The Poetry Marathon

Camouflaged

Hour 1

At home,

Clothes washed, dried and ironed

Food cooked, served and table cleared

Floor swept, moped and kept in order

 

At office,

First to arrive and last to go

Updating every single file and minutes

Keeping everything upto mark

 

At social gatherings,

Each cup is filled even before it is empty

Each and every guest greeted warmly

Stays on tiptoes throughout the event

 

Her prevalence,

As vital as salt in food

As insignificant as the salt

Camouflaged or concealed behind the false esteems and probity

Her existence almost non-existent

 

Rashmi S Kurup

Hour 13 (after Dr. Theodore Seuss)

Would you like to give your time?
I do not like it, Dexta-I-fear.
I do not like to volunteer.

Would you like to volunteer here or there?
I would not like to here or there.
I would not like to anywhere.
I do not like to volunteer.
I do not like to, Dexta-I-fear.

Would you like to take a plane?
Would you like to take a train?
I do not like to take a plane.
I do not like to take a train.
I do not like to here or there.
I do not like to anywhere.
I do not like to volunteer.
I do not like to, Dexta-I-fear.

Would you like to on the phone?
Would you like to in a home?
Not on the phone. Not in a home.
Not on a train. Not on a plane.
I would not volunteer here or there.
I would not do it anywhere.
I would not like to volunteer.
I would not like it, Dexta-I fear.

Would you? Could you? After a fire?
Volunteer! Volunteer! You are retired!
I would not, could not, after a fire.
You may like to in a pool.
You may like even in a school.

I would not like to in a pool.
Not a chance! Not in a school.
I do not like to after a fire.
I do not like to though I'm retired.
I do not like to on the phone.
I do not like to in a home.
I do not like to take a plane.
I do not like to take a train.
I do not like to here or there.
I do not like to anywhere.
I do not like to volunteer.
I do not like to, Dexta-I fear.

Say! In the flood? Here in the flood!
Would you, could you, in the flood?
I would not, could not, in the flood.
Would you, could you, give the blood?
I would not, could not in the flood.
Not give the blood. Not on the phone.
Not in a home. Not on the plane.
Not on the train. I do not like to volunteer.
I do not like to, Dexta-I fear.
Not after a fire. Not when I'm retired.
Not in a pool. Not in a school.
I will not volunteer here or there.
I do not like to anywhere!

You do not like to volunteer?
I do not like to, Dexta-I fear.
Would you, could you, with a defibrillator?
I would not, could not, with a defibrillator.
Would you, could you, in a shelter?
I could not, would not, in a shelter.
I will not, will not, with a defibrillator.
I will not do it in the flood.
I will not do it giving blood.
I will not do in on the phone.
I will not do it in the home.
I will not do it on the plane. 
I will not do it on the train.
I will not do it after a fire.
I will not do it when I'm retired.
I will not do it in a pool.
I will not do it in a school.
I do not like to here or there.
I do not like to anywhere!
I do not like to volunteer!
I do not like to, Dexta-I fear.


You do not like to. So you say.
Try it! Try it! And you may.
Try it and you may, I say.
Dexta, If you let me be,
I will try it. You will see.

(... and he volunteers ...)

Say! I like to volunteer!
I do! I like to, Dexta, my dear!
And I would do it with a defibrillator.
And I would do it in a shelter.
And I would do it in a flood.
And I would do it giving blood.
And on the phone. And in a home.
And on a plane. And on a train.
And after a fire. And when I'm retired.
And in a pool. And in a school.
And I will do it here and there.
Say! I will volunteer anywhere!
I do so like to give my time!
Thank you! Thank you! Dexta-so fine!

 

Hour 11 – Winding Roads – Image Prompt

 

I walk on a winding road

Stumbling down on it

A lonesome path seldom strolled

I start to question it

 

Sky dyed red

Haunted by the light

Following in my gait

Fright blooming in the night

 

As I walked the winding road

Feet fell stride for stride

The wanderer teases

Of what will betide

 

No rain to cool me down

It is as hard as a rock

Burning my feet red

As I dream of a shock

 

I sigh and continue on the road

Which I have started to loath

The echo razes beneath

I will swing on my oath

 

And I walk on my winding road

The path made for me

The one standing alone

Wherever I am welcome, there I’ll be

thirteen: Eyewitness

Eyewitness

The tree
never had a chance
Or an option
The wind and times decay
Weakend the limb
That sway as we rounded corner
Walking away from crackle and crash
On King Drive
across 75th street from

Where a victim with no chance
or option
Met assailants from the shadows,
Weeks before, village roots weakened,
Cut down a branch
under the crackle
Of thunder, lightning, and steel

2023 Full Marathon: Hour 13

The boy who gave me cloth oragami hearts

and engraved sheet music and silk black roses

didn’t last though he put in all the right moves.

