The Poetry Marathon

The Corona Blues (HR 9)

The year of 2020 was supposed to be a 20/20 vision
Everyone making plans of becoming great

Counting down the old year to bring in the new

No one knew this year was going to be so cruel

Fires taking the lives of billions of animals

A possible chance at going to war

Kobe lost his life alongside his daughter and seven others

A pandemic that would spread global

Police brutality at full force

Protesting, looting, rioting

Street painted with Black Lives Matter

Confederate statuses being torn down

No one knew that wearing a mask would become the new normal

Please stand 6 feet apart, practicing social distancing

This is the modern version of staying in your own personal bubble

Hundreds of thousands dying from unseen forces

Kids taken out of school; parents becoming homeschool teachers

Students wearing their caps and gowns so they can graduate from Zoom

Everyone in a panic, fighting over toilet paper…

…hand sanitizer bottles, empty shelves

The whole country under quarantine, locked down for weeks

This has been the strangest year thus far

This isn’t how everyone envisioned it to be

The government said it would all go away with the heat

Yet it’s summer and the numbers are still rising

I sit everyday trying to make sense of everything

But I can’t quite wrap my mind around all the shenanigans

All I can do is pray and talk to God

Trust His Word and believe that it will all eventually come to an end

COVID-19 won’t defeat me

Christ Over Viruses and Infectious Diseases

Joshua 1:9

Share Kindness (Hour 10)

Moments slip by in the blink of an eye,

Minutes to hours, then days have gone by.

Look up from your screen at the people who are near,

time is quite precious, let your feelings be clear.

Kindness is needed, treat others with respect,

Let’s be the difference that’s needed,

Let’s give others our best.

Moonshadow

To accompany Cat Stevens’ opening lines
the church bells rang in
tambourine and centuries old bronze

To if I ever lose my eyes
the golden sun ripples through
green-leafed trees

To if I ever lose my legs
two children pass by
peddling with laughter

To if I ever lose my mouth
my dog barks back
to my neighbor’s hello

It didn’t take long to find
the faithful light

And what else would I do
but stay the night

[Prompt 10: Please listen to Moonshadow by Cat Stevens and then write a poem as soon as the song ends.]

Cozy Cottage

Strange little cottage

masked by the tree~line

 

Her hidden oasis

 

Where

Fireflies and Fae

zoom through the

summer heat

 

Her bottle of wine

and heavy porridge

Not helping

her lethargy

 

Core

Gentle yearning for something more,
Delicate dissecting of warm light,
Hopes manifest seeing hopeless surroundings,
Filtering untamed tempers and knowing love stands behind,
Interacting only with that love, shadows searing from light,
Attention intention and prayerful humbleness
Toddler thrashing seen no matter how old,
Like cartoon storm eye continually calm,
Vagabonding abroad with bounds,
Focuses the heart on a feeling not spatial,
Carry in my core – seen only as sense of self,
Not embodied and I think I can take it with me.

untitled

as i read my poems about you i realize.

 

it wasn’t love,

it was a cry for help. that you chose to ignore.

 

can’t get mad at you,

i was the only one that heard myself screaming.

 

 

 

 

Skay Hour 10

Beliefs

My Monstera Adansonii leaves
Have large gaping holes
Where light breaks through on the other side.
Leaves with windows she said.
If you peer through them you can see
The soul of the world outside.
Sometimes you can see the world
Beyond.
That’s why the leaves have slits, she said.
Then she lit camphor to drive spirits away

Prompt 10: Birds of No Recognizable Feather

You’re so strange
You’re so strange
You’re so strange

They say that. We see them mouth that on the other
side of the glass.

We call back:

You’re so mean to each other
We’re all kind to one another
All we have is each other,
why don’t you come over?

They don’t stop making
ugly faces on the other
side of the glass.

We have so much to say to one another.
What can they be thinking, we wonder,
to be so angry?

One future dream, the one that doesn’t die
at booted feet:
You tell us why your right to others’ misery
makes you so angry.

If that makes sense to you,
how am I the strange one?

prompt # 10

I am being followed by my own memories

own memories flooding through me on fast forward

of a cassette tape.

without my hands —

I can not work

I can not eat on my own

I can not read or write.

 

I am being followed by my own memories,

own memories, own memories.

 

without my eyes —

I can not see familiar faces.

I can not see colors.

I can not see to understand.

 

I am being followed by my own memories,

own memories, own memories.

 

without my teeth

I can not eat a nice juicy steak or a good ole sandwich.

i can not talk.

 

whats the use of living?

These memories keep following me.

What year is it? Who is the president of the USA?

I saw the light

I felt my hands

I could come up with a word or two

They put on one of my favorite songs

my memory came and stayed

in that moment

all was right with me.

 

 

 

 

 

Upstairs

Upstairs

Everything I need is upstairs
when I’m downstairs. A full flight
of stairs is exactly what happened
when I was rushing off to work,
arms full, pocketbook that seemed
lined with bricks, tote bag brimming
with essentials, and I’m late for work.

As if the steps are made of ice, I fly,
arms flapping, bags dropping, feet
pirouetting out-of-balance and I crash
land on the side of the stairs. How I got
there, I’ll never know. Our inquisitive dog,
Snapple, standing over me, asking
“What are you doing on my floor, Mommy?”
I don’t know sweetie but it’s not good.

I sat on the stairs for a little while
before getting up, limping a little,
and going to work. Not good.
A few hours later, I’m at urgent care
shaking my head in disbelief. I broke
my knee. It’s the day before Halloween
and I’m hosting a poetry costume party
the next day. My costume: a bride
and with my bruised knee and swollen ankle,
I could be Frankenstein’s mate. X-rays say
stay off it but it’s poetry, I’m the host,
and I can’t. Cocktail length skirt shows
my brace but that’s ok. My husband knows
when it comes to poetry, it’s useless to protest.

Later, at home, not good. I am miserable.
Every blasted thing I need is upstairs
because I am trapped downstairs. I try
to improvise, use calendar boxes as
a haiku journal, but the pen leaks blotches.
Paul had to run some errands so it’s me
and Snapple. I finally find the courage to crawl
backwards up the stairs. It took an eternity
to figure out how to get off the floor in the hall
but I did it; Snapple helped. Bliss. Upstairs,
my pillow, my bed, pens and journals, it’s good
until Snapple has to go out. Urgent.

Useless to cajole Snapple, I ride the stairs down
like a playground slide, collide with the front door
just as Paul opens it. Not good. Now, I’m strapped
in the recliner, stacks of pens and paper beside me,
my pillow under my head, Snapple sleeping
next to the chair guarding my every move,
and no way I’m going upstairs for a long long time
and, I confess, that’s good.

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 10