The Poetry Marathon

Aspirations

Aspirations

I wake to a caramel macchiato day
sun broadcasting a gorgeous June morning
and I am ready to face what it gifts me.

I avoid naysayers who convince themselves
they can’t do anything they want, can’t try
to accomplish something sweet and special.

Their vibes are toxic trash, contagious as
a cold in kindergarten, and I’m not one
to bring myself or anyone else down.

I can. I will. I often do, and sometimes
I fail and though it stings like a needle
of reality, I am needful of the lessons.

Get back up, try again, remember what
it was that didn’t work, and right it; most
of the time, I succeed and I am grateful.

Today, I will accomplish something
I am proud of; today I will do something
for someone else to help lift them up.

Join me. Make this Saturday a day
burgeoning with glimmering hope
and sparkling possibilities,

and if you need a good word, a hand up,
a pat on the back, call me. I’d love to
share this captivating day with you.

~ J R Turek
June 26, 2021 Hour 1

Sandburg

Sandburg

I’m Carl Sandburg, a poet.

I’m not T.S. Eliot. If you want Rhyme, I haven’t got the time. But if you want Stackers of Wheat, Players of Railroads, Brawny Shoulders or Hog Butcher for the World, I give you “Chicago.”

I’m not Bobby Frost. If you want Rhyme, I haven’t got the time. But if you want a Hunky sweeping hog blood for a dollar seventy cents a day, a three year old daughter in a cold white coffin or a family full sorrow, I give you ” The Right to Grief.”

I’m Carl Sandburg, a poet.

If you want Rhyme, I haven’t got the time.

 

 

 

Age is Fragile

This age is one of illusion lost within a dream
Held by unknown spirits lurking close but never seen
Hellish nightmares locked within the realms of slumber
You want to know the truth … so do we all so take a number

This is an age of innocence cruelly tainted by vengeful lust
Cotton candy secrecies no mortals can ever trust
Fly away to paradise, sail above the seventh sea
Driven by a fantasy you may never wish to leave

This age of ambiguity feigned by truth within a death
Promises of a new life after the final breath
Hold safe to the night, the sun and the waning moon
You walk these lands but briefly and are gone from here … way too soon

.

.

 

 

Graduation

Birth, then life’s journey, a term’s initiation,

followed by death, an auspicious occasion.

However celebrated, just another graduation.

Whether lived by a valedictorian

Or a lowly sinner who just keeps on sinning

Is it just the finale, or is it the beginning—

Only a life well lost or a quest worth-winning?

For in the grand scheme of things, ultimate success

Might mean it’s hard to tell the starts from the endings.

Since memory erases flaws and remembers the best.

 

 

Daffodils on desks

Cut and watered the daisy I expresses for this I’ve joy in the morning

Not far from Summer’s days the same, love song that cheers you up

The sun between the clouds of sunlight to darkness sleeps In midnights

Blindfolded she is to what covers eyes with cloths untied now

He give in and takes it off

When the morning comes, watery wet harvest times

Here and there after

You can see the passover

Should keep it up

Daffodils on desks

Earnest, falls retreats comes

The rose

Reflects you in the mirror,

Day by day

Passes

Clean air freshens

Up the bay side

 

 

#1. Home is where the heart is

Eighteen years
In one home
felt comfortable…
Easy… like a well worn path in the woods.
I knew where I was going.
Now I feel lost, because I am.
My path, my home, has ended.
One hand delivered letter from Mr Landlord
and here I am
sleeping in a room
at my friend’s house.
My cat paces this room
wondering why he is locked in.
As I drive by tents on the side of the road
I wonder.
We are Everywhere.
The lost.
Our paths may be found within
but I sure do miss
my home.

To my son – hour 1 poem

“Wenn ich ein Chance bekomme, bin ich bereit.”

– Was macht man mit einer Chance?, Kobi Yamada

When the distance of the night seeps in,

I get a nudge from you telling me you don’t want to be alone after you die. I tell you of

A chance that galaxies have families by their side as they burn up or burn out. I tell you quietly

I will be there too, a few light years across when you are

Ready to be a star.

 

Hour 1 response to endings

Time Passages

The period at the end of the sentence
or is it really a question mark?
days roll into nights as
suns set across rising moons
searching for the demarcation
I drain the tea cup
placed into the once clean sink of vision
and future promise
is the merger only. in my mind
or is it my yearning heart beating?

Keep Moving Forward

 

I heard when a shark stops swimming

it will drown and realized sitting still

here in my own life, on this muted, sagging couch,

scrolling my phone, the television blaring, I am grasping

for air beneath the choices I make.

Even happy that I am

Not tying my shoes,

or the morning air still swirls about without

me breathing it in,

the tree leaves sway solitary missing my

thoughtful gaze.

I settle further into that couch,

the stress of papers and relationships

submerge me,

and  carry me away from the light

realistically still in my grasp.

Not even waving but drowning,

or clinging to a ray of hope

that might save me

but slowly, resignedly

dropping down, unmoving, slumping still

the dangerous creature I am,

sinks to be with the other lifeless

beings below

thinking all the while

I should just

keep moving

forward.

 

Hour One

New Growth

Dark, empty, cold;

a place for seclusion.

Now a single flower, bold,

arises in anticipation

of new growth to behold