Hour 24 – Four and Twenty Blackbirds

Four and Twenty Blackbirds

A chef of great talent and skill was he
To construct this dish of pastry and bird
Presented to the king with pomp and glee
Only for it to take wing without a word

The king, cared he not for pies and such,
Spending his time in totaling his books
The queen, her lips no birdy pie would touch,
Bread and honey, she ordered from the cooks

The blackbirds, released from doughy prison cell,
With all the world to wander in free flight
Chose now to persecute one lonely belle
Giving her tender nose a vicious bite

We, who tormented in the past, may be
As cruel to others when we are set free

“Won’t Get Fooled Again” (Hour 24)

Cut open, tear. Bleed from magic inkwells
Stare. The window’s pane is a television screen;
what you see outside is not actually happening.

The president is trustworthy
The police are protecting you
The children are safe.
Remember to giggle a little
if anyone tries to tell you differently.

The information that confirms your own beliefs
is a veil thickened by the media scenes,
biasedly depicting the facts as conspiracy
blurring the line between truth and honesty,
magnifying the delusion you choose to fit your understanding.

But If you have found yourself living in a world
you no longer recognize, trust your eyes
because reality has become that alarming.

America, America, it is of thee I sing. Home of the brave, sold out
land of the free. Our country is being stolen by the
freedom of corporate capital, the freedom to violate the earth
for quick fortune, future generations forfeiting their inheritance,
permanently desecrated by the oil tycoons greed.

The freedom to exploit another human being
because he can’t read the fine print, or afford a lawyer
to interpret the endless legal jargon, or because he is
so desperate he skips meals to feed his children,
the freedom to take him for all he’s got because
he would sell his soul to fill their hungry bellies.

Our country is being sold by those who value
the dollar more than human life. To sit by is to choose
to do nothing. To look away is want to do nothing.
To avoid, to underplay, to deny is to choose to do nothing.
To write an internet rant, a poem, to cast a vote
is a little more than nothing, but to stand up, make a fist,
and say “No!” Now that’s something.

Power is only gained, taken, and kept through the threat
and direct use of force. An uncomfortable truth,
they don’t teach you directly in school, but if you read between the lines,
of the one-sided lies in the World History textbooks,
a common theme holds thread through to today,
just as it did at the dawn of civilization:
Power is assured through violence.

The powerful only fear violence, because in a world ruled by money,
they are the untouchables gods of industry, but everyone can bleed.
And it is only when they are personally confronted with death,
do they see that life has no price. It is only when their hands are holding
the ebbing spill of their entrails, they finally realize the frail impermanence
of monetary luxury. As we consume, so too are we consumed,
for there is no liberty for the cogs in the machine.

So when you see nationalism, bigotry, racial pride, police forces being
used to protect the investment interests of the wealthy, stand up! Make a fist!
Resistance requires mass.

Hour 24. (2019)

you give love a bad name

tempted me in sweet delusions
I did not hinder your intrusions
Twas your love that kept me sane

There’s so much you manipulated
From Heaven to Hell my life deflated
you give love a bad name

Gentle Ego

A peacock is beautiful

because it’s unaware as

to why it’s dressed in

sapphires and emeralds

A lion is handsome

because it doesn’t need

gels and syrups and lotions

to make a point with his mane

You are marvelous

because you help others

to rise to their potentials

and for you, that is enough

Finish line

img Lance Grandahl
I made it to the finish line.
I conquered sleep 
and fatigue.
I have my coffee to thank for mainly 
putting in most of the effort.


I made it, 
We MADE IT. 
HURRAY! 

-Janice Raquela Mendonca

PROMPT #24 Delicate Brutality.

Delicate Brutality
You breathe purpose into this broken heart. 
Your love is healing 
it is in my blood. 
I can feel you in the air tonight. 
You shook me up 
electrified 
woke me up 
my restless heart beats only for you. 

Save me from this restlessness. 
Help me from this hopeless desire. 
Every breath you take 
is love breathing air into my lungs. 

Your love is infectious 
like a viral coming over, 
I feel it with an aching desire 
to get to know you more.

You planted roses 
and now I am breathing just fine. 
I become one with the thorns, 
I ignite in your passion.
I am love, I am delicate brutality.

-Janice Raquela Mendonca

img Alisa Olaivar

Love is A Battlefield

I promise nothing

That you won’t kneel

And that you won’t beg

That there will not be pain

But at the end of the day

There’s you and me, side by side.

We can watch the world burn,

Or we can be strong together.

Share the pain, shoulder it all.

No place will ever be sacred,

No haven except in our arms.

No surrender, no end.

But fight together as we do.

no promises, no demands.

Love is a battlefield.

we are the champions

we are the champions

we poets of the night

 

words filled with magic

written in form

rhythmically metered

 

lyrically dancing

from fingertips and brain

spewed across the page

 

we are the champions

yes champions my friend

Another marathon, has come to an end

 

words forever engraved

the laughter , the bonds

and memories made

 

Amanda Potter©: 2019 Poetry Marathon

8. A strategy for daily living by Ari Kiev MD:  “Several years ago a young businessman visited my office with a very unusual request.”

A strategy for daily living by Ari Kiev MD: 

“Several years ago a young businessman visited my office with a very unusual request.”

He offered me no money.

He was all alone. 

He had a strange look of indifference in his eyes and that’s what scared me the most. 

He had idle hands that fidgeted as he smoothed over his pinstripe suit while he stood there at my office door.

He pulled out a robin’s egg blue handkerchief to dab the  perspiration than was forming on his forehead. 

Who was this man who came into my office?

Who and what was he looking for?

 I had no idea no clue. 

 He didn’t even make a fuss. 

He needed someone he could trust. 

Not a woman, not a man, a kindred spirit without an agenda. 

He needed me more than I needed myself and that was the first clue of my unrest.

Why had he chosen me at such a time?

I, who had all he needed. 

What was I to do? 

Give him more time to hear his plea. 

Or better yet, to ask myself simply,

How could he need me more than I needed myself?

I shut the door and quickly ran to look in the mirror to see  if I was still me.

All rights reserved copyright (c) 2019 Natasha Vanover