The Poetry Marathon

OFFICE CIRCUS

 

 

Every workday, it’s a flop showtime
Feels like frustration, looks like I’m in exam hall
Reviewing content, Grading expert’s view
But they confuse and remove my brain fuse.

The auditor audits me with stern remarks
Point out my mishaps, and slaps with his marks
You are not up to the mark, they loudly bark
in the online meeting, a laughable chatting

But it’s a humor hour to office manager,
it’s a time to make presentation tricks and tips
I’ll mute voice with silent mode, I say you are correct
He laughs and giggles, I am worse, in this rust
i never insist you are wrong, he’s boss, he’s weight

 

Prompt -13                                                                                                                                                                 Hour-13

My profession

My profession, which one? the official one?
or on the side ones?

I worked as professor of electrical engineering
for 38 years. I just read some books, memorized
them and told what I had memorized to students
in my class.

Tough job? mathematics, science, construction
of electrical circuits, sending signals far away at
the speed of 300,000 km per second.

Ya, that was the public image. I lectured four
hours per week, played games behind closed
doors, and took a nap in the afternoons

Told everybody we were overworked and well
underpaid.

Really? I had one month vacation around the
Christmas, more than three months of vacation
during summers, could have stayed at home
when I did not have to give a lecture at the
school, which was just four hours per week.

I also worked for General Electric as consultant
for Aircraft Engine Vibration Analyst. That more
than doubled my salary.

At home I worked on stock trading, made
a $4,000 fund into $1,400,000 in about
15 years, that quadrupled my salary.

Nex time a professor says he is underpaid,
send him this poem and on the enevelop
write: Are you kidding me?.

 

 

Hour 13: 100mg of Zoloft Every Day for Eight Years

I do not scare easily

The concept of horror has intrigued me since childhood

And I have consumed it voraciously

For as long as I can remember

 

I am not afraid of spiders

Or snakes

Or dark empty corridors

 

Try as I might,

I do not believe in ghosts

Or monsters

Or any manner of fantastical creature

 

And yet

 

I know fear intimately

It thrives inside me

Whispering insidious remarks

That curl themselves into the folds of my thoughts

And make a permanent home

 

I do not want to believe

The lies my fear feeds me

But my mind would rather play Devil’s advocate

And gives them the spotlight anyway

 

I used to think it could be beaten into submission

Drugged into oblivion

Locked into a closet

And never, ever taken out

 

And yet

 

You can’t remove pieces of yourself

No matter how hard it is to live with them

You learn to hold hands with your fear

To tell it you understand

And kiss it on the forehead

 

There is a difference between

Accepting your anxieties

And letting them have power over you

 

The human experience is complicated

And hard

But I’d rather be present

Than not

Fall, the Favorite

Leaves sweep down from trees,

covering the ground below,

creating piles of mingled colors.

Oranges, browns, and red

become a beautiful palette

for the beginning of Fall’s artistry.

Shortened days give way

to crisp, cooler air,

making jackets and sweaters

come out from closets.

Coffee, cider, and any hot drink

is welcome,

as cozying up with a blanket

becomes the best part of the evening.

Bonfires, hayrides, fire pits, and spooky season

make me want to cheer.

I’ve waited so long for summer to pass,

but now my favorite time of year

is finally here!

Black and White with a Touch of Gray – Hour Thirteen

Black and White with a Touch of Gray

Crystal clear and black and white
Things seem so cut and dry
And yet, sometimes that is not quite
The case before one’s eyes
More times than not, a touch of gray
Is accurate to view
As lines are blurred and rules un-clear
For fairness to ensue

That touch of gray, a mid-point space
On which most can agree
Is safer for keeping the pace
Of peace and harmony
Black and white thought can leave some lost
With no place to fit in
Such thinking is not worth the cost
Should hurt feelings begin

And yet, within the touch of gray
Everyone can feel embraced
A spot no one should feel that they
Should ever be disgraced
Casting aside the issues found
In black and white ideals
To blur those lines for peace abound
Where all involved can heal

What is Love? Good Question

What is love?

