The Poetry Marathon

The Hiding

(for Onweald)

By Sandy Lender

 

Mellada glides through the halls of the hiding

Searching the quiet and with her time biding

Her women in waiting are noiselessly crying

Under the thundering of crashes subsiding

 

The walls of the halls with seawater dripping

Sheltering, sweltering, saps strength from the living

But Mellada’sures them, with comforting smiling

The stones of the crone all beguiling with scrying

 

None see the wink, the blink passing slyly

‘tween crone and queen for the calming of lying

Searching the quiet, preparing morn’s breaking

Dreaming is passing with sighing and waking

 

There is calm in resigning, a peaceful abiding

Finding new life in declining the fighting

Their warriors’ deaths on the wind news is blowing

Chiming and banging, the death tolls extolling

 

The clanging with sunrise outside the hall’s hiding

Alarms and disturbs with a dragon force flying

The wind of his wings crashes boulders high piling

And blocking the holes to the halls of the hiding

 

Mellada sings through the halls of the hiding

Her voice lowly mewling from shadows soft spreading

Her women in waiting like whispers receding

Till oceans of time with their gods they’re pleading

 

A hush lines the still dripping halls of the hiding

Where Mellada died with her women in waiting

Their souls washed with mem’ries of saltwater sinking

And ocean rocks filt’ring their bones for the seining

 

Hello, Goodbye

on the mainland, it’s a dichotomy

but in the island paradise just below,

they share the exact same definition.

it’s a walking paradox of a term that means

nothing unless you derive it.

i won’t waste my time saying it to you

because i’m already gone and i know you’ll be

at the top of your game right alongside me

Unwrapped

Slowly, piece by piece

it unravels for you.

Inch by inch it gives,

slipping ribbon sliding down,

rustling paper,

and the box.

And within the box,

my love, all of it,

carefully gift-wrapped,

strong and fragile and sweet,

handle with care,

use often, feel it around you

even when I’m gone,

my gift to you, my love.

Empty Fulfillment, hour 24

The end of all things
Begins with yet another
Another not like any other
But still the same

Still devoid of everything
Everything in it’s nothingness
Nothing isn’t a something
But yet still remains

This offered gift strangely unfulfilling
Unfulfilled in it’s completion
Yet full of the emptiness it contains

Hour 23-Pixie

My name is Pixie, I’m a docateroo

Crossed between a dog,cat and kangaroo.

I have nine lives like a feline, I am loyal like a dog

I came from Down under and bounced my way to SA emerging through the fog.

A human met me in the park and asked me to be her friend

I had never had an owner to laugh with and depend

I was so happy to have someone to call family of my own

Since i’d moved across the sea to did not have a home.

I happily bounced back to her place and settled in a tree

a little place she created just for little me.

Prompt 24, Hour 24 – The Best

Gifted, they say,

when some innate interests

shine through the mundane.

 

Gifted, they ought to say,

is the one who basks in the nuance

of a detailed existence.

 

You could gift me the world,

and I would wonder at all its secrets yet unearthed.

 

Try gifting me the moon,

and I will marvel at its shine as it moves in the sky.

 

But gift me the vision,

to see inside myself,

and the depth to feel fully in others –

and I am forever in your debt.

#23 Time Off

Hoping for a summer storm

A long slow day at home

No one needs to hear my voice

They know I wrote some poems

 

Old movies perhaps a few

I need another place

Take a break some time off

From this crazy human race

 

Travel with some music

To lead me down a path

Show me somewhere better

Beyond this pain and wrath

 

Refresh my brain my heart

That poems have lighted high

To keep this good vibe going

I can only hope and try

 

Sky is dark the air is thick

A change will come by night

The Gods will try once again

To help us get it right

Aftermath

24 Poems: “The Dinner Party”

 

Aftermath

 

I will do this again

There is no doubt

Work that pays priceless rewards

No threads of doubt

 

I sit on the couch

Enjoying the noiseless ambiance

Just the quiet

And a final of champagne’s ambiance

 

Soon, in weeks or months

I will plan another

Looking forward to the druthers

And being with one another

 

A celebration of unity

And admiration for difference

And a continuous caring

No spirit of indifference

 

But it’s natures work

And the miracles of the earth

And our aspirations for resplendence

Let us love our earth

 

DeaBeePea  6-27-20

Poem 24

One day
When had been married 10 years and 2
His children perched
Waiting porridge drops in their bowls.

Steamed curled from his coffee, like the curl in het mother’s hair. And suddenly

For the first time in a few seasons
He reckoned with the body.

This reckoning happened

When he crossed a sandy step
When he saw a woman selling herself

But most
When he saw his own daughter

And wondered if his death and his wife would turn her to a body.

Then he sipped his coffee.

Years later he realized he had found a body
But the woman needed help. He was too late to help the woman and she could not help herself.

H24: The Gifting

The 24th prompt: quite a gift, I would say,

As I sit here awaiting it given away.

Though, like Christmas I’m certain, that no sooner done,

I’ll be sad that it’s over and plan the next one.

Like some Christmas thingie, with twenty-four treats,

That mark time til the next time, and won’t let you eat

Whatever, whenever, in one gluttonous gulp–

But give the treats metered (so you don’t throw up).

And here I sit, sugar-plums wedged in my head,

to get it all finished, and just go to bed!