The Poetry Marathon

Rock Bottom (Brandy Goodman Poem #4)

Rock Bottom (Brandy Goodman Poem #4)

How do you know when

Rock bottom is where you are?

How can you see

When you’re near or far?

With everyone it’s different.

Is your bottom based on age?

If it’s not, then how

Is your bottom gauged?

The rocks you see at twenty

Aren’t even close to the rock down the line.

When you are pushing forty

The rocks are much more defined.

Does that mean that when you’re young

Rock bottom’s not what you hit?

Even if it feels like you’ve been bled dry

Are you still at the top of the pit?

When I look around me know,

And see all the pain and tears,

It makes me wonder what’s to come

In the next twenty to forty years.

I feel like I’m at the bottom,

Looking at better days up high,

But if I look down, will I see

More rocks to be wounded by?

I guess I’ll never know

Until I get to a time

When rock bottom is the place

From which you have to climb.

2020, Poem 3, not a bop

A Pebble in His Pocket

The poet Dean Tweets a picture daily,
his pebble of the day,
some imprinted with fossils,
one is like a dragon’s egg,
the other the devil’s eye.
I wonder if he takes them home, in his pocket
or under his oxter and I remember
the otter rubbing his river sleek fur
with a rock in each paw, giving himself
an early morning massage. Later he floated
on his back and jungled his rocks for fun.
In Winter he will tuck them into his empty cheeks
to stave off hunger, he might keep
the same rock for all his life,
tucked away safely in a pocket of skin.

Too Many

I’ve written too many letters
to too many ghosts,
ideas that I’ve lost and I faces I don’t remember.

I’ve said too many sorries
to people I feel have done me wrong
because I can’t stand knowing that I have to do the forgiving.

I’ve sent too many threats
empty, wanton pleads
disguised as boasting about how well I handle pain.

I’ve said too much
and listened too little.

Hour 4 – melodies of midnight

Melodies of midnight!
It may kill you inside
But will always heal you back
It will embarrass you horribly
But someday will be your pride
It may be way too sweet
But sometimes, also, the spice of life
Black. Sometimes too white.
The grey melodies of the night
Melodies of midnight!

Hour 4: A letter to…

Dear My Motivation to Write,

Please come back. I need you.

Yours Truly, hdrjvdghjk.

Missing

I tried to find you.

It was so close like a thread snapping.

I went along thinking about you like you are here.

I might see you in the future.

I am not sure if I will see you in the future.

Things change, people change, places change, many things change.

We are becoming new people, we are new people.

I am missing the childhood innocent place with everyone together.

The fact that everyone got along and no one was lost.

No one judged for the big and a tiny bit on the small things.

We could forgive and forget without hard feelings.

We are all missing many things now.

#3 Imperfection (Prompt 3)

She looks in the mirror with sad eyes.
So many questions dribbling in her mind,
As she touches her face with a sigh,
Imperfection is a word that runs dry,
It tastes like acid and vile,
It causes her tears streaming wild.

“Am I beautiful, or my mom lied?”

She puts on her mask, a matted makeup.
Covering the dotted white spots,
Smothering every ragged edge,
Hiding the ugliness that causes her pain,
And again and again, the mirror doesn’t lie.
Now mirror, mirror, what do you think?
Did I hide my flaws and edges?
Concealed it and masked perfectly.

“Am I beautiful, or my mom lied?”

She heard a tugging whisper.
Close your eyes, and hears your heartbeat.
The mirror reflects what you see,
But it doesn’t tell you the reality.
Spotless and flawless is not a standard of beauty.

Tales of the future past

They tell you we are the future of tomorrow but what does tomorrow hold for us seeing our the present is a mess

They tell you to build and improve on your father’s legacy but there’s nothing to improve we need to start afresh from the roots

The root of the problem call it corruption, call it egocentrism anyone you feel like it all comes to one thing how heart and mind everyone cares for themselves and not about building a nation whereby even the least person can have a say or at least afford three square meals a day

Mother nature looks at us with tears in our eyes as how much we hate ourselves and also ruin the planet

We kill beautiful animals and when they are about to get extinct we start looking for a way to stop it, it’s always said that prevention is better than cure

But our hearts have become hard and won’t break or yield to the pleas and the warnings of the news

Seeing the statistics we call it all bunch of lies and just mere figures not knowing they are people trying to save earth and our lives but we keep pollution and endangering species calling them nothing other than food

It’s a pandemic they call corona but the pleas of social distancing has fallen on deaf ears as some make mockery of it saying that it’s all a sham and they are toying with us

We are behaving like Caesar allowing our wisdom (foolishness) to be consumed with confidence

I hope it won’t be too late as we say had i known before we act

A triptych:

He writes in bytes.
A bit, dim-wit
attempt to pre-empt
a result, an insult
to Art. To depart
from convention, quill-wielders detention.

A constraint, a restraint,
perforce to chant in six, rant
in eight, a strait-
jacketed, net-less racqueted
game of shame, one would
not partake of, unless the stake
was a distraction from infraction,
from convention; quill-wielders detention.

So he runs, trips and shuns,
feeble submissions, remissions, revisions.
If there were no fire, would one still hire,
Responders and Warriors? Ponders
as carriers,
Infect and inflict, in conference
and convention- a quill-wielders detention

Hour 4: Dear Mama

mama,

i’m sending my letter up to the skies

to the heavens where you are

i need your hug more than ever

i’m trying to the the sails in the boat

where is the thunderous wind?

i want to tell you that you left a good map

to navigate the seas

you’re still my guiding star

my true north

to the moon and back