It begins and ends within.
Expands like the breath of the universe,
moves with the fabric of time,
and lives within an eternal soul.

Love is…

Just as I AM.

Hour 13 – Steady Hands

Steady Hands

 

The ball, she rolls, around and ‘round,

Whirring through the gates and chutes. 

Buzzers and lights flash bout trying to distract.

Focus cannot be sheared like electric sheep

As man versus machine becomes the war,

Each slap of the sides of the box, increasing score.

The numbers only matter slightly

There’s no true prize to be won in this battle,

Except for the possibility of another game.

Depositories hour 12

Depositories

some homes have no closets. everything is piled upon the furniture or floors.
tossed and scattered, old mixing with new and no boundaries or labels as to whom it belongs.
chaotic seasonings, where things can be hidden in plain sight.

some hearts are rife with hundreds of tiny closet doors, like the tiny shutters
on rocks in Costa Rica, night-time bugs shut quickly so as not to be eaten.
a play space, a safe space, a dark prison. the silent walls are indifferent to one’s plight.

depositories of memories, secrets, kind or evil, but ever our own. forming our world
or at least our perception of it. go back and sweep the detritus clean. scrub the walls.
what once was can never be reclaimed. plant new seeds in the fertile soil of today.

The Walk

HOUR 10

THE WALK

I am not a great walker,

I park as close to destinations as possible.

So when I heard about the

39-mile Marathon Walk

I laughed.

But I reconsidered.

It was the Avon Walk for Breast cancer –worthy cause,

and I was a researcher at a cancer center.

I was pre-diabetic and my doctor would be pleased.

The walk was two days,

26 miles in the first day

13 on second.

There was also a half-marathon

(sounds familiar?)

But I decided, in for a penny

in for a pound.

The only BIG fly-in-the ointment?

Each participant had to put in

$1800 to walk!

 

I first inveigled a friend to join me,

And against her better judgement,

she did.

Then I charted a plan.

We visited organized clinics.

For walk, feet, shoes and hydration.

Then a plan to train.

We started with 2 miles the first week,

and increased by two more every weeks.

We learnt to stretch from YouTube.

And splurged on the best walking shoes,

which we never regretted.

We trained in our new shoes

to break them in.

Our walk in DC was in May.

So we started training in February.

It was cold, still snowing

and brutal, but we persevered.

We walked on the road.

The park trails were filled with women

with staring eyes,

and men who made our blood

run cold.

In between, we sent begging letters

to family, friends and acquaintances,

no one was spared.

As the training miles increased,

the weather improved

the winter inhabitants in the park

were replaced by serious joggers,

dog walkers and rude bicyclists.

But we enjoyed the walks.

in two months we could easily cover

18 miles.

But money was our constant worry.

Thankfully cancer survivors and families

donated generously.

Some gave to get rid of us.

The parks were full of bright green buds

and saplings and walking became

a real pleasure.

Two weeks before the walk,

we did the last walk of 24 miles,

and rested.

We had trained so well

for our first marathon!

The actual two-day walk

was a breeze.

The comradery, enthusiasm and

fever-pitch excitement,

at the starting point was astonishing.

Every two miles was a toilet, water and snack break.

Whatever else was needed, the women had.

We couldn’t help congratulating ourselves,

when many stronger women and even men,

couldn’t complete the walk.

We did not have a single injury

or after effects.

(We did a total of seven marathons)

Hour 13- If it isn’t one thing

If it isn’t one thing

it’s something else.

Or at least it’s something,

but it could be nothing.

All the glitters is not always gold

Sometimes its glitter.

Or sparkles.

Or even fool’s gold.

Like cubic zirconia.

It shines like a diamond.

You don’t cry when you lose one.

But well, the real diamond is nice.

Despite the efforts to get them

Never mind. Slavery sucks.

But so does a cubic zirconia.

when you are told it’s a diamond.

It’s always something.

Some way of saying to us,

what we think matters.

It doesn’t really.

They are just things.

But it’s always something,

isn’t it?