The Poetry Marathon

Paranoia

September 19 is coming.

Confusion lying in wait

At the polling units.

PDP, APC, no difference.

Just same men changing parties.

F*cking government.

 

What do I do on that day?

 

They claim they are not like the others.

But were tutored by the same men they try to fight.

Like, who the hell are you?

I’ve made up my mind.

We have no government.

Just reapers in khaki shirts and first class theft auto.

I can’t vote them out.

Doing so, means voting them in.

 

What do I do on that day?

 

I think I should sleep in the arms of comfort;

Drown my thoughts in a cup of tea.

Or maybe, I should take the path to leadership.

Oh no! I didn’t hear God calling my name.

God, why didn’t you call my name?

I’m confused.

 

What do I do on that day?

 

One More Line…

I like my poems short and sweet
reading or writing, I prefer to be brief.
Some go on and on without relief
words flow, I yawn and off goes the beat!
But I do not wail or suffer in grief
Read them in full and you’ll be left in disbelief.

“Just One More Line, Baby, Just One More”

“Stop, Stop, Stop!”
aren’t those words enough?
so what happened to the ‘Less is More’ preach?
That goes on forever…Alas! Not again!
But if I could write like just a little more
I’d set everything aside and
I’d fill the page with colors more bright
and stop writing everything Just Right!

“Just One More Line, Baby, Just One More”

This time, again, I’ve broken my rule,
my words kept rambling on and on.
Hope you’re awake to the end of my song
But only to sing along.
And though the haiku I will not abort,
I vow to be open to both long and short.

“Just One More Line, Baby, Just One More”

prompt #3: the bop

I don’t want to be the grownup ~

 

In the beginning was the child.

She had to be a grownup even then.

Count the other children. Make certain

none were left behind, like the luggage.

She grew. She aged. Always the grownup.

The older sister. The mother figure. The mentor.

 

But I don’t want to be the grownup. I don’t know how ~

 

Now is the time of eldering. Grownup

on steroids. Where’s the damn wisdom

that someone said comes with experience?

Age confers only silver hair, reluctant movement.

People ask for help, for answers, for comfort and

guidance and succor and what the hell do I know??

 

I don’t want to be the grownup. I don’t know how ~

 

There are no books for this. No one to ask, no one

be my own good counsel. I listen. I listen. I love.

I listen and love yet again. It’s all I have, all I know –

that love, my mother told me, is the answer.

Even when it’s the question. Even when the silver

and the bones protest that I should know more.

 

I am the grownup. I am learning how.

 

Hour 3 – This Pandemic Just Ain’t No Fun

This Pandemic Just Ain’t No Fun

at first I thought,
with all the extra time,
I’d work on projects
clean this mess
do all those things I’ve been saving
for when there’s time

this pandemic just ain’t no fun

but school didn’t cease or pause
got shifted into my private space
bringing with it stress – unease – disquiet
as I, in compliance, hunkered down
with my pals The Black Dog and The Yellow Cat
quarantining with my own worst critic
the loneliness a greater enemy than the germ
that sent us all into our private holes

this pandemic just ain’t no fun

tablet games have eaten all my time
as I wander, room to room, and back
quick video calls replace the contact that I lack
brief smiles between periods of gloom
and yet the virus refuses to die back
how long, how long will my isolation last?

this pandemic just ain’t no fun

The Way of Children

Baby comes on storkish wing,

Tiny, helpless, lovely thing.

Every day, he grows a bit;

Last week’s clothes no longer fit.

Before you know, he’s pulling up,

And drinking milk now from a cup.

 

Little children grow so fast.

Childhood isn’t meant to last.

Before you blink, the future’s past.

 

Then one day he’s walking, talking –

Suddenly has a lot to say.

Before you notice, he’s in school,

Thinking he’s grown up and cool.

Then middle school, and high school, too.

Has ideas of what he’d like to do.

One day you wake and he’s a grad,

And you’re barely used to being a dad.

 

Little children grow so fast.

Childhood isn’t meant to last.

Before you blink, the future’s past.

 

There’s not a way to stop them growing,

It’s supposed to be that way, I’m knowing.

