The Poetry Marathon

Krabbsmorgas

24 Poems: “The Dinner Party”

 

Krabbsmorgas

 

That beginning roux

Then a yolk and cream

Stirred until silky

For a catalyst cream

 

Alas, when mixed with sherry

Dill salt and pepper

Presented on thinly sliced Vetebröd

Now their feeling so pepper

 

There was a spritely glee

For the lightness and sweetness

And pastry-like texture

Smiles of sweetness

 

Dare I say it wasn’t perfect

But I’m not sure if anyone knew

The fine pale wine

Reassured what they knew

 

A very pleasant introduction

To the next courses ahead

And all the joy

That will tickle through our heads

 

DeaBeePea  6-27-20

Ode to Bob

The tropical heat percolated on the small of her back,

It was the early 60s, in Trenchtown.

 

The flies bothered them only in the morning,

In the night, they clung to the ceiling and watched them make love.

 

His dreadlocks the color of crematory smoke,

Spread like tree roots across her satin pillow.

His eyes sad but words hopeful.

 

She straddled him with lust but found faith when he was inside her,

A black poet, a black Jesus.

 

No man felt as electric,

When he danced there was lightning.

When he sang, there was peace.

Hour 11, Prompt 11

Protagonist

Protagonist

It’s our Wednesday night workshop,
creative writing group meets via Zoom
until the governor allow libraries to open
after this pandemic has finally passed.

We’re virtual so no masks required
but Robert – don’t call me Bob
or Bobby or may fairies and sprites
devour you, not Robby ever –
was wearing a bear mask. Strange.
He clears his throat, twice; I realize
it’s Robert’s turn to read.

He adjusts his furry mask, and begins.
“I was walking a forest path, the treeline thinning
as I ventured on. I saw a pigtailed girl catching
fireflies in a bottle. I asked her name but she
‘poof’ vanished.
“I kept walking, the morning heat growing,
my stamina depleting. An intense lethargy
overtook me and I felt myself swooning.
Up ahead, I saw a little cottage, lavender
growing in the garden. The door was open
but I knocked anyway. Crusted bowls
of cold porridge sat on the table but
there was no one home.
“I found a comfy bed, too big for me,
and a smaller one still too big, and finally
one that was just right. I fell asleep.
The end.”

We clap, I ask for comments for Robert
but there are none. I am at a loss for words;
Robert snarls.
“You people aren’t writers; you don’t get it.
It’s so simple. I’m a metaphor for Goldilocks’
alter ego.”
He growls into his mask and clicks his screen off.
Our Zoom room is silent.

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 11

Hour 11: A Red Fantasy

A Red Fantasy

I have been up in the mountains

I have traveled on the sea.

I have been to far off countries

But there’s one place I’d love to be.

I want to visit Mars one day

The red planet, so far away

I want to hike along its red dunes

Take a sail through its dried up bays.

Imagine seeing its fantastical moons

From the surface where I long to roam.

Taking cover while the wild sands blow

Making a crater my new home.

One day I will make that journey

Flying through outer space

I will see the red planet for myself

Have swirling winds whip in my face.

6 pm

Down the deserted road
I walk
unable to stop myself
urgently trying to get there
though I don’t know why
exactly

The bell from the old church
still rings out the hour
tonight though especially
it just seems so creepy

The street lights seem
darker than usual tonight
as I make my way into this
hallowed, eternal
resting place

I know where I’m going
I’ve been here at least a
thousand times
I could do it blindfolded

Up three statues
left by the old pine
up another four statues
back one row from the
road

You can’t seem to keep your
space neat and tidy
as I pick old dead leaves
off and brush the dirt away

I shouldn’t be here this late
so close to midnight
especially not on Halloween
but I know a guy, and he lets me
in after hours

I can feel a chill wind
picking up and I smell the
storm rolling in
when I hear a voice behind me

Welcome, We’ve been expecting you
and have prepared this place for you.

We Are Called to the Vale

(a warrior’s song for Onweald, part of the fantasy series I have in publication; this is a combo of two prompts, the pictures from earlier (I think prompt #5) and prompt #11 for a fictional place)

By Sandy Lender

 

 

When burning fog of dragon’s breath

swirls in the Vale’s pale morn

take up your sword and shield, my lad.

To the Vale, to war!

 

When reach your village the stench

of man-flesh burnt and torn

take up your sword and shield, my man.

To the Vale, to war!

 

When farrier sees the burning rise

and drops his tongs and forge

take up your sword and shield, old man.

To the Vale, to war!

 

When the goddess’ horn fills the air

a harbinger of news forlorn

take up your sword and shield, all men.

To the Vale, to war!

Travel Dreams to Middle-earth (Hour 11, Prompt 11)

New Zealand tops the list for once upon a time,

I met a couple from there on a cruise and they were quite divine.

They often share photos of the beauty,

The skies are so sublime.

 

To walk through where they filmed, the Lord of the Rings,

The beauty and the wonder of nature kept pristine.

To wander where the elves did walk,

To quaff a pint of hobbit ale.

The adventures of the fellowship regaled many folk far and wide,

To travel to New Zealand, with dear friends, what an awesome ride.

Hour 11 Stuck

A wall has shut me out of my creative mind.

I am trapped in darkness, music playing in the background

trying to come up with something that makes sense.

I am tripping, falling, deleting and retyping.

I am so stuck I don’t know where to go from here.

I’m waiting for magic,

I’m seeking for inspiration.

Take me away and let me do my thing.

Leave behind something beautiful.

Memorable.

A gift to unwrap.

I won’t give up.

Please let me back in.

Good Night, My Darling Little Love

Good night, my darling little love,
It’s time to go to sleep.
The stars are watching from above
As the darkness settles deep.

It’s time to go to sleep
Tucked into your cloud-soft bed.
As the darkness settles deep,
Let sweet dreams fill your little head.

Tucked into your cloud-soft bed
Purr your little kitten snores.
Let sweet dreams fill your little head
As the night your joy restores.

Purr your little kitten snores
The stars are watching from above
As the night your joy restores.
Good night, my darling little love.

Hour 11

The Walrus and The Carpenter

When I was young I thought
The Carpenter was angry that
The Walrus had EATEN all the oysters.

What I did not realize was that
The Carpenter was angry that
The Walrus had eaten ALL the oysters.