little girl
They taught me things
and kept my loneliness at bay
Books never bullied me
nor did they call me names
Books never said I didn’t belong
or I was too young to play
Instead, they held my hands and
took me to lands so far away
They shared with me their secrets
and made me laugh as well
They showed me the world was scary
but I was safe with them
They spoke to me of tragedy
but said hope still lives
They taught me different customs,
cultures and histories galore
When I was with Books
I could never say I was bored
This is my ode to Books
my friend that stayed true
That soothes me when I’m feeling frazzled
And grounds me when I’m sad
To this day I can’t imagine
my life without Books

Urban Pigeon holes and Poverty

 

 

Living in pigeon holes

boxed in with closed doors

Restricted, obstructed, constricted views

Brightly painted doors for happy beginnings

Cities that lure with their fake promises

playing with real lives

Too hungry to refuse, they play along with a hope

Someday, that door will open

like a dream come true

but to where, no one really knows

Why do they fall prey anyway?

What difference does it make to pigeons

what colour the door of their prison is!

 

 

 

 

 

Prompts for hours #24 Real: Reality

Pretty by the water fountain.

The sun is out.

Shinning on in my livingroom glass window.

The moment of joy.

When joy comes in the morning.

Just when you can nurture your growing greenish plants and all.

With no excuses.

Reality causes and reasoning.

To water them as needed.

And to keep them alive.

Right when the prayer service is on,

and a good gospel song is playing to relax your mind mindfulness.

All the better help with the father Jehovah.

Wanting to keep on serving him periodically.

For his glory.

Cause he’s alright with me,

and I hope that you feel the same way also.

Togetherness

Family

Ties

And

Friendship.

That will keep us together.

Where the love of my life.

Will be,

Purified in me.

Restoring the broken heart with gladness.

Where I will not have to share a tear no more.

He’s my reality.

AMEN

 

 

 

 

 

 

Depressed–2pm

I wanted to die
I was so miserable
yet I was victorious
all I did was lay in bed

There were days
I lived in filth
dirty dishes
no where to sit
rotted food
trash

I couldn’t clean
I didn’t want to
I had no energy
to move my head
let alone my hands

I could be bothered
I didn’t see the problem
the filth-
I was blind to it all

I cried when I finally
saw the filth I’d been living
with

But I didn’t know
where to actually start
The mess was oh so overwhelming

There goes the rotted food
the dish in the sink
so tired
so tired

The smell
Oh God
the smell
Greasy hair
EEWW!!-
I think this
shirt is matted to my skin

I have a couch cushion now
Comfy
soft
That fuzzy blanket

The laundry is rioting again
on the chair
in the tub
on the floor and
under my butt

Sticky floors
a cleaned corner
of the counter
that wrapper can go
into the trash

What is that stain on my skin?
It looks like I’ve been rolling
around in the dirt

But the thought of a shower-
Too traumatizing now

Two hours later
and I’m still on the floor
towel clutched around
my naked body
I can’t do it

I’m so scared
I am fighting my own
head-
and what it’s telling me to do

I just want to breathe
Just breathe
Once
Twice
slow
slow

This shampoo
smells good
feels good in my hair

Maybe it’s ok to get clean
smell better-
maybe it’s ok

I smell better
clean clothes on
maybe grocery shopping

That means going outside
exercise
fresh air-

Am I ready for this?

Why is it so difficult
To be different
From the normal?

Why are you cursed
For being different
From the normal?

I could be weird
But that’s what I feared!

Normal could be weird
Normal should be cheered

Normal could be queered
Normal should be revered

Normal’s an illusion
What is the big confusion?
Wake up,
Make your own definition!

old and new normal

once upon a time
when all the poems rhymed
there was a porridge called normal

for breakfast folks imbibed
as poets verses scribed
and days unfolded generally quite formal

by lunch there was a yearning
but at jobs the folks were earning
the cash they would need to keep up with the Joneses

for the afternoon the clocks kept ticking
the minutes passed with predictable flicking
for the jobs they had, they often bemoaned it

once home the drinks were poured
they all imbibed for they were bored
the certainty of normal lacked inspiration and diversity

until for breakfast they did plan
along with poems that were banned
some porridge mixed with flax, creativity, and hyperbole

a bit of critical thinking in the mix
colonial problems needing to be fixed
who defines what’s normal began to change

deconstruction was enabled
flourishing for all was never tabled
inclusion for all expanded normal’s range

but now we talk new normal
which means we are standing at a portal
where humanity values all who are self-aware

and the poems, like the breakfasts
are a bit challenging with their fresh twists
but now normal means transforming, and not stuck there