The Poetry Marathon

My day on a sixth sense

For what is worth, I woke on the good side of my bed

My spines felt impulses and the brain knew

The dusk spells out fog

Like a tobacco weed elongating my sleep

My hand spread out to the silky touch of the sheet

Breathing in the fresh taste of brewed caffeine

My sight are cleansed with the brightness of the sun

Off I jumped on the lacy pant of my wooly coat

With a glance to my window

A beautiful white flake on a free ledge

On my couch, I sat

My coffee on right

My remote on left

Ready for a Netflix battle

It screams Stranger things

it’s gonna be a jollyday.

 

Blackout poetry

Page from Theatre Annual, Americans in Transnational Performance

roll dice for first cut, then second, then I cut every other word

 

and fiction

bodiliy to one

performers such power that

being women to

not medium fluidity

personifications, perspective adoption

their for their presence

was on one authenticity

realness and the dress

to a fundamental bodies

the event and also

critical these of

very powerful statements and to

form, transforming the racial

experience of testimony

these performances validity

experiences motion, so they shared others

and the entanglements

adoption performance

impact their enhanced

and effectively live

both their

in particular themselves

transnational strongly performed

the adoptee

she were

emotions

just why feel

especially their life

don’t

experiences, perceive reflected

performance.

#6 ~ Prompt 6 ~ Another Grand Day

 

It’s a perfect day

with grandkids around.

Only a grandma

truly loves the sound.

 

When one starts talking

then another one too.

Total mayhem

what’s a grandma to do?

 

But don’t look stressed

or confused you know.

Or the kids will think,

“Do we have to go?”

 

But embrace the blessing

with the five God’s given.

And enjoy each second

as long as I’m livin!

 

Blessed with five precious grandkids

by Del Bates

These words are not yours

These words are not yours

‘I am not a fighter’ Brigitte Poirson

Mother, these are not your utterances.
You do not talk to me without light in your voice,
without adding a pinch of hope on my tongue.

You would tell me to hang on, on days
when the wind breaks off chains,
seeking to devour bodies prone to surrender

to darkness, to nightmares and to death.

There’s a way a possessed sea rages:
my mother’s demons have resurrected,
perhaps with more entourage.

And this is why my heart bleeds before you
to show you how far you’ve wandered
from your body, believe me, mother.

You taught me to walk the world
with songs as lamps around my head,
hunting my grief as game in the forest,

and not to surrender to torments.

My Perfect Day

No where to go.
No one to be.
A leisurely morning
with no one but me.

The freedom and space
for whatever I please.
I might sit down at the piano
and plunk on the keys.

Or take a walk through the garden,
spend some time with the birds.
Or I could read or write something–
feed my romance with words.

Whatever I do,
it’s all up to me.
My perfect day
allows me to just be.

‘In vacant and in pensive mood…’

An unhurried awakening,
a wafting in of all that is salubrious and sylvan.

The defenestration of belched acrimony,
even as there is a whiff of osmotic wholesomeness near at hand.

A mindless meandering, a rambling ratiocination,
a souk soaked in succulent serendipity.

Cassiopeia on a lost, listless horizon and copper-coloured, cloudy, cocktail skies.

You…and the non-intrusive and natural night.

Hour 5 prompt 3 (Poem 5)

MAYHEM IN THE CITY!!
Bop Poetry

Lights dim concurrently
Noise breaks out intermittently
Shots fired ! screams heard
Lights switched on hastily
Hearts pumping, cries bellow, wind blows!
Wonder what’s happening now in the city!

Darkness looms at the end of days, let the light come in for a change!

Screams and cries fill the city
Gun’s barking, indicating gloom and doom
Another life taken, another one bite the dust
Drugs, guns and scamming gigs
Mourning fills the nights air
Death has crept in so clear
Holes of pain, torment and strife
Fills the air it makes breathing tight!

Darkness looms at the end of days, let the light come in for a change!

Crime is on the rise, what do we do?
In this great and devastating demise
Send in the military, close down the city
Block every border, stop the trade
Stop scamming, Guns and Drugs
Lock them up in a place of lights

Darkness looms at the end of days, let the light come in for a change!

All rights reserved copyrighted(c)2020 Roxann A Harvey-Lawrence

Hour 6 – FORBID

Strangers, sandwiches. Shapes.
Friends, fridays. Fabrications.
Seduce her, sensualize her. Satisfaction?
Love? Labels! Lies!
Betrayed. Babblings.. Background..
Murder. Murmur. Melody?
Death. Debates. Dampens.

H.6 – Meander

My body shivers  ice growing in my veins, my cheeks, my fingers, trying to slip into my winter coat, rocks crunch beneath my boots, each step a morning song, l think in tha rays of first light rounding the earth, my soul speakng bird wings sprouting sweeping me into the heavens.

2020 – 6

No buzzing.
No vibration, no noise, no melody.
A pleasant stillness.

A little ball of fur,
Curled up by my side,
Soft and peaceful.

The smell of rain, perhaps.
Mingling with the smell
Of deep dark coffee.

A chill in the air.
The smoothness of a pen
In my hand.

Transference of thoughts
Through the ink
Onto paper.