The Poetry Marathon

“(Hour 9 of 12) random words”

Some placards he now shows me,

What do you make of them, said he.

 

These random words I survey,

And my thoughts to him I convey.

I think it would be better,

If I just put them all together.

 

Outside my cottage by the treeline last night,

I caught a firefly in a bottle and closed it tight.

Now I have lethargy, and the heat is strange today,

So I took off me mask and had me porridge on the way,

Shuffling despondently to my doom,

My daily morning meeting by Zoom.

 

 

© 2020 S Phua

Walking

Walking
That is to say, the exercise of walking
baffles me
and I think of this often 
in my strolls through the streets of my neighborhood 
When does a walk change into a hike, for example?
Do I unintentionally become a

Renew

RENEW

_________________________________
The hours passed

The days disappear

The world holds its breath

Until it no longer can’t breath

Then cleansed with fire and rage

The structures that uphold our deep shames

Are razed

And

Built

Anew

Hour 13: Wash Day

Wash Day

Dirty clothes in the hamper

Wet towels on the bathroom door

Mismatched socks hiding here and there

I search for them all over the floor.

I gather all the pieces up

And into the basket I load

Each fetid, smelly item

Down the stairs to the basement I go.

A laundry pod….

Some softener….

Some smellies that I adore…

Then I load up the washer with nasties

And hastily close the door.

I wait until I hear the sound

That the current load is done.

I make my way back down the stairs

Oh this is so much fun!

I stuff the clothes in the dryer

And roll my tired eyes

I start it up and go my way

With a world weary sigh.

At last I hear the buzzer

The clothes at last are through.

I gently remove them from the dryer

And fold them up for me and you.

13 – Aina e Lani e Kai

From my new bedroom window

the mouth of I’ao stretches wide and deep

inviting those who hear to commune with her

those in reverence to sit with her in gratitude

for the aina, e lani, e kai…

those with humbled and open hearts

to pule e mele with her… for her.

 

She teases moana with sweet breezes

giving and taking across the short expanse between them

and in their exchange, offering her ha to us

blessing each room on this hale

with the mana of all who rest in her

and all who lie in the sea.

 

There  is no more sacred space than Wailuku nei

no more precious gifts than those of this land and sky and ocean.

 

I am small in their presence.

 

Elizabeth Fellows

6/27/2020, 3pm

Hour 12; Prompt 12: Dirty Words and the Politicians that Speak Them

What is there to say about them, that has not been said in the title?
I can think of plenty
So can you
And so can they; if only of each other

I find it odd to hear a man
Dressed in finery
Fed the finest
Cared for by the finest physicians
We can buy
To speak of the horrors of poverty
And how they will champion the cause

What is there to say
That hasn’t already been said
They are truly different
They do, indeed, fight for change
For us
Not just them

Though I hope for better
I always expect the worst
Because if I didn’t
When it comes to them
I’d have given up long ago

Nightmares-Hour 13

I wake up

My nightmares still swirling in my head

No amount of positivity can shake it

These days are dark

Pandemics, treason

Murderers caught on video

Riots, treason in broad daylight

Watching the news hurts

Sleep should be the escape

A few hours free of this chaos

Instead my dreams become as bad as being awake

These times we see how powerless we are

How powerless I am

The chaotic nightmare

Is where we are

I try to stay distant

I try to stay safe

But we are holding on

At the edge of a cliff

No rescuer

No ability to lift ourselves up

We are in a tornado

I lay down, wishing for rest

Praying for redemption

For rescue

I am safe until the nightmares begin

I wake up shaking

To find reality is worse

 

 

 

Dormouse:

‘I sleep when I breathe, is the same as

I breathe when I sleep.’

In this mad, mad, mad tea-party often

the Hatter has to induce a semi-coma, an invitation

to help one breathe.

Strange how, one has to now, sleep

to live.

To breathe.

Poem 13

As I got laid down to sleep
I remember a promise I was to keep

My neighbor Sally fwll in love
15
She anuck out the nights to intwine hands and carve in trees.
At 15 she swore me not to tell.

Corn grew short. Wheat plants died.
No one noticed her swollen breasts and bulging stomach.
Til a baby came. August 15th 1881.

By September Sally was dead in the creek.
Some said her lover crushed her skull. Others said a choive waded her in.

They found the body bloated on the bank – her eyes empty though her limbs be there.

I saw the body lying there.

I couldn’t breathe proper.

I saw the body. I crawled out the new room into the night.

I came to Colorado for a change – but my body had felt the same.

I crawled to feel moonbeams on my face. When I enter the ground it will be dark. I want one last time to see.

See aomething besides the walls come in on me.

I am a body. I lie here. I used to lie under their bodies. They did not keep me warm. I used to bruise under their hands. I had to eat. I did not need to be forced.

Now I am the body. I will rot in the sun. Now. I. Am. The. Body.

At least my sufferings done.

Life in the blue (poem 12)

Blues clues none
To find makes life
A brand new tool

All rights reserved copyrighted(c)2020 Roxann A Harvey-Lawrence