The Poetry Marathon

The Burning Forest -Poem 4

The burning Forest -Poem 4

 

Dear Amazon,

 

The amazon is on fire – world is on captor

The California fires -fire brigade protector

Animals of fire -the woman the saviour

House and families on fire- victor

 

Save our trees for paper

Plant a tree a day for nature

Climate is our pleasure

Nations save our creatures

 

Deforestation preventing wildlife

Oceans need to be protected seal life

Reduce our habitats from loss of life

Donations or adopt an animal for life

 

Save our forests, irreplacable

Homes for indigeneous, unforgettable

Crucial role on Planets health, irresponsible

A role for our survival, inconceivable

‘The sight of God if it neglects -brotherly love’

 

@Sabinah Adewole 26/06/2021

Credit to Leading with Love -Alexander Strauch

 

Epistolary Poem Verse Letter or Letter Poems form in an Epistle or Letter dates to Roman Poet in Ovid 43 BC

 

#3. Home

I lost my home I can’t go back
Pearl Buck was right to say
The land, the land
I hear repeatedly.

I lost my home I can’t go back
the storage unit claims
what used to make me cozy
in boxes stacked like chains.

I lost my home I can’t go back
I seek to find a space
Running rabbit competition cash
Home plate in a race.

My heart is held divinely
I’ll land in feathered nest
I believe in love and faith
and hope I will be blessed.

“The Lost Symbol”

Mitch Brown

Hr 4

Dan Brown “The Lost Symbol”

Hope.

Such a small word, but so packed with power.

Hope.

That thing that keeps us going when all seems lost.

Hope.
The light at the end of the tunnel, the beginning of the end.

Hope.
Something everyone wants, but is missing from many.

Hope.
It will make us succeed.

Or so I hope.

Hour 4: The Tattoo Artist

“The white of the paper
Will be incorporated…
For the green and yellow patterns.”

Says Jane Strother
In her book about
Drawing with colored pencils

Making me wonder
Which parts of my
Ever evolving flesh

Will be incorporated
In the patterns
About to be etched

Onto my forearm
Forever
By this talented person

Who only just now met me
And is doing this job
For money

Does It Scare You?

Does it scare you?

When you walk in skirts

Revealing more than they hide

Flapping and Flying

Showing dainty lace and ribbon?

Does it scare you?

When you talk to a stranger

His eyes sleek and smooth

And tongue silver and smooth

Hands smoothing your bare skin?

Does it scare you?

When they say to be timid

Tender and lovely and innocent

Draped in flowers, bathed in moonlight

Skin a rippling shade of gold?

It wouldn’t

For he never felt the bloody wetness

Or tasted it’s coppery tint

Never strayed where I needed him

Or knew the prick of my petals

The boil of my moonglade

Rippling in ribbons of shame.

 

 

 

 

Love Story

Betrayal.

Loss.

Forgiveness.

Up.

Down.

Time.

Energy.

Patience.

Interest.

Lots of things together.

Many bunched together.

“It was love.”

 

 

 

 

 

Lim, Elizabeth.2020. So This Is Love. Disney Enterprises.

A Son to Love

Images of

Sweet pinkness of cheeks,

Searching mouth, the

Smell of newborn breath,

Bursting forth of joy, the

Overwhelming need to protect,

Prayers for an easy delivery…

A stifled scream,

A final push…

“He is coming, and I am here.”

–– this last line is from The Time Traveler’s Wife, Audrey Niffenegger

 

Not okay – Hour 4

I am not okay
Some of the hardest words to say
When all I want is to see you smile
Just a little while
Before I walk away and close the door
To find myself surrounded by my fears and sorrows once more
The momentary shine I show you flickers
The fresh-faced bloom of peace withers

But God forbid that you should feel bad
If you catch a glimpse of me sad
Through these four words I must not utter
To make you ache from knowing there is little help you can offer
I’d rather hurt in silence
It does not matter

How could I possibly express
How important it is to me
That you enjoy my company
Regardless of which face I wear today
I hope that you can embrace
All my moods
All my layers
All my truths
All my prayers
So that someday
I might not be afraid
To say that
I am not okay

Poem 4: Snow White AF

Snow White AF

I wonder what choice she would have made

if she had a say. Surely that damned apple would top

her list of things to set out by the curb for Goodwill.

That apple messed her up as bad as an apple

bruised Eve and all the women since. I’m betting she preferred

to stay under that blanket, sleep for decades, growing

old with no eyes to notice when her skin grows crapey.

She must have known people prefer smooth young skin

to old, pale and free from the sun’s rays. Her one-woman

tribe of dreams is absent of all the little men

scuttling around her with their needs on display,

demanding her attention, like vampires sucking

the lifeblood right out of her porcelain neck,

not yet sagging to turkey neck, for then

she would hardly have been the Fairest in the Land.

Give the dear gal a carnation to pin next to her flawless

neck, the one red spark of life blossoming in her care.

Her home was her comfortable fort, but it’s been overrun

by seven little guys with odd names. Don’t get me started

on that scoundrel Prince Charming. What’s so charming

about being woken from the best damn sleep she’s had in years,

stirred from a dream where she’s the empress of her castle,

humble as it is with hand hewn furniture suitable for kids.

Oh, and wait till the Prince learns she doesn’t want kids.

What a whale of net he’ll be caught in. Ms. Snow daydreams

of having her own place, with no one for her to tend to but

her own desires to make beautiful objects and sleep.

The To-Do List -Hour 4

Mounds of fresh tomatoes
Basins of crayfish
Waist beads of various colors 
Fifty naira a packet
Market women peddling their goods
Arms grabbing and waving me over
"Aunty come and buy this one"
The scent of goat meat wafts through the air
The butcher carving his meat
Flip flops slap against the back of my heel
As I weave between, kiosk after kiosk
The scorching sun on my back and neck
Moist palms from the heat
"Ada carry this bag"
I look at her with spite for not offering to take it from me 
Her retched braids with their seams undone
Finger across her forehead
And in one smooth motion
Wipes the sweat off her brows
With a small smile she says
"Let's go home"
And I agree with her
After all, tomorrow is another day (Last line from Gone with the wind, Margaret Mitchell)