The Poetry Marathon

Nanduti

She said are you available

For a video call

I mean, yes, if we ignore

An entire poetry marathon, then I’m good

 

But that’s mine, not yours

You had something to share

Precious and beloved

And I want to see it

 

Nanduti

An ene over the first N

Which colonialism made mute

Paraguay’s finest folk art

 

You sent $200 to family there

No

I don’t care what colors

Just tell them to produce their art

 

I will take it all

Because I can

And I will share it with you

Because I can

 

And the marathon stopped

While we sat on the curb

And admired what can’t be bought

Smiles

 

Spider web intricacy

Emotional weaving

Colorful capture

And reveal

The Current Times

Here we are
standing on two sides
of the same dirt road.
Gonna take a day
to wash off all the grit
I get when I see you.
How did this become
my daily dread?

I fear I’ll never know
what it means
to live without.

Let’s walk to the stop sign.
Perhaps a different direction
is all we need.
Perhaps a little luck
is all it takes
to erase this mundane.

(Poem 7 of Half Marathon)

normal

“normal is boring”
the button on my backpack
announced to the world
as I coursed through my youth

spiked red hair
pierced eyebrow
and brooding countenance
confirmed

I wanted nothing to do with
status quo but to prod and dissect it
upend conformity
bend the will of approval

until an unseen force
turned the whole world
inside out
froze us all in a state
of desperation

normal was lost
a thing we didn’t know we wanted
until we didn’t have it
and now the thought
we will never have it again

that button is in a box
in the back of a closet
I dig it out and pin it on
to wear around the house

normal is boring
and I welcome it
back

[Prompt 7: Write a poem exploring the word normal.]

Hour 7 – Normal

(Image text)

To write straight across the page is considered

Normal.

But have you considered the appeal of starting your text ticked cozy in the corner of a cream colored page, growing with every breath, willing to wander as you wish,  with only the confines of air to slow your trek?

To write across the page is considered

Normal,

But I have never been straight

Since the day I learned thre lines were made up and that Gravity

Was a theory,  oft proven but forever unconfirmed.

Normal is a theory

To be

Challenged.

Normal

Worlds within bubbles
No words to speak
No exchange of ideas
Or liquids we leak
Echo chambers
Of fear
Losing our grip
Needing increasing pain
To form a tear
Blame all around
And no one in charge
Only thing in the city
Is an enemy at large

HOUR 8 Woeful Waltz

Woeful Waltz

As the sheets dampen beneath our salacious accord he makes his request,
Queen of the predators to choose the king’s deserving prey.
As our bodies merge once more, minds spinning in destruction’s lust,
Queen of the predators contemplates her offering.

Thoughts of our fury drive fury on,
Heated in dominance’s turn,
Desperately needed,
Wanton, sated.
Pas de chat.

The wheel shall turn against the exquisite choreographer,
My salacious Dyer-Bolique, he is a cruel ballet master,
His choice to use the casting couch for his own performance.
A heightened challenge to perform the arabesque, thereafter rejected.

Thoughts of the ballet master’s cruelty drive on,
Heated by his heartless, fickle adagio,
Desperately, deceitfully taking,
Wanton, capricious.
Changements.

‘Flexible in his gait and movement, let us test his suppleness,
Twist and bend each limb, in preparation for a celebratory meal,
A date to exceed all others in its culinary wisdom and technique,
A veritable rond de jambon.’

A new laceration in the ballet begins,
He will accept my choice,
Blood driven pirouette.

Normalcy is Overrated

Mitch Brown

Hr 7

 

Normalcy is over rated

I keep hearing about normal. But what’s really normal?

No masks? People wore them before.

Proper attire? No shoes, no shirt, no service.

Business closing? Daily occurrence.

Vaccinations? Jonas Salk anyone?

We have been normal all along.

Abnormal is a state of mind.

What we are is indoctrinated.

And that’s the new normal.

Normal

My goal was, simply, to be normal.

Married with children,
then easing into retirement
and grandparenting.

Traveling now and then
to some interesting
or exotic place.

A well-kept home,
shaded and landscaped.
A well-lived life,
safe, loved, satisfied.

But I have learned
that vision of life is not normal, at all.

Life is uncertain, messy,
sometimes cruel.
Life is joy and sorrow,
triumph and failure,
anxiety and peace.

Life doesn’t settle for normal.

Hour Seven

Normal
\ˈnȯr-məl\
adjective

1. the way i should have responded when you left. you said it so fast, i wasn’t sure i heard correctly. i should have fought for you. asked you what i did wrong. after all, isn’t that what society tells women to do? it always seems to be a woman’s fault when the man leaves. when I was sure you were leaving, i should have cried. i should have written countless poems asking what i did wrong. isn’t that what is expected during heartbreak? instead, i just stood on the porch and watched your taillights disappear in the rain.
2. how it felt when you left. i no longer felt like i was stuck in reverse. i could live my life on my own terms. “why is she so happy being alone?” i hear people whisper as i pass them. society tells us we should not be joyous in our independence. little do they know the truth of our relationship. i was finally free from my cage.
3. now, i lie next to him. i do not feel the need to watch my words. i do not feel the need to give more than i take. is this love?

 

 

The Golden Ratio – An Ode to My Tattoo

I tell them about how the golden spiral

is found everywhere

shells

in the way trees branch out

pinecone spirals

 

Everything is connected I say,

we are all connected

to one another and nature

and the sky kisses the sea

we can see it if we look close enough

 

Mondrian is more than rectangles

blue white

red and yellow

black

it’s math I don’t understand

 

Tie together with neat red thread

leading from me to you

to her

to them and him

will tangle, knot, stretch as we pull away from one other

but will never break

 

Around our right pinkies

an artery that leads from pinkie tip to heart,

and from me to you.

Around our ankles

leading us to our soulmates,

plural

 

I don’t find comfort in being able to see the puzzle

pieces

but not the full picture

but while I’m working on this corner

you’re working on the center

and eventually, my section will touch yours.

 

I tell them that I saw it in a show when I was younger

but I think I always had this in my mind

the idea that relinquishing control is

the biggest act of defiance

forever be emblazoned in my skin