The Poetry Marathon

Without Comparison

Without Comparison

brighter than the aurora borealis
glitzier than the Times Square ball dropping
lovelier than a field of fragrant lavender

sparkle of light sprays grander
than a hundred thousand stars
more enduring than the Milky Way

a splay of radiance deeper
than the Grand Canyon
mystifying as a coral reef

a glow to overshadow the moon
a permissive luster to melt the sun
shimmer of light so dazzling it blinds

nothing compares
to the brilliance of your smile
when you look at me

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 12

Hour 12: looking through my own eyes

How do you see with the eyes of wholeness?

What spiritual trick is there to open that window?

No trick that I can find, but perhaps

the most important step is the first:

simply open your eyes and look,

really look, at yourself.

I ask myself if I am acting with integrity and kindness–

hard skills to hold on to in these challenging times.

Am I speaking truth with kindness?

Am I saying what is necessary

for me to hear before speaking truth to others?

Perhaps the most spiritual thing any of us can do

is to look through our own eyes

and into the eyes of another

who sees a different world.

Poem 12 | {To play with metaphysics}

By Ajanta Judd All Rights Reserved – 10am Australian EST

A brief

Some say legends are born while others say they are made but i guess it all depends on your perspective

Legends are people who have overcome difficult circumstances not minding their status or giving excuses to serve as limitations and barriers why they couldn’t accomplish a certain goal

It’s so unfortunate that the mortuary host celebrations daily and they are served the unrealized dream or goal that didn’tcome to fruition because your breadth was taken from me

Hope is only a grain of sand for we don’t kmow when we will bid this world farewell

 

 

prompt 12 draft

We wrote scores of scars

All over our bodies

But that was enough–for now.

It was the best of times….

TIMES you have spent with me

OF moments, sweet and of harmony,

WORST and so filled with agony,

THE partings and despondency.

WAS it worth the effort, the intimacy?

IT was, it was my dear honey.

Cyberpunk Morning, Hour 12

The iridescent twilight
Casts radiated shadows on her face
Exposing circuitry just beneath her skin
She grins

Stretches cybernetic spine cat-like
Slides out of cold metallic bed
From underneath my arm
Pure sin

Purity spinning webs of memory
Liminal timescape gently trembling
Paralyzed by the remembering
Oily tears run down her chin

Emptiness within her shell
Echoing the sirens,
The silent cries of violence
Incite the ghosts that dwell within

Clamor

clamor of the clarinet and fiddle, and it’s happening right now.

Michael Chabon Manhood for Amateurs final line.

 

 

 

Clamor

What I knew seems lost

amidst the clamor of lies

and social distancing and

how many nutcases there

must be for our president

to be considered seriously by some.

 

Tommy next door practicing

his clarinet again is off key

like life has become.

 

I fiddle away time and it’s

as if what’s happening right now

isn’t the most important time in the

history of this planet.

 

Because if I look beyond the clamor

what I find is a lot of other noise

that seems to be going in the same

circles as this planet and solar system.

 

Maybe life imitates nature.

 

 

Not Magic

The man who owned the bookstore was not magic.
Far from it
He was as farthest from magic a man could be
with his tiny glasses perched at the end of his nose
a small, wiry frame
and wispy thin white hair
almost ready to be blown off his head

He never recognized me
no matter how many times I came in
during a month

He was too busy with his nose in a book
transported to another time and place
each tome on his shelves
a magic carpet ride of the imagination

Was he in outer space?

Deep sea diving with fantastical tenacled sea creatures?

Having a love affair with a countess?

Slaying a dragon in front of a medieval castle?

On a voyage to a new land?

Or just sitting in a sun dappled garden waiting for his beloved?

There was no way I could tell
as I waited for him to emerge from the book’s depth
to ring up the tattered paperback in my hand.

Hour 12 – Dispatch from Athena

Dispatch from Athena to my Servant at Ithaca

Penelope, faithful wife of Odysseus,
Stand your guard against those who seek to harm you!
Sleep with one eye open.
Build up your defenses during the day.
If furniture must be dragged to your door,
to keep out the men and other women who wish to see you fall,
then find a way to make it happen.
Do not be downhearted!
Odysseus has vowed to return to you.
He is on his way.
Remain confident.
Fill your heart with hope.
In good faith,
Athena

Book: The Lost Track of Time
Author: Paige Britt
First Line: Penelope dragged one eye open and then the other.