So take the time when they are young,

Before all the childish songs are sung.

Children are quickly growing things.

First, give them roots. Then give them wings.

 

Little children grow so fast.

Childhood isn’t meant to last.

Before you blink, the future’s past.

Dieting

It may be wrong to love ones food

to the point of needing new pants

And I’m not alone in my indulgence as one

can see in the various sizes of jeans

Going out for a meal and weighing the cons

wondering what will this do to my buns

But I look longingly at the nights offerings

with more than a little grudge

Remember the top button

So I go about my business, ignoring the pleas

the calling out of sweets and good cheese

Turning my head from stocked shelves

of donuts and creams, and fresh baked bread.

Avoiding the streets with amazing windows

of chocolates and cookies with marshmallows

Remember the top button

As it turns out I’m not safe from windows

nor signs, nor smells, nor posters

That promise satisfaction with every bite

each flavor an utter delight

They captivated me and lure me

to places both familiar and new

So I must stay out of view

with pockets empty too

Remember the top button

Dreamy Eyed

The Dream,

A bright light shook me up,

I wasn’t awake yet,

or wasn’t awake yet,

Oh! the dreams of mine,

Doesn’t let me choose a path.

 

The Dreams,

Not just one,

Many of them.

I wanna ride high,

I wanna dive deep,

Too many shapes,

Too many lanes,

Which one to choose,

Where to leave.

 

The one dream,

Found it at last,

The one that doesn’t just passes by,

Not just a flicker of thought,

This one makes me shine,

The reason I woke up again today..

Ilumination, Hour 3

Watch the night sky start to illuminate
Illuminate darkness of collective misunderstanding
Illuminate the truth obscured by darkness of confusion
Insight dispelling delusions of a false conception
Hope giving rise to a new concept of freedom
Freedom from the defilement of understanding

Enlighten everything

So much information and so little wisdom
Appeal to emotions instead of rationality
Pander to base instincts, knee jerk reactions
Polarized perceptions and preconceived notions
Shedding thin-skinned superficial rhetoric
Pathetic attempts to shift blame away from the real causes
Attacking the symptoms instead the system
Radicalize, grasp the problem at its roots

Enlighten everything

Recognize the solution is a grudging acceptance
It is what it is, not what we wish it could be
To live in our illusions is blissful, sweet comfort,
Ignorance and holding on to a defiled mindset
So no regrets, open mind to terrible beauty of the infinite
Adapt to the ever-changing flow of energy

Enlighten everything

Where the Music

By Sandy Lender

 

Someone had prayed for peace on Earth, God bless them,

But prayed without specificity

Thus we awoke in July to silence outdoors

Spotify stopped, the airwaves dropped, Pandora closed her box

With Hope locked trembling inside

As if waiting for a measure of sanity to release her

 

We looked for the answer in three, four time

While timpani drums throbbed to a different beat

 

Our children wept in fear at the solitude, the absence

Song, melody, harmony, tonal blending gone

We’d crushed beauty fully

Muffled it with our hateful shouting

Overpowered the hum of the bees, the thrum of Mother Earth

With incessant complaint and discord

Recognizing our imbalance after a cleansing plague

Left us with only obscene screams

 

We looked for the answer in three, four time

While timpani drums throbbed to a different beat

 

We took our sons and daughters home

To teach them sense and love again

No matter the personal definition

No matter the political affiliation

We sought the sweet sound of songbirds

To offer sustenance for our souls

 

We looked for the answer in three, four time

While timpani drums throbbed to a different beat

 

russian doll woman

born free, man builds his own traps
forges armor, steel, war: made to save us
from the evils they manifest into
but our aches are innate, built-in
trying to escape cages
that we inherited

and so on to the next place for us…

the illusion of escape
venturing, still enclosed by calls
lured in with the promises
beauty, power, love?
our eyes bat and yawn at these neon signs
and at the door, there’s an entry fee.
why do we have to pay a penance
for what they claim to offer?

and so on to the next place for us…

oh our kaleidoscope eyes
reflecting bright colors of world
into romanticized ornamentations
that we already know
are just a couple of old, used
crystals–scraps from their fortresses

and so on to the next place for us…