Prompt 10 (Poetry Marathon)

“After The Moon”

 

It’s the lightest dark,

And the night seems calm,

As the moon speaks —

And capture my heart.

 

All my senses comes back again,

After losing them for a day.

I got my eyes enclose to its mystery,

The beauty of the moon becomes my memory.

 

I got my ears back but the silence remains,

The loudest silence I heard today.

As the night grows deep

As the world still sleep.

 

I got my smells back, but the chill distract me.

The moon speaks to me,

And I on my full attention clear.

A scene of just staring to it without fear.

 

All my feelings comes back,

Slowly, then all at once.

All of it comes back to attack,

Alive, despite of a crack.

 

 

10) My Pillow Calls

To all you amazing marathoners

WOWZA

Respect

Half

and

full

I’ve made it to 10

two short of the goal

but am leaving happy

knowing there’s words

on the page

on the screen

to be worked on,

composted with,

and seeded.

And I know there’ll be gems

among the seedlings

Thank you Caitlin

and Jacob

and All you writers!!!

WOWZA!

Kudos to you all

 

Will read and comment in the a.m.

and can’t wait to get cranking.

But for now,

it’s me old head to the pillow

ah…….nuffin like it.

Happy Writing All!!!

Poem #10

Awkward conversation

This is for the man who rang my phone at 11:57pm last Wednesday night.
You know who you are.
I picked up the phone expecting conversation,
something enlightening,
maybe some little story about your day,
maybe you’d ask about mine….I don’t know.
Instead it went more like….hello….. to which I responded ……hey what’s up?
and then silence for about 10 seconds.
In case you didn’t know,
10 seconds of silence is a long time of quiet at the beginning of a conversation.
So, me, already feeling the call of my pillow in the crook of my neck says sooooooo?
as if to remind him of his purpose for ringing my phone;
As if I need to spell out to this grown up why he even picked up the phone-
In case he forgot who he called or what he needed…….
Why he existed at all….whatever the reason was
Then he says-‘I just wanted to say hi.”

Now my brain explodes.
Now, I am in between the questions and the motives.
Now, I am searching for explanation that is not on his tongue not on his lips
probably not even on his heart –
But I am trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.
So before I pounce I breathe.

I say “that’s nice” as if I am speaking to a child.
I say “is that all you wanted to say?”
leaving him the space to be himself,
Leaving him the room to move around,
To spread petals on the floor
To pull a book off the Shelf
give a news report
To tell me about his day
inquire about mine
ask me what I ate for dinner
I leave him room to step
To roam around
All this empty space
I am waiting for him to fill but there is only silence.
Deafening silence.

So many words unsaid and now I am growing irritated.
Irritated that he bothered to call
With nothing to say
With no story to tell
No interesting facts to share
Or wisdom to wield
And then he asks “are you getting ready for bed?”
To which I respond- “I’m already there.”
And I can hear him smile.

Now, I am questioning motives again.
I tell him ‘I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.’
I wait.
He says- “I wish I was there.”

And I let the words lay dormant a while.
I let them sit inside the crevice of the stream he planned-
Let them dangle on the line squirming for the life he thought they’d have.
I leave them there long enough to get cold;
Become awkward.
Long enough for him to deliberate, theorize, contemplate.
But all he says is -“did you hear me?”

As if I needed to hear the words again
Hear him confirm what I already believed
I say -“yes”.
Nothing else. Silence again.
I don’t need to respond.
There is nothing here that demands my reply.
This is the white noise that is left between two people
When there is nothing left to feel-
When silence changes the atmosphere
When all he wants is booty or warm body just for a night
Maybe he misses my French toast and eggs in the morning
Or the way he used to press himself into the outline of my body
When we slept
But I am not some shallow form
I am not some pit stop on your way to being alone
I am not your late night snack or early morning coffee
I am not that girl
And the silence speaks volumes and I hope it reminds you again
That this is not the place to come to hang your hat
Or fill your belly or read a book
You have other places for that
so I let him hang himself with the rope
he brought when he picked up the phone to call me.

He says-“I guess you’re tired” as if I need an excuse
As if I don’t hear his quiet plea
I say…”yeah, definitely so”. He says “ok, I will call you tomorrow “
But what he doesn’t know is
Tomorrow, I won’t even pick up the phone.

All I Am

By Sandy Lender

You can take all I have
and all I am
Then I will dance here in the dark
and all I am
will find a way to praise You.

Prompt #10: poem in response to ‘Moonshadow’

 

“And if my colours all run dry…”

 

I’m being followed by a plague doctor

plague doctor   plague doctor

Fœtid breath of death

Slip of leather soles over stone

I hear him     creeping closer.

 

Behind his beaky mask

lurk no colours. His eyes as dry

as his clawed fingers, curled

into talons rend & tear rend & tear

leathery and skeletal.

 

I’m being followed by a plague doctor

plague dreaming    plague dreaming

all his teeth    north and south

rend & tear   rend & tear

caught between them, my skin

burns & withers

my lungs fill with fire

I can’t breathe

 

I’m being followed by a plague doctor

plague coming   plague coming

And if I ever lose my heart

if the plague tears it apart

it will not break. It will not.

Poem 9 (Hour 9) Qundeel

I wish, I have a cottage

Just behind the treeline

There will be no noise

Enjoy the abundance of cloys

I made a strange porridge

Its heat attracts a firefly

Which sits on the bottle

To share my meal and love

Suddenly, I broke my dream

And breathe in lethargy of life

Moonshadow (Hour 10)

Moonshadow

Guitars.
Gentle music.
Patterned shirts.
Bell bottoms.

The girl that was me hovers near as I listen to Moonshadow.
“Remember when you wore mini-skirts?” she taunts.

She’s right. I’m not that girl now.

“If I ever lose my …” croons Moonshadow.
The girl that was says, “I won’t ever.”

But I have.

Losing, losing, lost.
Lost the days of quasi hippiness.
Lost the days of quasi happiness.
Lost the slender figure.
Lost the energy.
Lost the innocence.

Moonshadow has an answer, though.
“I won’t have to … anymore.”

And I don’t.

For every loss there has been a bonus, a blessing, a better perspective.
A better me.

Moonshadow?

Moonshadow is a strange song

“If I ever lose my hands, I won’t have to work no more.”

Is this searching for a bright spot in a tragic loss?

If I ever have to give up working, it will sadden me to my core.

 

I do not remember seeing a shadow created by the moon

Maybe the next late night, with a full or new moon will take me out the door,

just to look and see, are there shadows then?

or is it just Cat Stevens’ lore?

 

By Nancy Ann Smith,   Amherst,  OHio

June 27, 2020    Poetry Marathon

 

 

VIRUS

They say the virus lives on
surfaces. It’s shallow.
To make up for the handicap,
it plunges into the depths
of the lungs, terrorizing cells,
skyjacking airways, tearing
through tissue and membrane,
galloping in the blood, filling
every pore, entering the bone.

It knows its way without eyes,
it speaks to its kind without
speech, it creeps, multiplies,
and without any restraint. It
does not hide its face because
it is faceless, and yet we have
given it the honour of a name,
we have made room for it,
and we are feeding it well.

It has become a shape-shifting
thief, a master of disguise,
catching us while we breathe,
toppling our governments,
spiriting away our economies,
and yet it does not know love,
or laughter, it has no memory
of past peace, even as it wages
its silent war within us.