The Poetry Marathon

Prompt 19, Hour 19

This prompt is based on an idea from Danielle Wong.

Below are two images of a Siphonophore Apolemia. It is an animal that actually is made up of hundreds of animals that clone themselves; the scientists had thought that together they float around and wait to catch food, but they now know they are capable of hunting.

There’s an article about them if you want to learn more:https://globalnews.ca/news/6799525/jellyfish-string-creature/?utm_medium=Facebook&utm_source=GlobalNews&fbclid=IwAR2bdLbQz0STcPCUfW_ZGrpaWwn-Mj8mXtDUVlXkMHTTz4jeEAzRGz57ORw

You can use this either as an image prompt, jumping off the image below to write a poem, or you can write about what it’s like to be one small part of something bigger.

The History of Thought

Prompt 17 (Half Marathon 2 Hour 5) 

As I write this poem in a Google Doc

My thoughts turn to Mesopotamia

To scribes meticulously carving each letter on stone

Laying the foundation of centuries of literature

So far, I have used backspace at least five times

But for them, there was no scope for error

I move forward in time to ten years before now

A young girl opening a diary on New Year’s eve

Penning her thoughts on the page dated 1 Jan

Scratching out words that no longer fit

Reading through those diaries is like

Reading a history of thought itself

Regrets, impulses, afterthoughts, all frozen for posterity to see

Words on stone, papyrus, paper

The pressure of a moving pen

Sensations that will soon be forgotten…

Poem 18 | {Road Trip} Conjoined Haikus

By Ajanta Judd All Rights Reserved – 4 pm 28/06/2020 Australian EST

Prompt 18; Hour 18: Write a narrative poem set during a holiday. It could be a poem based on your own lived experience or it could be an imagined event. A narrative poem is a poem that tells a story, but the story does not have to be compete, nor does it have to be told in a linear way.

_______________________________________________________________

 

{Road Trip} Conjoined Haikus

We traced her thick skin
Skimming a flat miraged plain
Trees tantalising

As our eyes squinted
A shimmering horizon
Taunted and deceived

The vast nothingness
Was strewn with wheat and lucerne
Grass parrots rejoiced

Above the skyline
Foliage danced and cavorted
Hanging in mid-air

Birds with not a care
Fighting over fresh roadkill
Bitumen graveyard

Occasional rise
Terrain and conversation
Punctuates silence

Wheat wheat forever
Farmers and eagles harvest
Grain. Marsupial.

In the far distance
Faint rocky outcrops emerge
Bringing aesthetic relief

A nondescript creek
Meandering with intent
Welcome to tired minds

Blink of an eye towns
Solitary general store
Bain Marie delights

The Newell Highway
Can’t wait to get to this place
Coonabarabran

 

 

 

Perhaps Father Should Have Taught me Songs Heal

Perhaps Father Should Have Taught me Songs Heal

Grief and solitude are brothers of destruction –
my dictionary says they can be used interchangeably.
My father was teaching me to be a hard man,
how not to smile. He believed smiles make one too soft,
like a wet earth for sorrows to creep in, burrowing holes
for more woes to find ranches. In one of his lessons,
he said I needed to learn to bottle grief in my body,
that men don’t cry. This means killing the water bags in my eyes.
But the day the news of mother’s journey beyond
reached him, he broke into constellations of dirges.
He screamed as if mother once lived in his voice,
and singing aloud would resurrect her. I realized there,
he was seeking healing though in the arms of requiem.

Prompt 18 ~ Post # 18 ~ Christmas Blessing

Twas the night before Christmas

and all through St. Joes.

The patients were sleeping

with hall lights aglow.

 

Medication were given

and rounds were all done.

All patients were counted

each and every one.

 

Patients were all snuggled

with clean sheets on their beds.

While visions of old days

danced in their heads.

 

When what to our wondering

eyes should appear.

But an angel descending

to release each one’s fears.

 

In the twinkling of an eye

she started to soar

while singing each name

visiting door after door.

 

Now Wilson and Shuman

and Berdych and Row.

And Whistler and Connor

and on and on she’d go

 

From room 501

and clear down the hall.

Her wings pitter-pattered

as she visited them all.

 

Then she rounded our desk

where no one could speak.

Each one of us frozen

our legs limb and weak.

 

She blew us fond kisses

and spoke kindly to all.

For caring for patients

No matter the call.

 

Then suddenly we watched her

as she traveled on down.

With shimmers of glory,

that lightened her gown.

 

Then as we went forward

doing rounds for the day,

For some reason, her words

continued to replay.

 

“The Lord wants to thank you

for all that you do.

As He wishes Merry Christmas

to each one of You!”

 

by Del Bates

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cake By The Ocean

We will have cake by the ocean and overflowing drinks
We will have bonfire by dusk and music to dance about
We could also do fishing with natives we met years back
And have dinner by the shore while watching the sun rests
We can do this every year, every year till we can
We can have cake by the ocean
We can have it till we can.

Hour 18 — Why Is This Night Different From All Other Nights?

Beth A. Fleisher

Hour 18

 

Prompt 18: Write a narrative poem set during a holiday. It could be a poem based on your own lived experience or it could be an imagined event.

 

 

Why Is This Night Different from Every Other Night?

 

All is ready for the Passover feast.

Sparkling glass stemware, gleaming silver utensils,

the menorah with candles ready to light,

a white tablecloth with fine gold embroidery.

In the center of the table, the Seder Plate,

which holds the traditional foods for the Passover ceremony:

a roasted lamb shank bone (or a chicken neck)

karpas (parsley),

chazeret (bitter herbs: Romaine lettuce),

charoset (sweet salad: Apples, nuts, wine, cinnamon)

maror (Bitter herbs: Horseradish),

Salt water,

a roasted egg.

 

Three Matzah wait on a special plate,

each separated by a white napkin,

and covered with another white napkin.

One is eaten with Maror

and one becomes the special dessert.

 

In a Jewish household there is no other night

as special as this night, when the story of

our ancestors’ flight from Egypt is recounted

and acted out in ceremony

to keep the deliverance story alive

for the next generation.

 

20~8

long hair

so soft

so fine

 

i

do not know

whose it is

 

yours

or

mine

 

do not know if it is yours

do not know if it is mine

 

just

loving how it feels

 

wrapped around us

all the time

Three AM

Three AM writer-

Finds quiet in the world around

But quiet inside, too

Hour 18 (2020)

Vesak

a sea of maroon and orange robes

incense smoke wafts through the sky

chanting imprints on the mind

step by step in mindfullness

soft feet against sprawling carpet

tales of the dhamma spun beneath

clarity above