The Poetry Marathon

Hour 3

Forgotten

 

Here are some names you might not know-

Tony McDade

Nina Pop

Riah Milton

Dominique ‘Rem-Mie’ Fells

Monika Diamond

 

Black trans matter lives

 

Some people say

Black lives matter

Includes black trans people

The “all lives matter”

Of the black community

They say gender and sex are the same

That we create division where there should be unity

Transphobia over love

Leaving those most vulnerable to fend for themselves

 

Black trans lives matter

 

But we will not forget our brothers and sisters

Our non-binary family

Their lives will not be taken in vain

They receive hate from both sides

The black community

And the gay community

 

Black trans lives matter

A Carving of A Chinese Fisherman

Once upon a time, I smiled so broad, so regularly
My eyes big and bright and blue; I was only three
A tow-haired child who taught herself to read,
Who remembered everything; and now, with eyes of blue-grey-green
At forty-five, I’m honey-blonde; I hide and rarely beam
Lips curled more often distantly, in nostalgia and memory –

Old fisherman, carved so long ago, is it the fish that keep you smiling?

Today, the house I love is quiet, still and cold
No grandmother in the kitchen, as in days-of-old
No grandfather smoking cigarettes – so bad, we’d all been told
No ump-teen children visiting neighbors, all so bold;
To this land of salty air, I return, to heal from months of mold
To the land of my birth with skies of blue, beauties dreamt of, long-extolled
In northland years, while (unbeknownst) my heart, my mind were controlled
And I stayed away, a make-believe-love having sold me a bill of gold

Old fisherman, carved so long ago, is it the fish that keep you smiling?

Quiet. All is quiet, now; and still – except deep in my heart
Where songs still reach and rivet me; whence springs any of my art
Except flowing through my mind, where memories burst and smart
And yet, it is here, where I was born, I’ve hope of a fresh start
Here, where perhaps I may live, despite having to live apart
Dare I take it piece-by-piece? Choose love a la carte?

Old fisherman, carved so long ago, is it the fish that keep you smiling?

3

3/

bullet blender breaks
floating flakes freeze frame
shit storm surges surely
memories mornings make

What Difference

They begin days ahead
of the holiday
snap crackling pops and booms
One rattles the windows
“How is that legal?” we ask
but no one is arrested

The difference, an FBI sound expert says, is gunshots are all the same volume,
but firecrackers get louder and then softer and then louder again.

Our dog shivers behind the sofa
won’t even go out to pee
RayRay stays locked in his room
earbuds in all night and day
Both have been
on the receiving end
of the guns men held
in their hands

The difference, an FBI sound expert says, is gunshots are all the same volume,
but firecrackers get louder and then softer and then louder again.

“Fire in the hole!” the neighbor yells
before the sonic boom
I shove another pill in cheese
to feed the dog
throw out another bag
filled with RayRay’s empties

The difference, an FBI sound expert says, is gunshots are all the same volume,
but firecrackers get louder and then softer and then louder again.

[Prompt 3: Bop poem]

Now.

The world, as we know it
far too volatile, far too long
ignited by guiltless death
tragically not uncommon
finally not unnoticed
my city, my neighborhood

over and over again, the
worldwide video refrain..

They/we killed him outright
representing us as community
complicit far too long
we bear the senseless death
as if it were our knees, guns
now video proof of our evil
screams from every newscast
each protest, placard for justice

over and over again, the
worldwide video refrain…

Brought now to the light
we can no longer complain of
the harsh glare of the truth
the time for saying we will
‘do better’ is long passed
now is our reckoning

over and over again, the
worldwide video refrain…

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2020
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Bop attempt from voiceless space

Waking with fuzzy hair, I just met Bop today
as nobody expected, shamely invited it on a date,
this somebody or someone got awkwardly silent,
I was its reflection on mirror that couldn’t watch.
We both heard the golondrina morning sound,
Mind something in the roof, or in my mind.

Beyond of all, locked people are still feeling fine

How I’ll get there with noise in my head and fuzzinez inside?
maybe Bop and I just met today so we got an insight,
I’m myself a trash can of idead, but Bop is there being balm,
playing or saying that everything is about to somehow be okay
remind me of how life is a struggle or how things gone to far,
Its somehow comforting about madness or apocalypse, calm,
do I must give it coffee, tea, some kind of liquid dight?
or again it’s maybe that we got to know eachother right?

