8pm The Curve
It’s shapes you, each pose shapes you. It’s okay to look in the mirror, every curve is yours!
Poem #12: The Sporting Life
So many sports,
so little time.
Which do you choose?
Most people have a weakness.
Sports help us rejuvenate.
Right?
If someone doesn’t follow the Rules,
does that matter?
To many of us,
that which is rhetorical doesn’t matter.
But does a guilty conscience govern?
Who chooses?
Play and play some more.
Sentence: Most sports have Rules which govern play.
Underground
Underground
“We are what we always were,” she said, “Underground.” From The Water Dancer by Ta-Nehisi Coates.
Mama’d holler, “We have struggled for hundreds of years.
Are you not aware of that?”
[Silence]
So, what do you have to say?”
“We have always bumped our heads on roots” I’d answer, and think
we were like two moles down in the hole.
My mama, she said, “Watch your head!”
I’d say, “How we get out of here?”
She’d answer, “Like always, through the Underground.”
Some place else
The desert is sucking the life out of me.
Like a mummified Pharaoh with papyrus skin.
The sun says “sweat”, but I have nothing more to give.
Surrounded by sand, I am in the wrong place.
I long for the waves, splash dancing with a
shore welcoming each waves onslaught.
Breeze sliding its fingers through my hair.
The sun kisses on bare shoulders, backs and legs.
I sit in the constant hum of exhausted AC.
A noise of machines and isolation.
Staring at a face on the pix-elated screen.
wishing I could be on a towel in a different sand.
Hour 12: Frankenpoem Challenge (one line from each poem hours 1 -11)
Hour 12: Frankenpoem Challenge
We were not always strangers
in this place, like souls who were lost
as time wore away their names.
Even as the rains came drowning our passions,
who liked to play in the stream,
You already knew
this could happen first
last, opening our lives
on a virtual stage, pounding
the blacks and blues
out of their souls as muscles burned
on the rope for a world gone mad.
I wasn’t in the mood.
Mood Play
The world sees you
You see the world
The world attempts to stifle your mood
With trends that beguile the heart
Of death trails
Of robbery snares
Of soaring suicides
Of battering hopes
The moods swing
Radically to the dissident vibes
Of a faltering flame…
The mood unconsciously tweaks to the pulse of the hour…
Dissipating to depression’s stranglehold
To restore sanity’s unflinching hold
Reprogramming your mood to salvage
Your ebbing emotions…
Emotional intelligence they say forms the core of credible living…
Indulge the mood
For a rewarding harvest of enduring sanity!
Getting Ready for the Half Marathon
This year I chose to do the half marathon as I didn’t have time to do the full one. I can’t wait for the second half to start so i can start my 12 poems! Congratulations to everyone that has already done their twelve! You got this for those still going!
Poetry Marathon Submission #12
"I am absolutely going to find you." You left with my bag of books. I had testing tomorrow, and you ran off. I took my shower, washed my hair. I made a snack for both of us. On the table it was all set for you, right next to the hot dogs with relish, I left the book right there. I'm ruminating about this whole thing. I had no idea you would leave me. After all, we were going to study for tomorrow. You're in the same class. Now look, I don't know you picked the book up. Maybe you did it by accident, but it was the only book there. You might have been cleaning up the table. That would have been kind. I'm ruminating about this whole thing. So, I'll go out and pick up the ice cream. My favorite is peppermint creme, and sometime before I get back, I want you to know, that you can put this book back. I'm not a hysterical roommate. But I will say this again... I am absolutely going to find you. I'll be ruminating about this whole thing.
Removing the Host – Hour 12 Prompt
If I ask you a question
What’s your reply going to be
Would you think it through with purpose
To answer honestly
Or would my very asking
Be only for my gain
As you make up an answer
Without a truthful grain
If I’m asking you for reference
About some form of text
Would you give me some guidance
Or do something else next
Am I your first in memory
Do I simply follow suit
Will I reap in your legacy
Or will I become moot
Is this our life in color
Or is this black and white
Do you really even know me
Or I, you, in this light
The shame that we have come here
The gleam gone from our eyes
But we have drifted different ways
More than we realize
Can we ever recover
Who knows, if we don’t try
But you can’t recognize the worth
So, I guess it’s goodbye
I’m sorry that it’s over
And yes, that hurts the most
But I can’t do it anymore
As your narcissistic host
From Elton John’s Me. Page 354. “The only question worth asking is, what’s next?”
Hour 12, *Mother, I am in Love With a Robot
“Mother, may I . . . ?”
I recall the childhood game, and I
am transported
in time and place to my first innocent
love, sticky taffy shared on the playground
with Scotty, curly haired boy,
a kid with attitude and spunk, later made a
robot by ADHD meds, struggling to awaken and recognize
a friend like me, another kid
with attitude, but whose parents’
love allowed for more freedom, less control
in growth and play. I
am reminded of him in my grandson, and
I will play the old game once more:
“Mother, may I . . . ?”
*First line of Tanith Lee’s book “The Silver Metal Lover,” repeated forward and backward both here in the first word of each line of this poem.