The Poetry Marathon

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.

Untamed

Don’t know where it all goes
My heart aches for a long haul
For that bus to the mountains
For that sand under my toes
I want to collect shells again
Just want to walk on the shore

It has become monotonous now
Doing the same things again and again
I am a free bird
I like to dance in the rain
I want to float with fish
Experience the nature again
I was born to live on my own terms
Not for someone to be tamed…

Hour 19: A Response to Bed in Summer

A Response to Bed in Summer

(By Robert Louis Stevenson, from  Child’s Garden of Verse)

As a child I saw your words,

Things fell into place.

You spoke as a child to a child,

And I heard

The mystery of the earth turning its seasons

And the injustice of infancy

Your words sat in me

Seeds that took root, that eternally grow

Hour 18. (2019)

Dear Future Son,

I shall always be a cracked mirror

An imperfect rolemodel

Yet I hope that from my mangled complexion

You may take unconditional love

Dear Husband

Dear husband
I may have told you a few times
How much I love you
But no amount of words
Can ever do justice to my feelings for you
The way your presence makes me blush
The warmth of you being near me
Is undescribable
I love u from all my heart and soul

From Les Mis – Nightmare

She, seated on the bed

might it have been half-past five? she said

separated from what was to be

arteries, body ticking like a watch’s plea.

 

A double march going

crime on one side, justice knowing

tho’ not afraid, shuddered she

of what was surely soon to be.

 

Assailed by adventure unforeseen

the day produced a hazy dream,

to persuade it was a nightmare, so

moon disengaged from foggy bow

and light, mingled with fallen snow

 

Now twas light thru chamber hinge

a hole shining with reddish tinge

bloody, but not by a candle

not a sound, not a soul was moving, able.

 

No speaking, not a single breath

silence glacial, profound, and death

were it not for light in there

now next to a sepulchre, where

she seemed to say a little prayer.

 

A lower door on hinges turned

a heavy step on staircase, hastened

the hovel’s eerie latch had lifted

something on the table shifted

and at once the horrid dream,

like flour sifted.

 

-Sandra Johnson, 6/22/19

My Question To Beginning And End

Note: I love both the prompts 23 and 24 of the Hour 19 … so please let me write poems on both prompts !

Prompt 23 – Rewriting Beginning and End poem with a positive vibe…**************

In the beginning there was Darkness…

In the end Light awakened Darkness from its deep slumber

In the beginning there was Infinity…

In the end there is Infinity times Infinity

In the beginning there was Negative and Positive in Equal Balance…

In the end Negative and Positive have become One Immense Power

In the beginning there was an Order to the Universal Chaos…

In the end the Chaos manifested itself into Universal Order

In the beginning there was Creation…

In the end there will still be Creation

********************************

Prompt 24 – Pick a poem by another author and then write a poem as a response to it – Here I have chosen a funny little poem by an Indian author and poet P. L. Deshpande, who was fondly called Pu.La. for short, who wrote mostly in the Marathi language which happens to be my mother tongue. The translation of the poem and my response to it is as below: ******************************

I said to the setting Sun,

“See you again Tomorrow”,

And the Sun asked me,

“Are you Sure?”,

The Sun thinks that I am too old, to see another day’s light,

But I think the Sun is older than me,

Perhaps it is he who will not make it through another night !

My Response to both the Sun and the Poet: ————-

The World needs both the Poet and the Sun,

For, if it wasn’t for the Sun, who will bathe the Poet’s mind in creative light?

And if it wasn’t for the Poet, who will glorify the Sun in verse and song?

 

 

Our Lonely Betters

(In response to W.H. Auden’s Their Lonely Betters)

Words are for those with promises to keep.
Our forte of language causes us to weep
We create worlds and homes built from letters
Between us and the wild, our lonely betters.

We are the only who can grasp the fragile time
We can find love through an internal rhyme
And make art from the romanticization of dying
If we said we would trade this for silence we’d be lying.

Yet I see the flowers who are naturally mated
No fuss and words and neither have waited.
Only if the bees who spread the pollen knew
What troubles from the search of love can put you through.

I envy the natural serenade of the birds
They give us songs that need not words
A whim of their own, it’s how they are made
We’re missing the message in our lonely shade.