The Poetry Marathon

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To be a kid

Everyone hold up your phones

Even the young children with oversize tablets

Each device connected to another, the people to their mothers, but can “spy” on each other.

Exist a day before internet, work and play both were hard. Now, in th ease of the connected world. We lost connection to each other.

A bitter sweet reality to be able to communicate with someone around the world but not the one right next to me.

Pause from your day, pullout your earpiece, look up from the screen, and say, “Hello?” With a Smile we say “Hi.”

If I could go back in time, I would have never went online.

A Midsummer Day’s Dream

Reference to Morning by Billy Collins

Why lay in bed in anticipation?
The morning has nothing to offer
But sweltering anxiety.

The humidity is a sweaty sore
And the bugs, too many

Get up, make your bed, and get going
Pick out your brightest clothing
24 hours at your service
They have much to offer

The calm, breezy drive to the fields,
A soft, supple peach in hand –
To sustain your morning hunger

A roadside magazine,
The radio seducing you with jazzy hip hop,
A light wedge salad for lunch,

And, a lonesome tree,
Wrapping around the clouds to
Protect you from the sharps rays of the sun.
A pillowy nap dwells on your eyes
And you dream of me
Amongst the wildflowers.

Alone in the crowd,he saw

From the farthest corner of the crowd,
he looked at her.
Bitter anger rose in him,
“Useless”,he muttered.
He gazed at her as a brave man,
she,being the victim of
his triumphant musculinity.

Her little sister ran to him,
held his hand,
pointing the lady,she said,
“Brother,she saved our mother,
this doctor treated our mom for free.”

She passed him,
tearing his heart.

Day off – different day

A moonbeam twinkles in my eye

my coffee the day’s starting high

 

Hush, the quiet garden sighs

the fog rolls in and drifts my eyes

 

Sipping on a wine canteen

later, damn this music machine

plays a song to cause a dream

 

In concrete jungle tomorrow see

shelf and book, diapers wee

 

Till then shrouded in firs clipped

near a dock feet water dipped

 

-Sandra Johnson, 6/23/19

A bunch full of flowers in the hands
Colorful and beautiful
Flow out to spread fragrance
In the house

A bunch full of thoughts in the mind
Wise and wonderful
Flow out to spread brilliance
In the conscience

A bunch full of virtues in the heart
Powerful and truthful
Flow out to spread oneness
In the life

First Fight episode 2 hour 7

First Fight Episode 2

Assassin T8 shoots Dasher in the leg
He cannot run
Dasher punches first
T8 returns with a kick to the stomach

Dasher attempts to knock T8 out
Punches him in the face
But T8 has technology
T8 teleports

Dasher must warn the other heroes

Bad Dream

(Response to Dear Little Self Whose Mother Didn’t Love You)

 

I called for you one night.

You didn’t come.

I couldn’t come to you

because of the man with a knife

who was in my bedroom door.

He was real enough to me.

 

I called and called.

At last you came.

You were angry at being awakened.

You let me sleep the rest of the night

with you.

I needed the comfort of your arms,

your voice.

You turned your back to me

and said nothing.

 

At least the dream-man

couldn’t get me there.

 

Why Didn’t I

There’s a lot of things in my life

Where I ask the question Why Didn’t I?

However only one eats me up inside

And it was the night that my daughter’s innocence was lost

Stolen

Why didn’t I turn the light on?

When I was being a light to someone else

And when my daughter needed light

My light

To shine on her

I left her in the darkness

Why didn’t I turn the light on?

Like I did in the other rooms

Even when I saw shadows

But not when I saw a shadow over you

Why didn’t I turn the light on?

Was it because something in me wasn’t turned on

Or was it that I just couldn’t believe or didn’t think it would, could, happen to you too

Why didn’t I turn the light on?

Like I did when you screamed

Waking up from your dreams

Your memories

Because you remembered what he had done

Then quickly to be safe and be at peace

You put on a strong a face and later said

That didn’t happen to me

Why didn’t I turn the light on?

And call the police

Take his DNA to the doctor

When I wiped it from you the next day

Why didn’t I trust my instinct

Go with my gut

Instead of staying in denial

Why didn’t I turn the light on?

It replays over and over in my head

Now I cannot forget

And it’s like I’m torturing myself

Waiting for you to get mad at me

Accuse me of not being there

Of not doing my job right

I would deserve this fight

When the time came

For you to ask me

To say

“Mommy. Why Didn’t You Keep Me Safe

Why Didn’t You Protect Me

Mommy I knew you were there

Just like you knew he was there

Why didn’t you turn the light on

And save me?”

And I am so mad at myself

Because I’ve been asking that same question

You deserve an answer, something that makes sense

Something that might even be close to acceptable

But I have none of that

I only have, “I don’t know baby Girl.

I’ve been asking myself that question too.”

It’s not good enough

Nothing will ever be good enough

My power of Self Accountability and Self Responsibility

Failed my daughter that night

So each day I ask myself inside

So that it will never happen again

Why Didn’t I

 

Copyright © 2019 by Angelica Stevenson

All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hour 20

So life clashed this year. I’m a little disappointed, but not remorseful.

And even if I’m not doing as well as I’d like to be doing, I’m not giving up.

 

Where has my mind gone?

Away on the wings of dreams

Through mists of silver

2019 – Nineteen – Looking Back to the Beginning. Prompt 1, Hour 1 – I Am

I am the man who would wear no more shoes
to stroll and to feel all the sand by the sea
knowing that nothing is what I can lose
having little enough, and much less, sets me free.

I am the man who would live at the top
of a mountain, no kidding, in a cave in the snow.
I never seek real folks outside of the shop.
For solitude, do you know how far I would go.

I am the man with such hope in his soul
I fear for the world but not much for me.
I’ve been dead already, or nearly. The whole
of this life is already mine, and where I can be free.

I am a painter, a poet, a bard.
I’d walk off tomorrow, and leaving behind
my family, my friends, everything that I guard,
my possessions, and singing, for someone to find.

I am a man with no political bent
my beliefs are my own and I keep them inside.
As for my God, while he is heaven-sent,
she’s mine, mine alone, for my heart to abide.

I am a man who has spoken enough
of himself this dark evening, and maybe too much.
The rest of my secrets, are mine and they’re tough
to hide from you all, as they’re not yours to touch.