The Poetry Marathon

The Answer

Two little birds rested on their perch

The first one asked, “Who do we answer to?

Do we answer to the heavens, to the sun and moon above?

To the stars and the inky blackness of the night that envelopes us in cooling comfort

To the clouds and the wind that rush past us as we soar across the world”

 

And the heavens and the earth smiled

Proud of their creation

 

The second responded,

“What about the earth? Do we answer to her?

The soft ground beneath our feet, calling us to eat

The rushing oceans and rivers, quenching our thirst

And the trees that grow from her, giving us homes and a place to rest our weary wings

She provides us with so much

Why shouldn’t we answer to her?”

The first looked down at the earth below, stumped

 

And the heavens and the earth smiled

Proud of their creation

 

Together they sat. Perched, pondering, children of both heaven and earth

“It is neither,” the first said. “It is both,” said the second

After much deliberation, they said together

“We answer to the other birds who live with us in the heavens and on the earth

Those birds we fly with in the sky, eat with on the ground, nest with in the trees

We answer to them all”

 

And the heavens and the earth smiled

Proud of their creation

 

 

 

 

Recipe for the Ultimate Beach Experience

Ingredients:

1. A book off the bestseller list or just something from the $1.00 bookshelves. Anything will do.
2. “The Big Three.” Otherwise known as your trusty beach umbrella, chair, and sunglasses.

[Sunscreen is optional as it could stain the pages of your book]

3. An endless amount of sand under your toes
4. The sun burning hot on a cloudless day
5. Ocean waves rolling endlessly before you

 

Instructions:

1. Put on your sunglasses.
2. Scour the beach for the perfect place. I suggest one near a lifeguard. When asleep or engrossed in your book, you may not see the tide rising. It is best to play it safe.
3. After reaching the perfect place, bury your umbrella in the sand. I suggest anchoring it securely so that it does not blow away. If that occurs, it will ruin the ambiance created due to the frustration brought on by chasing your umbrella across the beach.
4. After securing your umbrella, set your chair directly towards the ocean. I suggest an unobstructed view of the water for maximum relaxation.
5. After the chair is to your liking, sit in the chair and adjust yourself so that your body is out of direct contact with the sun. I suggest you watch your feet, as they always seem to inch out into the sunlight and become sunburned.
6. Now, bury your toes in the sand and squirm your derriere until you are most comfortable.
7. Pick up your book and beginning reading.
8. Let yourself drift away into endless euphoria.
9. Repeat as needed.

It Doesn’t Matter (hour 3, prompt 3)

I don’t know what’s worse

That I finally gave in and believed

Or that you promised you’d stay

Only to turn around and leave.

I guess it doesn’t matter, anymore

Except I’m here, and you’re not

Surrounded by our broken dreams

Once so full of happiness

Now shattered at the seams

But I guess it doesn’t matter, anymore

I’ll survive, (it’s kinda my thing)

Someday I’ll smile again

Someday I won’t cry for you

Someday I’ll be strong, again

And it really won’t matter, anymore.

~Mandy Kocsis©2020~

 

Bopping with Don Quixote (Hour 3)

Bopping with Don Quixote

I believe that Don Quixote is a worthy hero —
rescuing maidens,
tilting at windmills,
inhaling misguided adventures,
thinking he can save the world,
dreaming the impossible dream.

Quixote has planted a thorn in my heart,
a naive desire to reach the unreachable.

Reaching for the unreachable
leaves one always swallowing failure.
Arms get tired; they ache
from carrying a heavy lance.
The heart gets heavy, too.
The foe is unbeatable,
the sorrow unbearable.
The quest never ends.

Quixote has planted a thorn in my heart,
a naive desire to reach the unreachable.

But Quixote never claimed victory.
He only sought to be true to the quest,
to make the world a better place.
I am like Don Quixote, chasing windmills
without expectation of success.
Satisfied merely to try.

Quixote has planted a thorn in my heart,
a naive desire to reach the unreachable.

H.3 – Breathe

My heart is a little weary.

Broken down and afraid.

It has lost the will to fight

On for another day.

It is slowing, like a calm sea.

No wind left in its sales.

 

No life is a life without air

No life is a life without air.

No life is a life without air,

 

It began to brake so slowly.

One beat at a time,

When love took a walk

Of the cheating kind.

It couldn’t believe the lies.

That fell from your lips.

That hid in your eyes.

Betrayed it started to die.

 

No life is a life without truth,

No life is a life without truth.

No life is a life without truth.

 

I tried to glue it with hope.

I tried ti stitch it with fear.

I tried to jump start it with lust.

But none of it stopped the pain.