He was here for the lesson that you should really

appreciate what you’ve got while you have it.

 

Then there was the one who brought me postcards

from all around the world and tried to write all

the things he thought I needed to hear – that was

my fault I wasn’t in the right place for that kind of

genuine sweetness. And now he’s got someone who

can recipricate and keep better track of memories.

 

There were some poets resting at the bottom oft

heir ink wells making skeletons out of nothing and

storms out of a single cloud. They all had potential

to be incredible – but took the craft too far for their

own good. And like can find like but it’s truly opposites

that attract when it comes to the heart.

 

And now I know what my voice sounds like – I’m not

afraid to speak and my honey, he makes mistakes

so do I, but we always come back from them with

the help of each other. Plus he can always make me

laugh at the end of days that have me in tears.

 

There’s something to be said for the way we carry

trinkets through our lives and the mementos of the

chapters that just didn’t need to expand –

but the silk flowers, the postcards, the poetry

 

I still have it all.

 

-M. Rene’

Fairytales

I have come to learn
Fairytales don’t mean a thing
To a broken heart

Teaching Babies (acrostic) – Hour 13, Prompt 13

The best time in my life

Everyday, eight hours wide

All my friends are tiny tots

Children who thrive in this spot

Happy, babbling, funny babies

I sometimes think, a little crazy

New eyes and ears, laughter, tears

Good to cuddle, tickle ears

Boys and girls, eyes wide

All to learn a song, or hide

Behind a shelf, or myself

I pretend not to see

Everything quiets, gee

Shh, this baby’s fast asleep.

 

– Sandra Johnson, 9-2-2023

Data Science

I watch the numbers flip and fly
imagining why they need to know.

I show the thinkers how to think
through fields and rows of things.

I take it apart, and re-assemble
so that it means something more

than just letters and numbers
in fields on a page.

Hour Thirteen: Humourous Poem Describing Your Profession

open shop
wait for client
ping!
a message
they’re running late
smile
smile
they’ll be billed anyway
healers are a precious commodity

Student or Teacher

People used to tell me
to my face
that I am a saint.

In truth,
I am a teacher.
A teacher who learned early on
to hide lavendar throughout the classroom
to counteract farts and puberty sweat smells.
Yes, a teacher who learned early on
to stay on the good side of the custodian
to counteract bodily functions and feats of inexplicable behavior.

In one day, yes, just one day,
I single handedly traced the owner of a pair of boots
that one of my students had in his backpack.
He had his own boots in his locker.
His shoes, worn through and soaking wet with snow on his feet.
The owner of the boots did not go to the same school.
Imploring and empowering a bus driver with a midday run,
The boots found their rightful owner before lunch recess.

The student is working in a study carrel asks for help
As we work through the problem, I notice purple goop on his head
“Tell me about this.” I ask as I gently touch the goo.
A large patch of his hair adheres to my fingers.
He quickly tells me in one breath that he accidentally and in no way on purpose cut his hair.
He doesn’t want me to be mad, so he glued his hair back on his head.
Dumbfounded, all I can think is where was I? How did I miss this?

Oh, no.
Barely started, we are by no means done.
The student is slow to dress for a snowy recess.
He is not in good humor, having been reminded to wear his boots outside.
The battle for independence is sometimes slow
and in this case, too slow for the other children.
To prevent overheating, I left the student in the classroom and led the other students out.
When I returned, the students cheeks were packed full with something.
“What do you have in your mouth?” I ask sternly.
The student takes pains to cover his mouth before answering “Nothing.”
I look down and notice the now empty cookie tin on the floor.
“No cookies for snack.” I say in dismay.
A whole package of cookies,
In mere minutes.

He heads out to play.
There’s no sense in punishing both of us.
I’m no saint.