The Poetry Marathon

Poem 3 (Hour 3) Qundeel

“Fake Riches”

Is love the right of only rich?
The person who has drowned in money
Gold and property are key of admiration
But internally, he is hollow
Hollow like an empty skeleton
I don’t want to be rich like that!

People spend life in collections
Collection of material things only
Their standard is just to show off
New houses, tops and world tours
Are they attained much riches?
Or trying to hide their skeleton face
Mask after mask, only they have to do.
I don’t want to be rich like that

They have everything not time.
They have wealth, not health
Are they foolish or really fine
Spending everything, couldn’t earn time.
Cessation of time, felt by a poor hat
I don’t want to be rich like that.

The Orator

By Sandy Lender

 

I craved understanding of his message.

The ranting.

The raving.

That rabid passion could divert rivers

to water desert lands.

 

His eyes flashed like lightning announcing storms.

Intensity.

Piercing me.

His voice thundered from the pulpit like Malachi

Prophesying,

Signaling doom.

 

Drenched by the waves of his words,

We swayed,

We shouted,

We screamed.

Caught up by the virtues he triggered in us,

We rose up.

We rose up.

 

The fire in his belly ignited the crowd.

We rose up,

As a force.

And we thrashed from the hall

to take over the world,

Watering already flooded lands.

 

Poetry Marathon Submission #5

Perseid's Shower
Submission #5
Ann WJ White

We laid on our backs. Lake Itasca, the beginning of the Mississippi parkland.
A family waiting for the dusk to transmogrify into night full of stars and silence.
Waiting for meteors to travel at thirty-five seconds per mile above us. 

You joked this was the first time you had laid in a gutter, on purpose, that the stars
would be hammered into place as the kids giggled. The in-between us settled watching for
constellations. The ranger beamed a flashlight and told sky tales,
 
pointed out stars from above. Glowing, she taught us curiosities, sent clear streaks
of light back and forth, until we froze motionless; fire, red flaring rocks, burning,
streaking past our eyes in clusters of fifty or more, as barred owls called.

The cascade gathered Perseus's streak and tales of fame, dissolving into clouds of matter. 
The Perseids, through black air from a comet Swift Tuttle, flaming along their gaseous tails,
burning within our our atmosphere, never landing. A dance of freedom.

One hundred meteors an hour, two hours on the ground, warm air, soothing night breezes
breathing as small soft snores filled the air, fading into dreams. Hushful waking.
We silently gathered blankets, sleepy eyed children, and found our tent.

Lullaby #1

It’s not a pretty sound
It never was
It sounded like wheels grating
Stony, gravelly
It made you itch
A wound you couldn’t reach
Gave you no peace
Slowly, silently
I fell asleep

Prompt #5 And Poem #5 ” Golden Hour” by Ingrid Exner

Looking out across the

forest of green

I feel bathed in

Tranquility.

 

A peaceful mist

moves gently

through this valley

shedding Etheral

Light.

 

Tree tops glow

in this majesty

of Morning.

 

I stand amazed

and  baptized

in this Golden Hour.

 

Poem 5 by Ingrid Exner, Poetry Half Marathon 2020

The Revolt Poet – Gang Mentality

Racism is, as it has always been, giving the unintelligent man,
An excuse, to help him explain, and understand,
His mediocrity, in spite of being dealt the winning hand,
And finding still, the game of life not going quite to plan.

Look. If you do feel as though to belong in this land,
And feel safety, you feel you must join a clan,
Make sure it’s Wu Tang,
Not Klu Klux, please understand:

Regardless of what the mass media tells you.
Do some research. The practice of lynching continues.

‘Noted’ (old poetry)

it’s raining.

my eyes glued to the window, i need them for writing though.

my book is full of stories i’ve yet to read. i just need to finish them.

i write better when i’m in Love. Infatuation, if you will.

still raining. it’s nice out though.

my chicken scratch makes chickens scratch.

i hate this damn job but job hopping is harder.

i wrote a sonnet in my head. too bad it’s not on paper.

this poem sucks ass. maybe i possibly suck ass.

nah.

rain is moody.

made a new playlist. already bored.

i’m bored.

i’m still not infatuated.

still raining. on my unwritten poems.

October

As the night settles into the cooling of autumn
the lake mirrors the illimitable sky
and on the dock, between the mirrored indigo of all direction
we drift in the ether.

There is no sound but the drum of our hearts
caught breaths of words far too afraid to whisper
and the buzzing of phones that we fiddle with
while I wait, you wait, the moon follows our hesitance.

Leaning in as the night continues to dim,
the blanket of your sweet voice offers the dreamy relief
and what I already know–and accept
was infused in the tears that fell onto your lap.

There is no need for somber sighs
to seek answers, to find tangibles
when we can just continue floating blissfully
in the blue, hand in hand till dawn.

(💚 you)

Dance Like People Are Watching

I am alone

acting like I’m done acting.

i feel like dancing,

I am in the park surrounded by people.

i bob my head

i rock my body gently.

i smile as my body dances softly.

because I am here with them,

and they are here with me.

the contradiction of soft dancing

and feeling seen

watched

judged

loved

is what reminds me I am human.

 

i dance like people are watching.

because when I dance,

people turn to look.

when I smile, people notice.

and that’s okay.

 

i get to bob my head,

and tap my feet

and sit on my blanket

and smile.

The Stirring – Hour #5

What will you give to this life?

How will yours be spent?

When will you begin your journey?

 

Like heat rising from hot pavement

Our days here are fleeting

They are mere specks of dust on the clock of time

 

Reach out, touch the life you are meant to live

Respond to that stirring in your spirit

For it may not come again.

 

Act with love in your heart

It will guide you sure and true

To the destiny of your choosing.