The Poetry Marathon

The Ideal Day

 

 

 

The Ideal Day…

 

smells of orange peels

past their prime

desiccated in sun…

 

cheers cascade down

like waterfalls

and I can’t get enough…

 

I don’t usually pinch myself

but this warrants the pain

born of pleasure…

 

to finally scream goodbye

to the worst side of ourselves

manifest as Agent Orange…

 

Reality TV once featured a peacock

strutting and fanning his wings

to the adoration of less and less…

 

Until crooked politics

and internet circumvent

couldn’t keep him on our screens…

 

they say smell has the strongest memory

and his septic tank of vision

will fade like a sunset bright from pollution…

 

and I will bite into a crisp Gala apple

to cherish the taste

of something sweet…

 

 

 

dream

splintered wood easel needs sanding

and the coarse, fine haired brushes need cleaning

but the sky is wrapping itself in cloud boas

and the lamp travels the horizon

splashing maroon, cherry and various levels of the fire spectrum

in chaotic sugar streams across the waves,

emerald, teal, aqua, and royal blue, they are

dancing with a shore of muted, grainy crystals of sand

captivated audience of one, I await the explosive ending

The Ultimate Beach Recipe Ruined

Umbrellas galore

Surrounded by so many

Can’t see the ocean

2020, poem 6, prompt 6 – write your perfect day

A perfect day

Seeing a hare in a dew
jewelled field. The smell of scones,
gold dripping over their crispy edges
onto a gilt-edged saucer
and hot tea in a gilt-rimmed cup.
Contentment from filling a page
with sensory images. The silence
of the hovering hawk. A hot poker
sunset and a turf fire.

Me trying to get my future girlfriend / wife in the car to go home

Roses are red, violets are blue the world is on fire and so is my heart for you. I know that sounded cheesy and I know that wasn’t planned but I can show you my puppies if you step into my white van.

Poem #6, Ideal Day, RedStar

Rise and shine,

reach for the sky,

set the intention,

remember the ‘Why’.

Give thanks for the day,

before feet hit the floor,

call love to the heart,

and expect to feel more.

Hit the cold shower,

refresh and awake,

sing while you’re at it,

louder is great.

Hydrate, meditate,

breathwork and prayer,

down-dog, cat-cow,

lion and bear.

Primed for the mission,

full steam ahead,

ready for action,

ready to lead.

Once mission complete,

some quiet reflection,

some time in the garden,

to commune with perfection.

Into the kitchen,

for nourishment,

giving thanks for the food,

feeling blessed for the chance.

 

 

Poem 4 (Hour 4) Qundeel

“Lost Love”

My love, i am buried with you
Without you, I cannot find me too

The day you departed from the world
I am motionless and have been curled

From my day to day activities of life
I am bored and feel under a sharp knife

Your every memory, scratched my soul
I am a dead, crawling towards aimless goal

2pm – six – no title

— and again I seek you, your smile
beckons me,
your eyes looking deep into mine
yet still unknown, while the
music connects us…

Randomly limited to O,R. N, I, E, Qu,E, V, C

Ice quiver

cure on cure

rice, vino

coin our vice

 

iron crone

cue over cue

run over run over

cirque curve

 

vein con

nice cove

ire ounce

corn on corn

The Best Day

Morning sun. A perfectly fried farm-fresh egg.

Toast with home-made raspberry jam. Hands in

garden dirt. Pinching back petunias. Transplanting

beets. Feet moving along park path. Sound shoes.

Dog sniffing critter trails. Sound of tumbling falls.

Tuna sandwich with garden lettuce. Potato chips.

Paddleboards careening along smooth water, sun

warmed skin. Cold water dip.  Back home: glass

of Cabernet Sauvignon on the deck. Roasted

vegetables. Nutty rice. Dance party: Swing Town,

Willy Nelson–cowboy two-step, East coast swing.

Fresh sheets dried on the line. Summer-scented skin.

Tender touch. Sleep like the dead.