The Poetry Marathon

Hour 1: An Ode to Qandeel

I met her on the news, on stories in my phone, the glories of her tale 

Allegories of her name, 

Ring broken and omitted in legal records of her shame 

I claim, 

her pain, her shame, her crime 

Each time

I dare dream of the freedom she lived, the chains she broke so I may speak

They reek of her blood, 

I see in each man the coward that kills in slumber 

Can I put it in a number? The sisters, the mothers, the lovers we lost?

Lists of names running longer than the length of the rivers we’re drowned in 

Deeper than the ground we’re buried in 

Qandeel*, she lives in me

When I whisper her name with my sisters in prayer 

Qandeel, she lives in us

Where we lay bleeding, screaming, muffled,and  maimed 

When we chip away at the chains, piece by piece 

For a peace that we may never see

Ironing the crease, in an existence that won’t belong to me 

We chip away each day chanting, 

‘Qandeel’

Your name will set our daughters free.

 

*Qandeel Baloch was a Pakistani Social Media personality/model, who was a victim of honor-killing by her brother.  

Poem 1 – Hour 1 – Aymen Zaheer

“A gentle flower selling Lady”

My eyes are bearing
the stance of that lady
Who was selling the little knots
Of love.

She was persuaded everyone to buy
for rekindling the sparks
Of love.

She was amiable from top to toe
give little buds to penniless kids
Just to express familial codes
Of love.

She neither took advantage
nor she hesitated to give
her earning tool in her share
Of love.

Hammock

Laying in a hammock

swaying to and fro,

watching the birds fly by

I believe one was a crow.

Searching for the treetops

somewhere way up high

Suddenly an airplane

Jets across the sky.

Slowly I close my eyes to

Listen to Nature’s sound,

Birds, crickets, frogs and bees

Talking all around!

I breathe in the fresh air

Hear the rustling of the trees,

branches and leaves dancing

in the passing breeze.

I have a lot of work to do

I have some place to be

But some how this hammock

Has a hold of me!!

 

Author: Louana Vick

Hour one, prompt one : The Growing Season

Her hands work the earth tenderly but without reservation.

Once planted the long tedious growing season

becomes a lifelong journey into the unknown.

Weeds are many but the crop is strong

overcoming the insurmountable

to bloom beyond her wildest dreams.

She harvests what others cannot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HER

Shoot her with your hurtful words
Like a balloon, she will float up in the sky

Cut her with your sharp actions
Like a kite, she will, after a try, fly high

Burn her with your hateful eyes
Like a phoenix, she will rise and give a cry

Kill her with your deadly poison
Like an Avatar, she will wake up from where you had left her to die

You could tell she wasn’t from
The same place as the rest,

And this, for the world,
was wrong
But, in fact,
My mom was more than strong.

Did You Know, Coretta?

Did you know, Coretta Scott, what life would ask of you?

Were you afraid each time he left the house?

 

Did you know when you were dating

This handsome boy would be a leader,

That his voice would be remembered for all time?

That his words he spoke would move us,

That his work would change a nation,

 

But your heart would be shattered.

Does it help to know he mattered?

 

Did you know your little babies would grow up without their daddy,

That your husband wasn’t coming home one day?

 

If you had known, Coretta, would you still have loved him,

Or turned around and simply run away?

Hour 1: A Mother’s Love

A mother is accepting of anything,
Whether it be pain from a laborious battle or grief from the loss of one,
She will rise to the occasion for any child even if they aren’t her offspring.

In order to protect the young she will go to war for them, giving her everything,
Her love is unconditional and can never be outdone,
A mother is accepting of anything.

No matter the child’s circumstance, she will willingly bring them under her wing,
Caring for them as if they were her own daughter or son,
She will rise to the occasion for any child even if they aren’t her offspring.

She doesn’t see anything forbidding like coloring,
The only forbidden concept is to shun,
A mother is accepting of anything.

Open your minds and listen to that motherly instinct sing,
It shouldn’t be imaginary to anyone,
She will rise to the occasion for any child even if they aren’t her offspring.

A mother’s love is an example of what we need to bring,
For love is all we need to be accepting of any and everyone,
A mother is accepting of anything,
She will rise to the occasion for any child even if they aren’t her offspring.

Giving

~ From afar,
The world watches

As you smile
As your energy provokes

One
After
Another
Gift,

One
After
Another
Friend

~ Is it you
Who carries The Message
or
The Message
That carries you?

~ Friends twining together
From across a city
From across a state
From across a nation

As you become
The Voice of Reason
of Friendship
of Love
of Food Lovers
of Workers Who Love Food

~ And I watch,
And every time I listen,
I wonder:

How
Did you
Get through
The Grief

To love
To bind
To give?

~ Is he in every one of us
Whom you’ve helped,
Whose lives you’ve saved
After he could not be?

~ I will tell you this:

You’ve saved my life
So many times
With just your ability

To smile
To live
To love
Again

And, somehow,
You
Still
Give

~ I cannot help but wonder
At your capacity

When The Truth
Of Love
Can be Tasted
In the result of a well-crafted dish

When I think of
How many dishes
You have salted
With the love
You have
Given

Despite
Grief

 

**An homage to Jen Heidenger of Giving Kitchen

If I were famous – hour 1, prompt 1

If I were famous

are you kidding me?

this girl’s not ready

eyes all on my mussed face

any day, any time or place

can’t even peek out

to let the dog run about

without prying eyes

I’d need a disguise

or a pseudonym

to protect my double chin

and how old really

is that Gucci bag, 1993?

how is she famous?

what is her namesake?

I have no stylist to sleek

no salon once a week

no designer clothes

but I’ve got my Walmart shoes

my sharpies, paint and pencils steady

Prismacolor, always ready

to draw new adventures

alternative universes

coiffed hair, shimmering lips

salon painted, hair snipped

a frou frou pooch

and those cars, phshaw!

two or three, classics all

up there on the 35th floor

skyscraper, painted doors

my office, the view

that’s famous too

can’t find me here

windows tinted, and dear

go walk my dog

I can’t handle the smog

and typing, it’ll do

to make me popular, too

WordPress at the ready

best seller, hold steady

the novel of dreams

but so real it seems

the heroine so familiar

that someone wants to kill her

her beauty adored

in fabrics she can afford

and if ever she gets shook

by a fatal gun, look

she can close the freaking book.

– Sandra Johnson

 

 

 

OUR SUN.

She is the sun
Bringing forth light
To the dim lonely closets
Making the moments light.

She is the package of your dreams
Like an eagle still soaring
Every day selflessly living
And with hope, she is scaling.

Her aura is inviting
Every troubled soul she comforts
A smile for another smile
Hugs and plenty supports

She is the girl child advocate
For those that come after her
For their education she fights
And hope they soon join her

She is the leader of her time
Youthfully challenging norms
Gradually developing communities
Even to the courts.

Betty is the star
That always shines bright
Making Earth brighter.