Beyond of all, locked people are still feeling fine

I got instead an idea of cutting the bad things around,
listening the bugbie or dogs by the chaos in their bark,
or watching the rampage passings of a group of cars,
they look chill, making a delay smoke like no one cares about,
Chalco and Ixtapaluca are here, breathing earth and warm,
Bop is still trying to tell me to not be affraid of earthquake sound.

Beyond of all, locked people are still feeling fine.

The Partisans

Unsettled scores four ago

Charlatans disgorged our secrets

Picked at the scabs, pulled at the seams

Poured on the Gasoline

Every man for himself

Taking up arms against the Other

 

 

One step to the center and please. And hurry.

 

Into the news decade come the factions

Alternately storming or limping

Battle hardened, worn and weary

Unready for a plague

Unrest

Reset a few frozen ideologies

Melt identities

Together anew or further askew?

 

One step to the center please. And hurry.

 

The solution is not November

Opportunities arrive much more than every four

We are people within

Not only partisans

Surrender your opinions

Hold up the banner of human

 

One step to the center please. And hurry.

 

I WANT YOUR #REALNESS – Hour 3

I WANT YOUR #REALNESS

 

there are other humans in the world with me

sloppy, uneven, unnerved, smushed thru today’s garlic press

not one of them is perfect / not one of them is imperfect

striving falling straining in a heated scream hushed out to chuckle

absurdity beyond our comprehension / much less our making

so who are these scrubbed automatons I see on this portable screen?

 

I know you’re my neighbor, friend, but are you Jones or Rogers?

 

if I tried to keep up with your makeup crew I’d fail, so I don’t.

if I talked in that News Tonight Tone I’d scream, so I won’t.

Rogers had a soft tone too, with no demand for me to fall in line

we could take neighbors to mean friends not competitors

if we were hurting he would listen and take us to the Land of Make Believe

don’t trip, your sweet talk takes us there too — but to stoke a fear instead of calm it

We’re looking for the helpers but all you’ll show us are the riots

We’re looking for a leader and all our choices left are rapists.

 

I know you’re my neighbor, friend, but are you Jones or Rogers?

 

listen could we just quit the bullshit? I’m in love with humanity

every enlightened being comes to wholeness through ignorance

I never needed my models photoshopped and I never asked for a superhero.

If you believed in your best then I could too. I’d even bet we all could.

I’m not in competition to “keep up with” anyone, not even myself.

No hands will come to save us, whether perfect or imperfect.

 

I know you’re my neighbor, friend, but are you Jones or Rogers?

Perception Often Flawed-prompt #3

Trusting one’s own perception is often flawed

The ideas sweep by faster than the mind records

Productivity restricted by imagining future rewards

Promises of happy endings for a young girl’s efforts

Broken-hearted realization of self-delusion

Faithfully pursued, creating confusion

Hope dies not, valiant tries in deepest thought

Study, read, talk it out,

Search for truth and what it’s about

Foundational teaching at Pappa’s knee

Precious words he would read

Juxtaposed against the world

Belief in God her heart would hold

Understanding dreams might wait

Answers may come very late

Hope dies not, valiant tries in deepest thought

Success for others seems always there

Why not her? Doesn’t He care?

Standards set so high, will they be met?

A deeper look for what is that truth in she,

Reveals a self-fulfilling prophecy

Forgiving and holiness must begin with me.

Day 790

Tis tragedy they say
That begins to lead us astay
The need to subdue
The unworthyness
Exposed at a tender age
Sex, drugs and alchohol were ALL the rage.

I am me, I am free

Monster, after monster
Subject of physical abuse
And mental torture
Embracing the demons
Relieved the crushing weight
Avoiding reality, for my sanity
Words to paper grew
As I began to explore

I am me, I am free

An emergency, opened the door
To recovery, and spiritual discovery
When I admitted, I was addicted
The heavy cloud of shame shifted
Still working on becoming healthy
Both mentally and physically

I am me, I am free