The Poetry Marathon

13. Caring for Curly Hair

Always looking for a miracle product.

The Denman brush works for some.

All Natural is the motto we tote.

No Sulfates No Parabens or Hairpins

T-shirts work best if you “Plop”.

Or maybe the L.O.C. method. (Lotion-Oil-Cream)

Oil the scalp and roots, but not the ends.

Leave-in is a must or a bust if the ingredients don’t jive with your hair personal concoction.

I still don’t know my curl pattern.

Wash and go or finger curl every strand.

At the end of the day plain water is best.

A fine mist will refresh, and second day old curls are clutch.

Good Luck… sudden rain storms don’t mess with our flow.

I used to wonder how the girls did it in the old black and white films then I realized I don’t need to sit under a lamp.

My curls conform to a Shirly Temple bounce or a crimper’s dream if I braid it and let it dry and take my time.

Hair as multifaceted as the weather changes, we seek to emulate what we already have.

 

Sonnet 2020

What a time to see the GOP move

In this time when they hang out with Nazis

Right now upon science they can improve

with a president always so sloppy

A year when pandemic cuts many down

Ventilator shortage, there’s no more masks

still the president refuses to frown

any rational person needs a flask

People lose jobs, and kids can’t go to school

Hugging is banned, and kisses are worse

Yet some governors insist it’s all cool

A reasonable explanation: a curse

To live through 2020 is a trial

Isolation, and racists, yes, it’s vile.

 

 

 

Prompt 14 ~ Post #14 Make Me A Servant

To those who care for others

are a servant of the heart.

To hold another’s sorrow

be it close or far apart.

 

To go beyond the border

and never to say no.

To go the extra mile

not letting the pain show.

 

To reach out for another

no matter what the cost.

Oh so much more to be gained

than anything to be lost!  💞💞

 

 

 

 

Barnes and Noble Poem

Barnes and Noble Poem
(Titles in True Teen Reader section)

Dear Nobody,
This star won’t go out. Taking flight laughing at my signature.
Do you know who you are, the pointless book. We should hang out
sometime. The Cruel Prince

Margarette Wahl

Hour 14; Prompt 14: We are Trees

They exist
We exist
They wither
So do we

Masters we are
Though they determine
If we live or die
Intrinsic to humanity

Yet we destroy
We devour without thought
These lives
Long lived
Yet young

We are very much alike
What happens to one
Happens to us all
But they are better at understanding this

We of a greater mind
Often forget
How so much alike
We are to plants

Hour 14 (2020)

a mountain stretches far into the sky

above a sleepy austrian village.

in worn-out sneakers and an oversized hoodie,

a tiny sillhouette chooses to dance with it.

They begin a slow, trudging walz

the girl goes around and around the mountains dirt base

through the stones, and through the trees,

and past a secret lake that sits stellar and placid in the summer sun.

The dance speeds up, now an agressive tango

as the ascent steepens and the girls legs ache with peril.

Yet her dance partner encourages her to push on,

lending the proper molds for her tiny feet to climb up on

until she reaches the flower beds at the mountains summit

and feels awakened to the world around her

This Prineville Wind!

Oh Mother Earth, what’s with this wind?
It’s summer now, and time to send
the twilight heat, not rain and hail!

I had to turn the heater on
and with a blanket keep my tootsies warm!
The winter snow to no avail

Is months away!
It’s time to play!

Bhojpuri:

 

In Bihari marriages,

the ‘mandap‘ is graced with bamboo trees,

since bamboo is the fastest growing grass.

And isn’t the intent of marriage to sanctify the

process of proliferation through progeny?

 

It’s said, ‘in some native languages…’

Too Briefly

“The land knows you, even when you are lost.”
~ Robin Wall Kimmerer

Sunlight spilled upon the highest of the summer leaves,
Dappled silhouettes in a rough-cut canopy of green
As we meandered through overgrown brush
Down a thin, winding trail.

He was two, going on fifteen;
I was twenty-six and starving.

The trees knew me well, though unfamiliar to me,
Whispered breaths sang a soft, sweet melody
And my mind found peace in the hushed, vibrant wood
Where we hiked trails for longer than I thought a child could.

Not a fragment of my soul, in that wood, could be lost
The wood cooed truths to me about this love’s cost

And I listened too briefly
That I must end the day;
Fear stole me too swiftly;
We hurried away.

“The land knows you, even when you are lost,”
It’s been written before.
I know it’s the truth, now; I now know the cost,
I now know we should have walked out of his door.

When now, just as then, my mind threatens to freeze
I look skyward, again, at the sun-dappled trees
And I know now to run, to keep my heart intact
Since I tend more to under- than over-react.

Mother Earth (hour 14, prompt 14)

Mother Earth is watching
Every move you ever make
Every thought you ever have
And each dream you forsake
She knows the things you’ve sacrificed
She knows each time you’ve shattered
Each time you’ve been made to feel
Like you never really mattered
Mother Earth, She knows you
Unlike anybody else
And any time you’re feeling lost
She’ll help you find yourself.
~Mandy Kocsis©2020~