The Poetry Marathon

Hour 4 – Rogue

She would walk into a wedding always

dressed in grace, bliss and happiness

that the older ladies and gentlemen would

label as ‘bold’ and ‘weird’

for she would always pass by

with her head held high

even though she had no man by her side

and would be much older than

the bride.

They whispered about her solo travels

and shook their heads over what was surely

to be a lonely future.

For she was the girl who

was single and strutted around,

daring to be happy.

They would talk, advise,

squash discussions on choices by

throwing words around ‘culture’ and ‘tradition.’

In the meantime, she would just live.

 

Credit – Last line taken from the book P.S. I Love You by Cecelia Ahern.

 

Why?

Every time you ask yourself why, you get more questions than answers.

why is never the ending, but why always has a way of bringing you back to the beginning.

Just when you think you have one answer complete, another why is laying right at your feet.

What seems so obvious and totally clear is a collage of viewpoints masked as truth.

Why is the sky blue and why is the ocean so cool and wet?

Why do some people love, while others find it so easy to hate?

It is a cacophony of discordant sounds designed to elevate our thinking;

yet, keep us in a state of confusion.
We may never know all the answers to why as long as we live and breathe, but isn’t that what makes life so much fun?

Hour 4: Ambiguous Reality

I put my hands upon my ears

To block out all the sound.

I couldn’t believe my eyes

At the horror that I found.

I paced around the room

Thought madly what to do

Finally my motion stopped

I needed to decide what was true.

I searched throughout my memory

Was this real or just a dream?

I opened up my listless eyes

“I simply didn’t want to hear her scream.”

 

Italicized/bolded line taken from:

“I simply didn’t want to hear her scream.”

Black Creek Crossing-John Saul

First Primroses

together they slipped away,

running easily down through the wood,

where the first primroses were beginning to bloom

in the bliss of new love

as each season passed, the forest grew with them

the primroses, waxed and waned,

the trees stood tall and steady

and every so often to their joy,

new life sprung forth to cultivate in the blooms

 

Watership Down, Richard Adams (1972)

Prompt 4, Poem 4: Remember

 

Thus, remembrance;

the tiny memories I keep in a box with a heart on the top;

protected from forgetfulness.

Pictures are all around in my home, memories trapped in time I can revisit.

Or of people or cats I can reminisce.

Stuffed animals are everywhere,

they bring comfort and love,

I’m always looking for more.

There is art here and there that gives me joy,

stirring my inspiration

and soon I am writing away again.

I write one positive thing a day in my journal,

so one day, I can look back and remember.

 

Thus, remembrance. – Colleen Schwartz, Bellingham, WA, U.S. Hour 7  The Poetry Marathon Anthology 2019

2021 Poetry Marathon, Hour 4

For Hour 4, I used both the text and visual prompts. The first line of this poem comes from the last line of the 1984 English translation (by Michael Henry Heim) of Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

The strains of the piano and violin rose up weakly from below
the faintest of echoes dissipating into the clouds
hovering above the treetops

Silence swallowed everything else

You’d never know that anyone had been here
had you not been present to feel the emptiness yourself

Any scratchings that survive
will one day be as faint as those echoes
until erosion finishes the job

26 June 2021

Home in the Mountains

Home in the Mountains
The green mountain peaks
stand there lonely
as if waiting for which
the majestic and mysterious seeks
in the misty clouds spread long
and be comfortable
feeling warm like home

Hour 4

@varenyas

I Hate Mirrors

I hate mirrors
People keep putting mirrors up
I hate mirrors
They want to make the room bigger
I hate mirrors
They want to see themselves
I hate mirrors
They want me to see myself
But I hate mirrors

remember—–from Ted Kooser -lights on a ground of darkness

Spring comes with the retelling of the same story.

The irises return, overwhelming eyes and nose

with their wonder and memories.

These flowers my namesake

grew abundantly in grandma’s garden

despite the heat and poor soil.

It must have been her sheer will

and speaking to them in a stern voice

that did it.

Years have passed

they still grow and

“An iris offers its beauty and fragrance

as if nothing has changed

as if no one were gone”

 

America’s Past (Critical Race Theory)/Hour 4

America’s past haunts its legacy
A legacy of democracy
A legacy of liberty, justice, freedom for all men
A legacy of creating a nation from nothing
The legacy and the lie of the American dream
CRT seeks to tell the truth
To break through the glass of lies
To raise the mirror and show America its true self
A truth hidden underneath packed and padded stories
histories denying colonialism and genocide
A past built on slavery and white supremacy
An untruthful past strutted like peacock feathers
Spread far and wide, for all to see
Our nation’s leaders are not ready to come to terms
Not ready to offer reconciliation for its past discretions
They prefer to keep things secret, to hide their heads in the sand
to not ruffle feathers, to let things LIE
They’d rather die than breathe in the truth
They’d rather toot stories of the theory being racist
It would cause Americans to hate their nation
But to love is to love all of it
The good, the bad, the beauty and the ugliness
You can’t just love the parts you like, those parts that glorify YOU
America’s past wants to be told
It wants to be scrutinized and reckoned with
America wants us to love all of her
Doesn’t she deserve it?