That had shattered it like glass.

So l, let rest in peace.

 

No life is a life without you.

No life is a life without you.

No life is a life with out you.

 

 

Toxic Positivity – Prompt 3

The problem with having a rule that you have to be positive

Is that forced positivity

Can lead you – to use the pejorative –

To feeling a bit shitty

When your fake full-beam smile is dull in comparison

To ‘insprational-quote’ Maddison.

 

Because deep down I knew that being authentic

Was the best way to feel really splendid.

 

It was an admirable thing to ban self-doubt

But actually as effective as banning a drought –

The more I was instructed not to be real

The more negatives I started to feel.

It was like the Stepford Wives except on crack –

The Mindfulness Militia on fast-track,

Self-affirmations sung by a gospel choir

Any skeptics cast on the fire.

 

And deep down I knew that being authentic

Was the best way to feel really splendid.

 

After an unwelcome, unexpected reprieve

I found that it really was much simpler to breathe

Without a noose round my neck ready to tighten

If I cried, frowned, questioned or ever got frightened

So I’m practicing my own positivity –

Without a brand or an army – it’s really just me.

 

And deep down I knew that being authentic

Was the best way to feel really splendid.

 

 

Special

Calendar glances – pages to flip,
Renewed morning hope fall into worn grooves,
Frenzie under heavy wet blankets,
Dashing off must escape moment,
Dodging all my accumulation,
Taking years off profiles ’cause nothing to show.

I’ll do something special, just have to wait for it to come.

Mainline endorphine potency release,
Dark coin-side of joy still empty,
Thin scaffold filling unfilled temporal,
Wit meant to be applied somewhere,
Repurposed around to hide this vacant,
Faculties of meaning refashioned debauch,
Festering alone, shackled, addicted,
Hope sands seeping downwards.

I’ll do something special, just have to wait for it to come!

Juggler standing on the devil’s head,
Tiny motions of unused limb,
Unseen exorcism of shadow foe,
Hailing the tiny territory,
Leg bent capsized hanging,
Unpeeled sight of elusive arrival.

I’ll do something special, just have to wait for it to come?

This is Taking Too Much From Me

This pandemic is getting to me
Pandemic led to budget cuts
Budget cuts lead to decreased funding
Decreased funding has caused me to lose my kids
The ones I work with
The ones I care for

This is taking too much from me

I take care of five kids per year
I have done so for the last nine years
They come to me often just from high school
Trying to find their place in the world
And in this institution
And in this job
I take them by the hand
And lead them in

This is taking too much from me

The horrible part is there is no solution
There is no way to fix this
Money being taken away
Often stays away
And I am wondering
When I’ll ever have a brood again

This is taking too much from me

#3 (Bop) – My Flesh and Blood

“Mumma, when will you die?” she asks with

Innocence in her eyes and a smile on her lips,

“Can I keep your unicorn t-shirt as memory once you’re gone?

And sleep on your side of the bed?

I will cry so much Mumma,

When you die.”

 

Says my six-year-old daughter.

 

“Will you neck come clean off if

I pull it hard enough, or

do you need a knife to cut a neck?” she wonders,

“Do you think the bears ran after Goldilocks and

cooked her and ate her up for revenge? Also,

after you are dead, I will not leave you but

I’ll stuff your body and play with you,

like a doll!”

 

Says my six- year-old daughter.

 

“I like ghosts and ghouls and monsters,

and scary things that go ‘BUMP’ in the night,

Why won’t you show me those creepy movies mother –

With the zombies and vampires and weird looking dolls,

and darkness and blood and knives and ‘attackings’?

I love them all – just like you!

 

Says my six-year-old daughter.

 

-Prachi S

ANDREW COTTER ZOOM MEETS WITH HIS DOGS

ANDREW COTTER ZOOM MEETS WITH HIS DOGS

Zoom!  Olive looks worried, those big black labrador eyes stare into the webcam. She’s starting to tear up.  Has she done something wrong? Maybe she’s chewed Andrew’s new shoes, those white nikes worn only twice.  Maybe she’s desperate, pleading to go out. Why won’t Andrew step away from his laptop, end this meeting, open the screen door?  Mabel keeps messing about. She’s fiddling, turning her video on and off, grabbing her squeaky toy, looking anywhere but at Andrew, her dear old boss.  She’s bored, doesn’t want to Zoom anymore.

 

 

NOTES:  After Andrew Cotter’s YouTube video:

“BBC sports commentator holds hilarious Zoom meeting with his dogs”   Posted 5/12/20.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gTvC6pMFByI

         Hour 3, 8 am, PM 2020