The Poetry Marathon

Zoom Bomb

In these pandemic times
our poetry events are virtual,
Hollywood Square boxes
with smiling faces waiting
for feature poets, open mic,
a chance to chat at the end.

Last night, I was a feature,
wore a sparkly purple top,
matching eyeliner and shadow,
mascara and a hint of violet
on my lips, gold dangle earrings
and I was ready for my close-up.

Not long after assembling
in our Zoom Room, we were bombed.
I had heard of it happening but this
was my first raid. It was horrid,
fuzzy video but enough seen,
depraved audio that flushed my cheeks,
turned my stomach, made me gasp on mic.
How could he, such debase verbiage,
taunting to shut down our meeting,
and then he was joined by another guy
and then, a female.

Our host was remarkable, cool and
calm efficient, muting the diatribes,
ushering them out, zooming to slam
the virtual door – she was our hero;
we resumed our poetry event, which was
an amazing assemblage of poets from
around the world, over 40 participants
with the open mic.

Perhaps the raiders would be disappointed
to learn that they didn’t stop our event,
didn’t crush our spirit, didn’t destroy
our human sense of ethics with their trash talk.
I do wonder how empty their lives must be
that bombing a Zoom poetry event
is how they get their kicks.

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 4

Dear Thomas,

Your sage advice, your guidance and observations
Have been turned to memes
by the likes of those you surely rallied against
posted often and loudly proclaimed as beliefs of their own
but never really understood
No use to address them
akin to administering medicine to the dead

Such a Paine.

In fond remembrance,
Bia

Your profile depicts elegance of an aristocratic past

ripe with jewels in hair and neck.

Your skin illuminates the canvas as it contrasts

with the black fabric draped to the ground.

Your shoulders seem soft and smooth

as they radiate down your white arms.

Your waist is a fraction of itself chided by a corset.

Yet, you look comfortable and confident as you pose

for the artist, who is obviously in love with you.

Hi fellow poets

I am Lee, the author of Lee’s poetry corner page on Facebook and have named myself “lepetitpoetry” as I am tiny in stature, a lover of the romance of French language.

I am a grounded young mom, teacher and writer. I have a pure heart, a hippie soul and a free spirit. I immerse myself into my poetry to create my own Utopia and am loving being a part of this incredible experience. This is my first marathon. I am in South Africa so wondering how I will get through the night part now but I am certain that your talent will encourage me to mow on.

Would love to connect with you all.

Good luck and happy writing x Lee

Dear friend

I remember the last time we met ,

The gossips we had , the frolic

Of having iced popsicles, and how

We parted away ,on that day, and now it

Has been years that we haven’t met

Our roads are different I know

But somewhere I hope we will meet

In rendezvous , I have faith in how the distance between us

Would only strengthen the bond between us

And I hope again , someday sipping into a

Clay – cup of masala tea

Maybe near the metro station of Rashbehari

We would spill the beans of long quelled

Secrets , laugh and giggle away at childhood jokes  and

Visit our favourite playgrounds as we did in

The tenderness of childhood .

Fire bright at top,

Colored waterfall does form,

Time takes to the end

Leaving still hue spilled about:

This small flame is out.

12:00 PM Poem

Elizabeth Wingert

A Letter

I hope this letter finds you well,
If you can be well – or not, where you now are.
And where is that? I wish you could say.
Or tell me anything really.

If I could see you once more,
I’d hug you tight and full of love,
Tell you I have a good life,
A husband, friends, a job.

I’d like to wander memory lane with you,
One last time.
Remember your garden,
How you would teach us the names of all the plants?

Before heading inside for lunch
And The Archers on the radio,
Games and books,
Cartoons on the TV.

Quiet, easy days in school holidays,
So many years ago.
I’m all grown-up now,
And you are long gone.

But never forgotten.

Dear Daddy,

You still visit in my dreams. I miss you being here, of course. You’d be really old, too. Still, there’s so much I’d like to know. You left so long ago, and I thought I’d remember it all. I do and I don’t.

Thank you for answering my questions and fixing the issues. I know you helped, as you always did. Keep it coming and remember me, and help Mom. I am sure, in time, you can help her remember.

I just miss you. Always will. Keep the visits frequent. It’s always good to see you in my dreams.

I love you,

Your little star . . .

Your little one . . .

The peaceful heavens above will curse me

For I have taken another hard drink

Bright golden light, i will never see

Into a dark bloody abyss, i sink

My mind is molted with red and black

Every sin arouses my beating heart

Fear is stabbing, painfully on my back

While muscles and limbs are torn apart

Angels playing harps, I will never hear

Beautiful white clouds won’t hold me afloat

For eternity, I’ll wish i was there

Instead, my soul rests in a bloody moat

I’ve been told, hell is for heroes

It’s for us plain zeroes