The Poetry Marathon

Healing (HR 17)

It’s not the easiest thing to do

No one wants to dissect themselves

Nor open old wounds

But in order to heal you must revisit past events

Although you’ve been trying to forget

And you want to keep it buried deep

The pain you can’t avoid

Because it keeps resurfacing

The hurt will never go away

Until you learn the lesson it’s trying to teach you

If you refuse to accept its presence

It will continue to haunt you

You must face the demon head on

You have to address it

You must accept it

Forgive yourself

And release it

Healing won’t always feel like you’re on cloud nine

Most of the time it will hurt like hell

Some days will feel like sunshine

But most days you will feel your heart rip

You need to heal in order to move forward

And no matter how bad you feel

Remind yourself you’re breaking a cycle

You’re one day closer to freedom

You’re closer to your God given purpose

Let it go

purity of spirit within

pure soul desires for world in order

lifting times engaging for life coverage

movement seen in every human endeavors

 

lofty spirit for life edging out

the life lessons shared anew

for life converging spirit so desirous

 

gearing the life movement

formidable unbroken spirit

recovering yet comforting for every humanity

cascading manifesting in every aspect

 

life continues in flux

covering anew in life movement

 

Poem # 23

 

Earth Spell

In some Native languages, the word plant translates as ‘those who take care of us’*

In Welsh, the word plant itself means children

Wrapped up in these words is the eternal cycle of Earth

Of birth and death and rebirth

Ancient secrets and forgotten truths hidden in ancient words

And when these words are seldom spoken

It leaves a whole sleeping legacy of wisdom

Waiting to be awoken.

This is the true power of the spell –

Words already magic because of the truths that they tell.

• Quote from Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

Faded

When the music played and he listened,
When the words came to him and he wrote,
There were moments when he wanted to reach out into the darkness,
And feel a familiar stranger.
Write them a story about how he missed them and wanted them to return.

It was in these moments that he realized,
That, if he had to write for someone to see his significance,
Write so his absence would be felt,
Then that individual he was writing too was not worth it.
Because if they mattered they would be there.

He hated how he missed certain moments,
And often recreate them in his mind.
It was here that she told him and made him realize,
That he missed the moment he had created,
And not the individual he created it with

Poem 6, Prompt 18

Jack and I, we hit the road
We took a trip by van
We trundled up the highway
Seeking seawater and sand

It took three days to get there
Spending nights in one-horse towns
Singing shanties by the fire
Filling silence up with sound

Destination beach was reached
Mid-afternoon day four
A heaving mass of travellers
Cheek to jowl along the shore

No room for sitting calmly
Dipping toes or playing songs
Jack and I felt overwhelmed
All caught up in the throng

So once day five was underway
We turned the van around
And we drove back the way we’d come
Back to those tiny towns

Quiet little sleepy spots
Nothing to really do
But sit and sing and feel the sun
A holiday through and through

Native Tongue

 My native language is love
It can be conveyed with or without words
The dialects are constantly evolving, but the core meanings are universal
Many speak it but don’t truly understand it
It is a language where listening is often more important than speaking
Where actions are more important than words
It is a selfless language
There are no pronouns to truly denote an individual
It can be spoken through a smile, a hug, or sometimes leaving space
When properly used it’s highly effective at ending conflicts and is the recommended tongue for diplomacy
It is also the only known human language with the power to heal

Prompt 18, Hour 18 – Not a Holiday, but A Celebration

Dancing leaves offered a kind greeting,

as though they had remarked our long absence.

We settled near the water for comforted seating –

and to enjoy a moment of rest, a day freed of nuisance.

 

An attempt at restoring a steady normal,

or to forget the trials gone and passed without acknowledgment.

Our homemade holiday – to celebrate survival.

A frail effort; a sorry moment to produce forward movement.

 

We lit a fire with trouble –

the wind awakening as we needed its stillness.

Metaphor, perhaps, for kindness kept under the guise of subtle.

We grilled, and we ate, before indulging in pastries’ sweetness.

 

A cream puff, and some light lemon cakes,

to go with tea that drowns out the coldness of river banks.

We played with rackets, and tried playing with stakes,

but competition does not fit when results draw blanks.

 

As the sun began to set, we had had our fill,

of breezes, time, nourishment and small talk.

There was a satisfaction, truly, in the portions received still.

Had we still been young, we would have marked the occasion with chalk.

 

The Evil Granny

It was a cold day in December

Then we visit relative for Christmas food

Granny, a hypocrite do-gooder

Holds her smile with a glassy smirk

Plastered on her face

With a mischievous hide up her behind

“I love you” was her code for

“I hate you”

There’s a thin line between love and hate, They say

But for granny, it’s a very thick line

All this we knew, checking her closet

When she died

She had loads of voodoo and charms

Flaked on her wall and ceiling

A skull rocking the center of her closet

In such, it was her shrined cult room

A room she warned us not to enter

Unless we want the police on our tail

What did we know,

She even attends church

She claps her hands in rhythm

To the choir singing from the hymnal

I’m glad she died that night in December

She could have gathered more skulls

But I guess

God didn’t want us in the bargain

 

Plants Prompt 14

They do
take care of us
my mother made a choice
to grow them around her children

They were like peace
making my mother show up
to care for them
as they cared for her back

the respect she gave them
the beauty and peace they gave her in return
she exemplified her truth in the plants that she cared for

They aligned our living room window
Providing her with comfort
before she left to face the world

Her plants are her wonderland
and I imagine she started caring for them
after her mother
shes truly nature

riptide of movements

the turbidity of events seen

movement of human desire

manifesting in the ways of rallies and other ways

manifesting disgust as well as the praises of good governance

 

movement for future desire enduring

much seen in the ways of humanity

engaging in the life events

movement foreshadowing in latent markers

 

still a quest unending

for life engagement for surety wailing

lifting times engaging

 

Poem #22