5pm. Poem 15. Out of Little George’s Eyes (a tanka)
5pm. Poem 15.
Out of Little George’s Eyes (a tanka)
Tears at your wedding
were not of joy but sadness
that another man
stood next to you and promised
love for the rest of your lives.
Barley McBones
he is small
he is large
he will protect you
he will love you
he will bathe in the sun
he will burrow under the covers
he will walk forever into the sunset
he will walk across the street and turn around
he is large
he is small
he is my favorite
he is chihuahua
and i love him
hour 13: we win
a storm of feelings
but we’ll still win
how do i make it through from here
you might ask
and answer like i do
how is it so that i seem to think i know
but don’t do
and how may i still have more questions?
with your ability and everlasting will to answer,
i surrender
Moving On – Hour Fifteen
Moving On
We will never see eye to eye
Our differences too great
It makes no sense to question why
It would make us irate
It may be sad; we may have tried
But it’s just not worth our troubles
We’re better off our separate ways
In our respective bubbles
I’ve tried to see your point of view
As you’ve tried to see mine
And yet, neither you nor I will budge
From our hard driven line
And with that said, we’ll part our ways
To each his own, they say
Windows may open with closed doors
Come the end of the day
I’ve no regret debating you
We both have held our own
But now’s the time to move ahead
And change our tongues and tone
I wish you peace, I wish you well
May you find what you speak
Let this be but a lesson learned
to think before you speak.
Hour 13: What Do You Do?
When people ask me what I do
I tell them I read people by the soul
String them up by their sanity
And leave them to dry by a warmth
Only known by being understood
When you thought you were alone
I tell them I make people fall in love with me
Deeply
I tell them I am a haunted house
Not one you visit on Halloween
But a house
That is actually
Haunted
I nurse the kind of wounds
That don’t come from weapons
That can’t be healed in hospitals
The kind that MDs try and fail to medicate
I tell them I am a healer
Doing my work one dagger at a time
Carving pieces of people away
Because how else are you supposed to
Find where the hurt is
Except to show them their own heart
And say “here”
They always look at me
Shocked and terrified
They stutter, “Y-you get paid for that?”
I tell them that is not what they asked
2023 Full Marathon: Hour 15
Yes a storm is brewing –
yeah there’s already one
knocking on the doors and
wrapping on the window panes –
I’m sure you’ve heard the warnings
but in every Pandora’s box was
all about hope not the monsters
and I’d like to think you understand
that if you’re reading poetry.T
he hope -the silver linings –
the little miracles are all
so much more valuable than
the worry, the fears, or
the demons pretend to be
and the sooner you embrace thatt
he more likely you are to
live the life you keep telling
yourself you will. And there is
a certain tint of artistry
that can only be utilized
by those who recognize
when they have been moldedb
y the storm to such a degree
that they in turn become it.
-M. Rene’
A Critique from My Late Crush
“I wonder if this is the way old crushes die.”
The Summer I Turned Pretty
I sit back with a cigarette in one hand
a Montauk Ale in the other
take it all in.
I just finished reading your poetry memoir of me.
Never realized this is how you felt about me
so secretive and so shy.
I didn’t know how much impact I made towards your life until now.
Thank you for your words and craft.
I’m sorry I can’t be a part of your life now.
It’s not meant to be.
Thank you for writing on behalf of my brothers
they are also here and appreciate their poetic tributes.
My Dad he’s here smiling too.
He knows too much now and we’re always in trouble.
Tommy won’t stop talking, John keeps trying to shut him up.
So shy girl thanks and keep writing.
You will always find me in my favorite places.
I know you keep me inside your heart
and that is more than this lost soul could ask for. Frank
Because I Waited Too Long to Eat
Loud rumbling stomach
makes displeasure clearly known
complaining to all
Prompt 15
Bless her heart
I keep telling myself I can’t save everybody
When I scolded her eight year old cousin for preparing to eat a pile of Oreo cookies without permission
she cut her 17 year old eyes downward as if she wasn’t going to get involved
When I returned a few minutes later, he had consumed them all
I asked her why she hadn’t intervened
Well, he told me you said it was ok earlier
I looked at her. Did it sound like I was ok with him eating the stack of cookies?
Well, I didn’t know who was telling the truth
I looked at her for a few minutes
Well, you can’t tell me adults don’t lie
Regardless of whether I was or was not lying, you knew my disapproval
What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to take care of him?
I know she was pushing me. I know she was jealous of her cousin getting to move in with me while she is homeless. I know she was playing manipulative games she learned from her mother many years ago before her mother was sent to prison. And yet, I know she secretly longs to find a home with me, too.
Bless her heart.
I keep telling myself I can’t save everybody
Learn.
The chilly winds dance around my side
As I’m looking out the window
Looking at the pitch black sky
I was wondering why
I couldn’t reach
The half moon smiling at me
Or the stars
Shining brightly even in the darkest night
My heart pondered why
I couldn’t shine like the sun
Or even smile like the clouds
But I didn’t realise
The nature was only teaching me
All this time.