The Poetry Marathon

Hour 15

A roll of the dice is all life really is

One shot

Two choices

Three decisions

Four outcomes

Five secrets

Six ways to make or break you

 

Thoughts On Life

the grey leviathans of the sky float towards the horizon

as the gods begin to smile upon them

delighted to see their babies come home

they painted them with colors never before seen

and the leviathans danced among themselves

on their long trek across the sky to their home

where the heavens and the earth converge

a place no mortal can arrive

always moving forward getting closer

failing to find safe harbor

facing the vast turbulent seas

some meet their end beneath the deep

some go one almost forever

further than most

forever following the great leviathans

as the gods bestow their praise upon them

envious of those that came before us

we too wish to see the same

 

 

Hour 15 – Inspire love

“I’ve never inspired someone before”

I find that immensely hard to believe

I believe that you may have fallen for

A lie, I know that you have been deceived

 

Who told you you are insignificant?

Who convinced you that you do not matter?

I for one know you are magnificent 

Vulnerability alone flatters

 

I may fall in love easily most days

But I fall in love with people’s moments

With the left side dimple that blooms with praise

The smile, twinkling, shyly represents

 

A moment where you (you!) inspired me

By sharing, being honest, you are free

Down in the Bayou – Prompt Hour 9

It happened in the bayou

     yes way down in the bayou. 

The streets were iridescent 

     in their darkness,

Each lightbulb atop a tall

     pole, broken and shattered. 

A slight magical scent of cinnamon

     floated in the dark swampy air. 

Not even a rising sun 

     red as a newly plucked beet,

Could chase the undesirables away;

     and they had no recourse. 

Not to be defeated and in need

     of drink and water,

A tremble of fear spread throughout

     the group of refugees. 

Without a jacket, scarf or glove,

     all would kick the bucket 

before their second meal unless 

the elk they hunted, would soon fall.

Green (Hour 14)

Green wall with a diamond shape

Looking at my phone

Green Hooded sweater

Sitting all alone.

I am not a clone

I am just an image

We are not apart

It is just a scrimmage.

10 more poems to finish

I am filled with venoms

This is my release

Winning my defeats

Everyword completes

Every nerd competes

Marathons for geeks

I am one of these

I aint one for wars

I am one for peace.

But in wanting peace

I prepare for war

Let us eat the rich

While we feed the poor.

Let the pistols pour

Bodied up the floor

I redact no thing.

Muted birds won’t sign.

If I am tasked to do a service,

I must ask, what is its purpose.

Otherwise, it’s in the furnace,

I cannot be none but earnest.

 

I leave marathons refurbished

Dropping megatons of verbage

Hosting telethons of courage

Homemade teleprompters urgence.

Holy helicopter surgens

Only hell is topped with virgens

Hold me yell and stop them urges

All WE, fail, in godless churches.

 

(Please forgive my stupid questions, and my ignorent mindless ranting, and my lack of understanding, but what’s the purpose of redacting?)

Summer of Broken Rules (Redaction denied) – Hour 14, Prompt 14

Summer of broken rules

smashing glass and jumping in pools

no matter which backyard you choose

eating from fridges, cooking on stoves

blindfold pinning a map to see where to go.

 

Singing in concert halls too good for you

never once worried you’re out of tune

dancing atop the highest height

wobbling, near the edge, at night

never having the slightest fright.

 

Walking on the railroad tracks

daring life till near-train attacks

still, press on and dodge some cars

jumping roof to roof, under stars.

 

Only way to stop this mess

mother’s holler from home address

then freeze, and hang your head so low

there’s only one right way to go.

 

Redaction, they said

to this I dare, instead

like my poem so much

no words shall I touch.

 

– Sandra Johnson, 9-2-2023

(No words were harmed in the non-redaction of this poetry.)

 

 

11:02

Words of Wisdom From the Purple Poet hour 14

Words of Wisdom From the Purple Poet

I never claimed to be wise or a savant
in any way, don’t possess extraordinary
knowledge on any one subject,
never thought of myself as a purveyor
of wisdom but I can share my experience
with you for whatever it’s worth.

Leave sleeping dogs lie is crucial
as is leave husbands sleeping on the couch
alone, let them wake up whenever the dog
decides it’s time to get up, go out, go to bed.

Don’t believe everything you read.
if Cinderella’s shoe fit perfect, why did it fall off?
This too shall pass, yeah, right, like a kidney stone
and it’s gonna hurt.
Back off, if I was meant to be controlled,
I would have come with a remote.
Yes, the truth hurts; you would too
if you were stretched as much.
A thousand mile journey starts with one step;
just watch where you put your foot.

Don’t ever expect anyone ever to do anything
you didn’t ask them to. If they do it, woohoo
be glad there are no grumbles about my time,
or I’ll do it later right before never, maybe,
which is around the time you’ll do it yourself
and do it right.

An apple a day will keep anyone away
if you throw it hard enough.
Since light is faster than sound, some people
may appear bright… wait until they speak.
Know what you want but more important,
know what you don’t want.
Trust dogs; they are a very good judge of character.
If given a choice, pick the purple one.
Words of wisdom, you’re welcome.

~ J R Turek Hour 14

24 Hour Poetry Marathon Hour 15: A Tribute to E.E. Cunningham “The Tick of a Brick”

Poetry
O sweet spontaneity
people, what makes them tick
the
possible demise
thick

words of
philosophy, perspective and art
and
a prick (not what you think)

these
have sometimes naughty looks
an assumed part of
role
not necessarily

beauty .
how
eyes of the beholder
physical acts of propriety
squeezing
hugs etc.

and of course, some conception
Gods or gods
environmental
true (really)

waiting
for a dream
conquering buried imagination
a rhythmic
lover
not always coherent

Right
that is the answer
nonsense
no such thing based
on
some critics

Offerings – Hour 15

Submission in death, Eternity’s undying promise,

That is where my wintry embrace lays.

Ever expectant in savagery and solace,

Sanctified life is no comparison to my offering.

A tithe of; pleasure, pain, desire… ecstasy,

Accession to hearts softening.