The Poetry Marathon

Prudence

The audacity of life

thinking it knows best
thinking it knows you
thinking it should be
thinking for you

Life is what happens
while you’re
making other plans

Still pretty egotistical
still thinking it knows
what’s what and you, too

G-d would say fate is
providence simply
following the script
but he didn’t write so
who the hell knows?

Predestination is really
pre-ordering the life
album before it drops

it really isn’t anything at
all about trust – but more
for the lazy and the
excuse-makers amongst us

Just don’t get caught up in
your personal sagacity.

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Prompt #13 Sonder

People are complex and sophisticated 
though hopeless and helpless 
when left to their own devices.

I thought I was the only one 
trapped in the endless circle
complexities of life decisions 
and consequences. 
Carrying around this weight 
I just couldn't shake off.

It refused to leave
I kept running away 
and kept postponing my plans 
for dealing with it. 
It only grew heavier.
Not acknowledging it and 
addressing it 
only made things harder.

Everyone has their own share 
of devils to deal with at any given time.
You have no idea what the person 
sitting next to you is going through.
Could be completely broken or defeated.

I guess in a way I take comfort in the fact 
that I am not the only one stuck 
the reassurance itself is enough..
it's comforting to know
'I am not alone.'
It gives me the strength to carry on...
when I don't want to.

-Janice Raquela Mendonca  

 

Mondegreen

Mondegreen

Hear it out

The green of the day

Becomes chagrin of man

To the degree of degeneration

 

Hour 13

@varenyas

Prompt 10: wicked Sevenling

at best you are beauty,

sex,

freedom in tiny drops of body fluid.

 

at worst you are ugly,

barren,

slavery, gigantic slabs of concrete.

 

they say over time, wet wears stone.

(c) r. l. elke

Mixed Up

Mixed Up

 

Yellow ran away from home

Causing great distress for

Blue and red while

Green and orange wept

 

Of little consequence to

Black and brown they

Offered support to bring the

Thoughtless youngster back

 

Purple obviously concerned

About blue and red

Showed his true colors

And went to the movies

 

People let this be a lesson

It’s not who you are that

Matters in this world

But who you are mixed up with

 

TobeTT  # 14

Woke

i awoke to find

…that I am no longer

part of the laughter

part of thr tears

part of your life

Hour 13: contumacious

They throw their hands up

Bemoan their rebel daughters

Who long for freedom

Soulmates

Unconventional,
That is how we describe ourselves.
We are not typical of
Other people like us.

We were beautiful,
Long,
Years over what we should be.
We passed an expiration date,
I never knew
But others informed me about,
Repeatedly.

Years passed us by
One to two
Became ten.
We made it to that
Until our bitter
End.
In death,
We parted.
And our love
Remained.
Forever unchanged!

In Community (prompt 16, Hour 13)

In twos and threes the men arrive,
clean, well dressed, solemn.
Prayer shawls in packages tucked
under arms, white or colored caps
perched upon balding heads.

The building greets them,
swallows them up like sugar.
They mingle and mix as they unpack
their shawls, kiss the words on them,
drape them over their shoulders
and pick up prayer books.

It doesn’t matter if blind Sam or crazy Phil
or your angry brother-in-law are there.
All are greeted with ‘good Shabbas’,
and a nod, a handshake or a bow.
All Jews deserve a good rest. A day of peace.
Cessation from hostilities and grievances.
Ha-shem in his wisdom knew this.

In this place, all mitzvahs are honored.
All grief is shared. All joys lift all members.
Place of study. Place of learning.
Place of community. Place of shared meals.
Place of belonging. Place of holidays.
Place of fond memories and dear friends.
Our schul. Our synagogue.

Fingerpainting

Fingerpainting

 

I painted with my fingers, traced them white,

orange, blue on a black-as-night construction

sheet. As my toddlers giggled around

me, I pressed harder and harder, almost

tearing through the paper. But when they stared

at my scribbled page, I showed them how

to take a brush and smooth it all away.

Circles and dots, fingerprints that won’t leave

turned to lines and thistles streaking through dark.

As the kids got up and washed their hands, I stayed

and placed my purple fingers underneath

the wood table, knowing they would stay.