The Poetry Marathon

She is dead (Prompt)#Hour 5

She is dead,

My tiny little potted plant

Her leaves scattered 

Just below the loft

 

Dry and lifeless she lay

Dead stalk shivering

As the wind swayed

The loft so high

 

Oh! Who could have done it?

I glared angry at the sun

You must have scorched

My poor plant to dust

 

Oh! Who could have done it?

I swore at the dripping hose 

You swamped my poor little thing

Flooded her roots

 

Oh! Who could have done it?

I accused the harsh winds

You shook her tender stalk 

Till she bent

 

Oh! Who could have done it?

I raged at the storm

Your lightning struck her 

Little spirit out 

 

Oh! Who could have done it?

I screeched at the pot

You suffocated her growing spirit

Stunted her to death

 

Her leaves rustled

As if greeting me for one last time

I could hear her whisper

But where were you?

Hour 6: Death comes as the end

It has atlast been proved beyond doubt
That earth is flat
What a victory for our flat-earth societies!
As the president of the world’s largest flat-earth society,
I had the privilege to be the first
To peep down and look what lurked underneath
Bursting with self-importance, I looked upon the round-earth societies
And looked down
What I saw gave me a heartattack and I tumbled down to my death
Alas! I could not tell the flat earth
What I see…

Hour 20: The daily grind

In morning’s gentle light, I rise with the sun,
A daily routine, a rhythm, begun.
With coffee’s warm embrace, I start the day,
To chase my dreams, in my own unique way

Through hours that follow, tasks neatly align,
A dance of duties, a life so defined. But in this routine, I find my own grace,
Each day a new canvas, a chance to make a painting new

Solitary

I’m being released
by my own congnizence
this morning,
that, rhyming naturally
is harder than it’s made to look.

No warnings issued, but
a few fellow poets
clanked on my cell
to let me know
I’d been seen,
and I did likewise.

I hope,
as visiting hours
resume
and comments are
shared, to learn about
others’ solitary. as well.

I tried -before the website careened to standstill –
to tally how many poems I’d done and to confirm which years
I participated, and what I’d made private.
A group functionality would be nice for designating poems
as private, but I digress.

unpledge to the texas flag

“i shall never honor the texas flag; i pledge no allegiance to thee, texas, one state under  no god, one and divisible.”

 

Chasing or Running

Running through the grass

whipping around my face

wind howling behind me

while the darkness consumes

chasing me

rounding the curves

I cut through the grass

even as it is chasing me

it is still running

Marriage? Hour 4

He is not a man. 

I don’t like adding

 a possessive pronoun to an ex-person 

who held my life in prison

 I broke free. 

And I abhor any part of my history

 That’s connected to him

The hell and the heathen of his shadows

 

I cringe when I have to add ‘my’

To any part of speech that

 contains the traces of his

Dark dark fingerprints

 Even in disgust, 

I hate addressing

 the ex-person 

with a possessive pronoun.

 Something of mine

 is so intimate

 that I want none of his claws

to find it again. 

His very name 

can sully ‘my-ness’ of me

 I broke free 

of the prison he held of my life

Why then, 

Should I attach a possessive pronoun

 to that unknown

 unwanted X in my life?

Routine

Violins play from my phone

I breathe in time

I hate this part of the week

but this must be done

 

I disinfect the area

ready a second swab if needed

Pull the cap from the injection pen

and rest it on my thigh

 

I breathe in

grip soft fabric

and press down

healing fire fills my leg as I moan

 

I hold it down

count

then examine the leg

for bleeding from the injection site

 

I sit

stare

sigh

and dispose of the pen

unsilenced

The hatred U have for me makes no sense to me like it does to U

U don’t want me to know my history my herstory

bcz it is a telling of the evil deeds of U and yours

Yo mama, yo mama’s mama , yo mama’s mama mama

Yo daddy,  yo daddy’s daddys, yo daddy’s daddy daddy

U don’t want me 2know Yo daddy,  yo daddy’s daddys, yo daddy’s daddy daddy raped

My mama, my mama’s mama, my mama’s mama mama

U don’t want yo kids 2 know of your evil deeds

Yet Black history/herstory iz ameriKKKan history/herstory

So I will do all that I can to make sure my children’s children children will know the truth

And anyone else who will listen to learn

And then I will tell of our wonderful history/herstory and all  of the power that we  possess.

We will not be silenced by your nonsensical hatred

Temporary Residence

I am living in someone else’s house

Decorations meant to soothe

but sharp edges cut my consciousness

None of this is mine

and while I am here I must care for it

Doorknobs run on electricity

and cameras viewing the outside world

I will be glad to leave here