The Poetry Marathon

Flower Girl

may i never blink when she’s here for the season
my flower girl blooms and i lose touch with all reason
i endure december rain and the dreaded january blues
just to see you again babe, you and all your hues
suffocate me with your petals i think i’ll be okay
you be the predator i’ll be the prey
your scent hangs like loose threads all pull and no push
i pluck it and your fragrance demands me to hush
i’m in your web of color
soothing
poison ivy
kill me with a kiss
but won’t you do it nicely
i’m fine ebbing in the springtime
as i know this is where you flow
i’ll lay in the garden bed with you forever
feeling the wind above us blow

Hour 17: Dandelions

Dandelions

As a kid, I didn’t care that dandelions were weeds

Pick them all!

Crushed stems filled fat little hands

Till little hands were bitter with milky sap

And when they had gone to seed

Their bobbing over sized heads

White and tufted

It took so many breaths

To send those weed seeds drifting

Talent

What is it like to be so highly revered,

That your very word is authority?

Do masters ever feel slighted

That hours of work, years,

Labouring onward

Through dulled eyes and hazy minds

Were dismissed as ‘genius’?

A born prodigy.

A lack of talent may sting,

But excessive talent can hurt.

After Listening to CVB

We were walking down a Westport street
one summer night
after seeing band.
Someone had asked me to dance
and, not paying any attention to the man’s face,
I’d demurred.
In your penchant to reinforce the temporariness of
our arrangement, you suggested we walk to another club and come back for the car.

How far we got down the street
or what we talked about,
I can’t remember.
Behind us, headlights and the impossible moment of
thinking,
no, that can’t be

The moment after impact
everything – police cars and lights – was in my view,
but nothing – including the stranger who leaned down solicitously and stole my purse – was in my focus.

I remember you standing over me,
your hand on my shoulder,
steadying yourself
as much as reminding me
I was ok as you stroked my hair.

Later, after our respective healing times,
we made it part of our banter.
We weren’t a couple; we were survivors of the flesh.
It was easier to see how ill-equipped we were to commit to a future
neither of us saw the other belonging.

I think of that night
but not often.

Robert Smith

A kaleidoscope I see

a girl with rainbow hair, and free

 

you are my fascination street

a reflection of my face in heat

 

when Friday I’m in love now

the love cats all come slinking round

 

your face I see bowing dour

a lullaby that makes you cower

 

from the edge of the deep green sea I peer

homesick, and the end is drawing near

why can’t I be you, I wonder

 

a strange attraction pulls me strong

and then I sing a sweet lovesong

 

pictures of you in the purple haze

I’m counting down in between days

 

just like heaven I’ll be amazed

when at your concert I’ll be crazed

 

let’s go to bed I ask thee dear

not ever in one hundred years

 

maybe someday, always pray

but never enough, even today

it’s not you it’s me, you dare to play

 

-Sandra Johnson, 6/23/2019

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Growing distress

Over the moor I stood alone

Giving the staring look to all

That was reduced to ashes

Within fraction of seconds.

 

My eyes were moistened

As I was  shackled with grip

Seeing my own family in the apocalypse

That engulfed the nation complete.

Canyon

Hello, shopkeeper,

I’m just dropping in

I’d like to return this please,

And here’s the slip of my buy-in.

 

It’s something I bought,

When it and I were still new-

Everyone clamored for one,

So I thought I had to get one too.

 

But it didn’t suit me well:

It clanked like a great drum

And sometimes it leaked; on the whole,

It was quite tiresome.

 

Please take it back,

I don’t even want a refund.

There were few joys,

But the break of a canyon.

 

So, yes, shopkeeper,

I’d like to return this heart.

I’ve had enough of it,

I’ve mended enough of its shards.

Tools of Love

Click the button,
Close out the app,
Swipe through pictures,
And add your profile.
Finding love has become
A crazy thing,
With hearts and
Winks
And being flirty.

Loving him,
Kissing her
Chatting and messaging.
The chaos of
Modern Love.

Apps to talk face to face,
Texts to email
Are all new additions
In the process of courting.

Finding him or
Her
Or them
Isn’t as simple as
Meeting and dating.
Everything
Is amplified
To a thousand.

Dandelion ~ an Ode: RIP Momma

Many call you names

 

I see your wishes, where all they see

are weeds

 

I know all your uses, replanting

tender seed

 

Dan de Lion ~ forever blow your horn

 

Endless possibilities

blown into space and time

 

Petals soft and yellow

with roots to calm

and Bitter greens

 

Dan de Lion ~ forever blow your horn

 

Forever in resin

“As you wish”

Means, I love you

 

Amanda Potter©: 2019 Poetry Marathon

Prompt 21: A Bee’s Humming Hymn

Asterales Taraxacum—

Be to some, men’s weed.

Asterales Taraxacum—

Bee— thee, my life’s need.

 

Antho-phila-sophy hum.

Hum this hymn with me.

From the spring, ’til fall has come,

I’ll give thanks to thee.

 

Humbly hum this hymn with me.

To this dandy flower!

That sends out, across the breeze.

Parachutes of power.

 

Asterales Taraxacum—

I pray you’ll always be.

May men never overcome;

their lawn’s diversity.