The Poetry Marathon

Hour 15 – A Phoned In Poem

A Phoned In Poem

 

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#8: All these questions inside my brain

#8: All these questions inside my brain

What if I’m not enough? What is all my fears are true? What if I never measure up to how I’ve always been expected to be?

What if what they want me to be or do isn’t what I want to be or do? Does it matter? Is what they want more important than what I want?

How do I make the right choice? How do I know I’m not making a big mistake? Is it really my choice to make?

What would I do if I make a mistake? How will I respond? Would it be the end of the world? Or would I find the strength to carry on and learn from that mistake? And who gets to determine if it is a mistake?

WHO THE HECK ANSWERS ALL THESE QUESTIONS I HAVE?!

Prompt 15, No One’s Looking

Oops! I’m caught!
I have to keep walking
I put one foot –
I know, I can tell the way she looks at me,
she doesn’t seem to like me.
I know I’m not stylish.
She was looking at my shoes.
The short lady with the Irish name,
she’s nice.
The manager talks to me in a kind way.
The assistant manager talks to me like I’m slow.
And the tall lady stops me and instructs me how to carry things.
She doesn’t know how much I want to fit in.
I don’t know how to, though.
You can’t ask that.
You can’t.

How to get to work – Hour 9, Prompt 9

A beet hidden in my jacket

home in the bayou, I elbow

the cat sitting below

Cinnamon is her name

she’s scared of the lightbulb, same

as the bucket of veggies

now elk blocks 

my carport

the beet, I use

to get to work.

 

– Sandra Johnson, 9-2-2023

Reverie

 

 

I was a reverie.

You always think I am.

I am selfishly alone in my thoughts,

I always left you.

Lost and confused.

 

In my world I am the king.

I am the first smile of spring.

Power is for me to gain,

It’s worth every pain.

 

Your aesthete character left me in awe,

I know you tried to drag me back now,

To the reality that I wasn’t part of,

You’re rain, I am the aftermath of it all.

 

I live and die here,

I exist even then, just exist.

My colostomy is not an operational mistake,

Its part of me, It’s me.

 

I am never accepted here,

I am no king.

I’m a peasant, not something pleasant.

I’m a mistake of life.

 

My pills, potassium intakes and health monitoring,

Is not worthy at all.

I just wish to be lost, out of space.

Probably, I can restart my race.

 

I was a reverie.

You always think I am.

I am selfishly alone in my thoughts,

I always left you.

Lost and confused.

 

I’m sorry for all the unexplained reasons,

The changing seasons of me.

I scream and shout and smile back again.

It wasn’t me; it was my disease, It’s part of me.

I was always left.

Lost and confused too.

 

Text Prompt

Write a poem about an experience, but from the perspective of another. For example you could write a poem about your wedding from the experience of your spouse, or you could write a poem about an argument with a stranger from the perspective of the stranger.

 

#POETRYMARATHON2023 #HOUR15 #24HRSCATEGORY

Too Much

Too loud
Too disruptive
It wasn’t even my fault
But I was sent into the hall anyway
With my friend
It was totally her fault
You need friends like this
in your life
in elementary school
in your neighborhood
Someone who always ups the ante
brings an edge to the plain
spice to the salt

Too loud
Too disruptive
Continues in the hallway
It was becoming my fault
the balance of blame shifting
quickly becoming more than I can control
The other grade five teacher
comes into the hallway to turn red
to yell
at us
at me
when it wasn’t my fault,
but it is now.

“You’re acting like you’re this big.”
he screams in my face.
finger and thumb an inch apart
tomato red face that reaches into thinning blond hair
“So what?” I scream back at him
teeth barred
uncaring of the disrespect
the fun disintegrates on the hallway floor.

My friend freezes,
somehow makes herself smaller.
I will never convince
any of them
this wasn’t my fault.

Pigs

This is hilarious!
Look how she’s reacting to nothing.
What did we do?

1. Send a 70s playlist to her phone
2. Mess with her radio station
3. Follow her on Twitter in his name

And now she thinks he wants to marry her!

This is too easy.
She’s onto us.
Yes, she is.

Dude, this is so cruel,
leading this poor old, lonely woman
toward yet another unrequited love.

But it’s hilarious!
Oh, my god, she’s writing him
a love letter in her website!
No, she doesn’t mention his name.

You know, we could use this!
See if you can book a hall
somewhere for some tech event.
AI or something.

Offer her a free ticket.
She’ll come. Yes, she will.

If we build it, she will come!
F’in perfect!

Do you think we can book him?
Awesome!

It’s beyond the budget,
but I can make it fly.

She’ll approach him like she did Mr. B,
and we swoop in with a stalking charge.

He has no choice!
None.

God, this is freakin’ brilliant!

Poem for Hour Fifteen (15/24)

Argus Pheasant said to Peacock, “I can dance better than you,”

Peacock said back, with a tone of attack, “Well when it comes to pizazz,

I think that’s what you lack!”

 

Pheasant got mad and Peacock did too,

So the both of them did,

What they both usually do!

 

Peacock fanned out his tail in a great, wide array,

The sun making each feather shine,

Pheasant looked miffed at the gaudy display,

And started threatening Peacock right back!

 

Pheasant bowed very low,

Reared his tail up real slow,

And flashed his wings in a beautiful ring,

Creating a taupe-colored halo,

The two a clash of feathers,

and flapping of wings.

 

A hen watched from afar,

Lost for what to say,

Beak held ajar,

Took her best friends to have fun,

‘Cause who wants to deal with that, anyway?

“Looks Can Be, Well..”

Hour Fifteen: Prompt:  When confronted by a stranger, and perhaps her perspective.

I am ticked off! Why does she look so cool and comfortable in this heat on this delayed train!

So, I picked on the cool composed one.

I felt like it. Annoyance bloomed in me, and I felt safe.

Anyway, she didn’t look dangerous.

She looked relatively docile and when she didn’t answer me, I went ballistic. Others laughed, so I left the train too embarrassed to say sorry. DMW