The Poetry Marathon

entangled

Entangled

Fat strutting chickens
contentedly clucking songs to self
room to roam, company of the clutch
sweet seeds, like heaven’s mana, ever present.

A simple peace, deep easy breaths
til my gaze falls upon the broken body
little wild-bird trapped in netting
intended to keep the girls at home.

How long did you hang fluttering for freedom?
upside down, ruffled carcass, eyes now hollow.
if only I had heard your call, garden shears already
on the stoop. so easily I’d of set you free.

Frozen (Hour Six, A Shadorma)

My fear of

failure weighs me down.

Standing still,

I collapse,

crumbling under pressure, but

success scares me more.

 

(A shadorma is a six line poem with a syllable count of 3/5/3/3/7/5.)

The View- Hour 6

And then I imagined that the deck of the ship was a dance floor that graced my feet

Orange skies with streaks of purple

Colors so deep I could feel the texture of their richness within my soul

The smell of the sea calling out to me

Sway, gyrate, twirl

Release your troubles to the sea

Be free and carefree

I closed my eyes and the melody captivated my entire being

The music washed over me

And I let loose, I let free

I danced on the deck of the ship

In my wild thoughts

On my road trip past the beach

 

One Saturday Night

One Saturday Night

My shopping cart is empty.
I’m browsing, looking, hoping
to find something interesting,
something I think I need,
maybe the excuse of a gift
for someone but no one I know
is having a birthday/anniversary
soon, no holidays approaching
worthy of a gift.

I deserve a present, a shiny, sparkly,
glittering thing that I can put on a shelf
and admire. But, it would be better
if it had a function, a reason
for being here, the answer to
what is my purpose, what am I
supposed to be doing
other than shopping.

Am I ignoring a talent I don’t know
I have, a calling, an artistic flare
for contemporary design, perhaps
for upcycling to save our planet,
crafting, building, writing –
but I don’t feel an inclination.

I move to cookware but already,
all the complications of tools
makes me woozy. Rice cookers
when I don’t often make rice,
air fryers stymie me – no oil
to make crisp french fries seems
occultish, and hundreds of models
of Keurigs makes me want to swear
off coffee.

Housewares, no; bedding, nothing
I need. No dogs or cats, no kids
or grandkids, not even a goldfish…
but they don’t sell fish and anyway,
it’s lots of work cleaning the water
and remembering to feed it.

Ok, so my shopping cart remains
as empty as my life. I guess I’ll log off
and play another boring game of solitaire.

~ J R Turek
June 26, 2021 Hour 6

#5. Message in a Bottle

Message in a bottle
from another space and time
beeswax seal, the fairies steal
away to catch a ride.

Written on the paper
in disappearing ink
the secrets of the universe
beyond the missing link.

Monkey wrench the matrix
ghost in the machine
blockchain broke down palace
lucid as a dream.

As in sand words do dissolve
as waves sweep them away
the poem I wrote remembers not
posterity, a play.

The Me You Can’t See

Nothing’s left

The Light no longer shine

Darkness is the new reality

Emptiness,

Nobody’s home.

Look, what do you see

Happiness?

Smiling face?

Prettiest smile?

Look again, deeply,

What do you see?

 

Hour Six – As I Sit In The Backseat

I wipe my hand against the foggy glass.

The maroon mocks me.

If I were walking, I would

Climb these metal arms,

Ask them to hold me close

Before throwing me off the edge.

 

When I was younger,

My relatives used to throw me

Around the pool like a ball.

The anticipation before the splash

Made the whole game exhilarating,

And terrifying.

As I soared through the air,

My stomach hugged itself tightly.

 

Let the bridge hug me the way my stomach once did to itself.

Let the bridge hug me the way water returns to itself after it splashes.

Let the bridge hug me the way I wish my family still would.

 

Let the bridge release me into the water beneath.

I know how to swim.

I hope I will not need to.

 

But I am driving from a city that does not yet know me

To a city that knows me too well.

I am supposed to remember the good things.

 

Maybe I will experience more good things.

Maybe the good things don’t matter enough for me to stay.

Room

Loneliness within this walls,

Thousands thoughts within the mind,

Silence within this room,

Screaming dreams within the mind,

 

Thousands thoughts within the mind,

Emptiness in the eyes,

Screaming dreams within the mind,

Unspoken words in the mouth,

 

Emptiness in the eyes,

Silence within this room,

Unspoken words in the mouth,

Creator of loneliness within this walls….

Hour Six 2021

Sharing Life

We are ginko enthusiasts. 
Four of us gather at an outdoor picnic table,
share a bit of news, talk about the terrain. The local 
one offers a few tips, and we set off. Solo, we trundle
in different directions—no hurry, no pace, no swinging
of arms. This is a ginko. We observe nature—surroundings,
the small, normally unnoticed happenings of life,
then write about it in haiku.  

dried-up osoberries
the spring gone
from my legs

Prompt #6: on walking w/out the word…

Time and bone ~

 

First the stride goes:

no use for well-loved cowboy boots

my long-legged fast-paced movements.

 

Next the firm step goes:

the hip rebels, the knee adjusts

the foot feels tentative for ground.

 

Then the hobble comes:

the shoulders hunch for balance

the hand reaches out for help.

 

Until it’s all too much, and the cane

becomes a constant companion

worthy almost of a friend’s name.

 

Now, half a year and change later:

feet follow paths gladly, legs swing

freely from a cyborg hip.

 

Time that ground a bone to fragments

spears the remnants of that bone

with titanium. And then moves on.