Why is it i write
Mitch Brown
Hr 3
Why is it I write?
Clearing my head
Why is it I write?
Cleansing my spirit
Why is it I write
Opening my soul
It is because I write
That I am
When I Was Little
Your arms enveloped me
And your hands covered my head
When I was little.
Your words comforted me
And a held hand protected me
When I was little.
You taught me to love
You taught me to grow
When I was little.
I used my hugs to heal
And my words to comfort
Shared my experiences
And gave you a legacy.
You will always be larger than life.
Waiting
So you really thought I had gone away?
I took your kid’s education, that Fourth of July picnic you loved so much and Grandma from the nursing home.
Gone away?
I destroyed businesses, put people out of work and elected a President.
Gone away?
You wore your masks, practiced your social distancing and even discovered soap and water. You hurried a vaccine that only God knows the side effects. Yes, you’re smiling now, but am I really gone away or just
Waiting?
Us
I could should would
I can plan am
I see free me
You love hate feel
You cry smile fly
You know go low
We try high sky
We people human mankind
We mistake forget end
We just are
Hour Three
Do You?
I sit at the table holding my breath,
as you give me another one of your
backhanded compliments.
Do you still love me?
I watch you as you play your video games,
ignoring me as I ask you multiple times
if we need anything else from the store.
Do you still love me?
I listen as you yell at me
for the hundredth time. Telling me
you hate that I write about you.
Do you still love me?
I sit in my car at the store,
crying, because I never do anything
right, anymore.
Did you ever love me?
The Window (Prompt 3, 11 am)
The world outside the window changes every day.
The flowers bloom each spring, as the sun smiles their way.
There are insects crawling, searching for something to eat.
The birds sing in the trees a soothing song so sweet.
The world outside the window changes every day.
The squirrels scamper the fence line along the way,
Seeking a free meal from the tree or bird seed from a feeder or two.
The squirrels drive my cats and dog nuts, as they are prone to do.
The world outside the window changes every day,
Sometimes the rain is fast and furious, blowing angry spray.
Sometimes the rain is gentle, lulling me to sleep.
Sometimes the rain mirrors my mood when I long to weep.
The world inside the window changes often too.
Reminders come through little things to practice my gratitude.
On the Move – HOUR THREE
On The Move
(inspired by my painting ON THE MOVE)
Do you ever rest, my beaver friend?
All night you swim about
gathering here and there
more building materials
more décor for your abode
it’s seems an endless job
You ply your trade from dusk to dawn
working your architectural magic
as lumberjack and carpenter –
cutting, chewing, dragging, pulling
swimming, climbing, weaving, straightening
mudding your palatial lodge
Together, you and your special someone
build your watery home,
teach your young
independent, industrious ways
to keep a dwelling
strong, safe and secure.
Then when your days are done,
you can rest at last
to slumber and dream
of swimming, just swimming
on the move
into the dawn
Breaking out | Surya T | Poetry Marathon Poem 3
Take me out of this place, I begged him
Take me out of this place, I begged him
Take me out of this place, I begged him
This prison, I must escape, I pleaded
You are in prison, I don’t commit felonies, he told me
You are in prison, I don’t commit felonies, he told me
You are in prison, I don’t commit felonies, he told me
You must be guilty, for you are in prison
I am innocent yet serving a punishment
I am innocent yet serving a punishment
I am innocent yet serving a punishment
I serve for a crime I didn’t commit
I am helpless and my hands are tied, he told me
I am helpless and my hands are tied, he told me
I am helpless and my hands are tied, he told me
I’m sorry to be helpless and without a choice
You know what you have done to deserve this
You know what you have done to deserve this
You know what you have done to deserve this
You will pay for what you have done
-Surya T
HOUR 4 Dyer-Bolique
Dyer-Bolique
An inner smile spreads as my Dyer-Bolique strips,
Baring his true nature as a man revealing the flesh.
Such titillation, voyeurism with front row seats,
Man and monster rolled into one. The beast before me.
Blessed Dyer-Bolique!
Prospecting a future, your lamented incarceration,
Victim of your own wantonness, warmth soaks me.
As our joint prey takes its last breath, I harvest the offal,
Succulent for another feast.
My Crazed Dyer-Bolique!
Veritable mirrored demons at play in their lava,
As my admiration for you grows so too does a challenge,
To quell the screaming paranoia urging you to escape,
And fuel the curiosity forcing you to remain.
Tainted Dyer-Bolique!
Blazing the furnace I roast the remnants of our foe,
Food and fuel served as one, true economy,
Though economics are not required.
Ashes to ashes.
The adoration of my Dyer-Bolique waking me,
Rousing the sleeper from her archaic coma,
Blessing my crazed and tainted Dyer-Bolique.
Our union…Welcome!
Blessed Dyer-Bolique!
Leaving behind our nemesis as he warms the hearth,
Finding warmth in each other,
Suggestions flow.
My Crazed Dyer-Bolique!
‘The dice has been thrown in your favour,
Find a deserving deer, let us hunt together,
Let us incorporate new methods,
And not stagnate.
Tainted Dyer-Bolique!
Justice must fit the crime, passion burned with passion,
And the victim aptly punished.
Punishment will fit the crime,
Let justice dominate.’
The adoration of my Dyer-Bolique…Welcome!
Ghosts Look My Way
Ghosts look my way
a menagerie of them
floating above the bed
at night, perhaps my father
communicating with me
from beyond the grave.
Ghosts look my way
in the morning when I walk
past the pond, drinking in
lilies and red-winged blackbirds,
my mind empty with the exception
of a memory of my mother.
Ghosts turn to look at me as I
busy myself chopping vegetables,
while painting a lily in the studio,
as I nap in the afternoon.
I recall the time my brother appeared,
a smoky sheet of glass.