The Poetry Marathon

For the world’s loneliest music

 

For the worlds loneliest music

I’m reaching for the stars,

I’m aligning them to my favor.

If the world fails to understand the

Nature of beauty, why must my mother

Be punished by the wheels of existence?

I’m sorry the clock ticks backwards,

I’m sorry the music keeps fading

What’s yet to be revealed to

The angels, is yet to be revealed to

The devil, so if the world fails,

In pursuing communal harmony

Then let the drums sing & sing

To their stomachs content.

Hour 14 – Incoming Message

Waiting for that message

to come through

is like watching paint dry

you look for a sign

that it’s coming

but all you end up doing is

scrolling

and scrolling

let’s see what is on my

Facebook timeline

no, wait!

Let me check my

Instagram

Tick tock (Tik Tok)

time passes

until

*ding*

it comes…

Prompt 14 – Redaction, not reduction

Prompt Fourteen – Text Prompt

Redacting is the act of censoring or obscuring part of a text. Sometimes it is done by the author themselves, and more often it is done by someone else.

I want you to write a poem and then during or after writing the poem choose at least one, or ideally five or more words to redact from the poem. How is the poem changed by this simple act? This is not the same as a “black out” or erasure poem”. The words you are using are your own, and well over 50% of them should be visible.

When writing on physical paper, you can do this easily with a marker, ideally a black sharpie. If you are writing your poem in a Word document, you can use the highlight feature and set the highlight colour to black, this creates a black box over the word or words. Or you can just write the word redacted in place of the word you wanted to use.

 

Redaction, not reduction

A strange new style to use.

I take on the REDACT, cannot refuse.

I continue to cruise,

bleary eyed, weary sighs

Demanding the REDACT of my muse

I stare at the blank screen.

There’s nothing to lose,

Go on, redact away!

But first, say what you need to say.

At this REDACT hour

When even hardened nightclubbers

Have lain down to rest.

We soldier on.

Rolling stiff shoulders on.

Propping each other up

on REDACT.

But then, all it took,

was a generous REDACT

from a fellow writer.

Her words were different,

But what she was really saying

‘Go on, continue playing’.

We can do this – REDACT on!

 

Just Right

It’s hard to explain
The way I feel inside when
A song hits just right

I’m really not sure
If it’s the music or words
Something just hits right

And I am obsessed

Redacted (14)

---

Daylight Prayer

Horizon of pink.
Grey droplets kiss my cheek.
I rise to meet the day.

Sun blooms warm.
I close my eyes
and dwell on thoughts of you.

Returning home,
sun fades
on the horizon— blue and deep.
Thanks for another day.

From My Backyard

The light begins to wane

The fog begins to roll

The bird song lessens

The dogs begin to bark

The night begins to wax

Communication (Not at all)

 

Engifted with new technology,

I wonder what’s left of our ideology,

What remains from our imaginations,

What hopes remains in our visions.

 

When answers automatically pop-up without a question,

Will these still be important?

What are the mysteries remains?

Is there humanity left to sustain?

 

When can we easily reach people from afar?

Is a virtually meet-up will be enough?

Will a chat be our new communication, Or not at all?

I hope we keep the deep conversation.

 

We exchange smiles through emojis,

And other emotions left unsaid,

We fight trolls through our keyboard,

Not knowing they all stuck in our heads.

 

Technology becomes dominant in this modern world,

But what else will be replaced after this?

Our lives? Our Deep communication and Connection?

I hope not, not at all.

 

#POETRYMARATHON2023 #HOUR14 #24HRSCATEGORY

A Pop of Colors

Hour 14

A Pop of Colors

In the secret world of desert blooms
you never know which year
will have just the right amount of rain
to blast color from sand.
They say carpets of multicolored hues
will spread over the land.
You tread a red carpet among
the arms of Saguaro.
You dance between prickly pears
red and vibrant.
It is but a fleeting moment
in the time of high deserts.

The Same Patterns

cw: none

Another pair of kind hands
entered the room. The canary
tried to be good, like it
knew it was supposed to
be. The kind hands were
gentle, and helped patch
it up, and made sure the
curtains were open. But it
was too much – the canary
bit those kind hands. They
did not retaliate, but they
did leave: and the canary
knew, like all the times
before, the hands would
not return.