The Poetry Marathon

Dear sister I love you

Dear sister I am blessed to have you

For in time of trouble

You stand right by my side supporting

That I might not fall.

You are the one I miss the most

Ever since you got married

Because you were the one

With whom I shared all.

How can I forget those all days

When I was depressed

And no way suit me best

But your trust never gave up on me.

And those days of pranks

When I was about to be caught

You just took all blame

To save my back from cane.

O dear sister I love you so much

For every thing you did

To keep me healthy and sound

And making my life meaningful.

A view to a kill

It’s all you can think about when your own existence passes by in the blink of an eye.

We struggled for so long with how to make it before we realized we already did.

The view’s never pretty but, through it all, it never decayed from its original form.

Yet we progress within ourselves and await a rectified existence tomorrow.

As if it were the only thing that could make us improved in the eyes of

humanity.

Never Lost

If blue bonnets I happen to see

or armadillos, lizards in trees

and country music moves the knees

I know in Texas I must be.

 

And now upon a triangular tower

surrounded by art for the eyes to devour

and mourning our lady – blackened, dour

I’m in France’s Paris flower.

 

Then, I spy an old cracked bell

the place of independence, as well

I’d in Philly’s brotherly love dwell.

 

North a bit, and there’s a rock

it’s smaller now with time’s tick tock

the seafood’s great, and Fenway’s grand

when e’er I visit Boston’s land.

 

Out west, looking down afar

the rivers cut rock walls under stars

below the donkeys carefully ride

thru Colorado’s Canyon and survive.

 

South now, and the Cajuns speak,

“who dat?” is what the sports fans tweet

beignets and frog legs are cuisine

and brightly-shining Mardi Gras beads

New Orleans is this flashy scene.

 

East again, and all I see

are vegetables, corn, carrots, peas

one gambler’s famous city be

Surely I’m home, in New Jersey.

 

Where e’er I go, the land tells me

any place I happen to be

from Florida below to Paris above

not lost, but found in the lands I love.

 

-Sandra Johnson, 6/22/19

Hour 19. (2019)

The sun sits,

like an unexpected visitor

upon my porch and won’t leave

As it brings growth to the pot plants on the balcony

 

It obscures my view of the bay.

Pot-valor

The timid man, he comes alive

when alcohol he does imbibe

 

he acts in haste and quickly mocks

becomes a growling, yelling cock

 

whatever is bugging him

bursts out like bees from hive within

 

if you’re his enemy, beware

the spit-stained words you’ll surely bear

 

if once, he ever bought a lemon

those skids be clearly seen from Heaven

 

and if a job he clearly hated

the boss evermore be under rated

 

the girls who nixed him hastily

will wish they called him back, times three

 

but then, when this guy sober is

he thanks the Lord he didn’t fizz.

 

-Sandra Johnson, 6/22/2019

Don’t Look Now (H18)

Heavy handed and overly sentimental
I cringe at my own words,
and, I’ll admit, some of yours.

I love the idea, but struggle with the form
If only I’d not notice what made it to the page

“Write with blinders on,” she told me.
Just before she told me she couldn’t help me,
that my demons were on steroids
which in fact did not help me…at all.
Is it too late to cancel th echeck?
Or to get back the $5
I gave to the turbaned and bejeweled woman at the County Fair back in ’85
the one who took my hand, held it in hers,
turned it short of over
while nodding her head and making that contemplative noise people make when they’re about to share some just found answer to a question you adked, or didn’t but they thought you’d want to know

Maybe it’s not such a good idea for anyone to tell us what’s coming next,
or just before they do, maybe we need one last to change our minds and choose not to hear whatever it is they think they know or think they ought to tell us – to warn us, or inspire us, or just to get us to come back with another fist of green and more questions with answers we’re probably best off not to know.

What is this noise in the woods behind me
that make the hairs on my neck reach for their rifles
knowing it’s in their best interest to protect me.

And how I can keep writing about anything other than Goldilocks
while I wonder what it is.
It’s a good think I don’t have to look at the keyboard
how hard that would be – what with the darkness and the smoke and my involuntary oscillation of my head like the search lights on the prison roof.

But I was asking you whether you thought it best not to know what’s coming next
and now that I mentioned the bear alert
I can’t help but wonder whether she saw a light brown muzzle in my hand
at the tail end of the long lonely life.

NINETEEN

Nineteen eighty-four

Living without fear or brakes

Life was a blur then.

 

No memories stuck

You must be conscious for that

Not so much fun now

 

Hard to make a life

When even your name escapes

Time to slow it down.

Palindrome, Madam? : Response poem for “A Question for Anna” Micheal Faudet; Dirty Pretty Things

Dirty pretty things, madam.

the poestess’ “Top spot”

 

Madam, in Eden I’m Adam.

Now Eve, we’re here.  We’ve won.

wow-

Hey Anna, Take a bite.

refer, mom

moon seen at noon

eye for an eye, maybe a boob?

 

level – under radar

Naomi, did I moan?

tenet of solos

Did I? I Did!

 

Not so, Boston.

no word, no bond, row on

sagas made of words

 

hagigah

live evil by Sabbath plays

Satan oscillate my metallic sonatas

evil live by the misfits

Did I? I did!

 

never odd or even

ho-oh or the wizarding world

red rum, red rum

 

are we not drawn onward we few drawn onward to new era?

Did I? I did.

 

 

Amanda Potter©: 2019 Poetry Marathon

Dear Love (a self poem)

Dearest self,

please forgive your gift of naivety

it proves how honest you are

you were born honest

the world tainted you

its not natural to be so protected

Life is a challenge

and you will continually be challenged

you will continue to shed naivety

others don’t have your best interest

but your own honesty taints your own thinking

Dear girl,

you get in your own way.

Be who you naturally are

don’t be too guarded or too easy

stay stubborn

it changes what you attract to you

and be smart

no matter how conflicting it is

never trust in words

trust in action

save yourself from people who pretend to be islands

when they are bound to explode

Tired, but Triumphant

When sickness strikes, it dominates
And all involved it subjugates
To worries, sleepless nights, and pain
And “When will they get well again?”
The only topic this refrain, ’til it abates.

When sickness will not go away,
And claims its place in every day
The only thing left to be done
Is play the hand as dealt, and run
No clouds can fully block the sun when it is day.

When sickness stays, it has to learn
That other things will take their turn
In centre stage, the sickness deemed
Old news, and coping is routine
One stops regretting might-have-beens, and bridges burned.

Form: Florette (verson 2)

Prompt: Write a companion piece to an earlier poem

Original poem: Freedom, Ltd.