The Poetry Marathon

2019 #7-What I can’t say out loud

We were stuck, all of us

In a repeating loop of the unsaid

And I can’t wrap my mind around it

Now, even after you’re gone

We should be free-

But tapes run their course then start all over again

If no one thinks to press stop

I don’t blame you-

Even if you are to blame

For at least the most recent long-term symptom

We were all cowards; we all fell in line

With your insanity-because that’s what it was

Can you make a joke out of that?

Is it funnier if your new audience really is dead?

Truth was never our strong suit

Not in this family, so you married well

And we all played along with the collective silence

About whatever ailed you

Is it a mystery?

Or do we really not want to know?

We laughed at your jokes

Hugged you when your body felt breakable,

Saw your hands when they shook,

But weren’t allowed to ask about it

Nor say a damn word.

You took your life and all it did was deepen the hole

We were already in.

(not prompted by the song)

Maybe a Song

We cast a spell
to protect us from unkindness
and people who adore celebrities.
“I wish our spell included 
protection against houseflies.”
I mutter, waving them off to pester another.
Silently and to myself, I warn the fly.
I don’t want to kill you,
But I won’t lose sleep over it.
”The song isn’t that bad,” 
Gently intrudes on my unspoken threats.
”No.” I agree. 
Working on appreciation,
acceptance and the ukulele.
Anticipating chords changes.
Being lulled by the calm melody.
I picture the song’s placement
somewhere with Bon Iver
And “Somebody I used to know.” 
Sort of sad, 
Sort of sweet.
It’s a really good drawing,
The dog on the cover, I mean.
And I’m not criticizing.
Maybe it is a cover. 
When at first I listened,
I thought it
Some kind of fish.
The drawing I mean.

prompt 7 and 8: I am a good girl

I decided to see if I could put both the trapped and locked out…turned out I could:

 

i am a good girl

blasted bottle said “drink me.”

 

i am a good girl

i do what i am told

in this world of men

iron

ash

and coal dust so invisible

as to stain your cheeks with inky tears

after birth.

 

i am a good girl.

i drink when told to drink

i shrink when told to shrink

become invisible

when iron men reduce my dreams to ash when i reach up to

reach out to

find the box is lidded with glass –

the Cheshire cat grinning through the lid,

revealing the colours of its padded feet

to me

from the lid above.

 

i am a good girl.

i wait to be invited in –

a vampire

cop or

virus

panting at the door

drooling on the welcome mat

 

i am a good girl.

slide me the key under the jamb –

hide it under that sopping mat

so i may come in, too

to join you –

Queen of Hearts.

i see you through that glass lid perched beside ol’ Cheshire again

grinning at me

above me

as i stare into the sloppy welcome mat…

door knob getting farther and farther away from my grasp.

 

if i could only crawl under –

get out of this fucking box shrinking around me

like vacuum-sealed bags for storing old pillows –

but no!

i am a good girl –

too big for this place of men

Queens of Hearts wearing crowns of

iron

and ashes…

too small to hold the key

on my own.

(c) r.l.elke

 

Protected: poem 7 hour 7 lady-slippers (song-prompt resurrection fern Iron&Wine))

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Autumn

Leaves fall, as do Empires, in the fullness of time.

They say she wasn’t built in a day,
but Rome took generations to fall.

Will we?

In the fading dusk of democracy,
we are driven to panic by demagogues.
An empire, a lifestyle, built on finite resources,
policies built on deferral of consequence.
Fractured consensus, identities of animosity,
A groggy center holding, barely.

A revolution sounds dandy,
but a civil war is no place for innocent,
and if you think the other side will cede
without blood in the streets,
history has hard lessons for you.

Leaves fall, like lives spent in the service of empire or idealism.

But leaves grow back.

Luxuries our ancestors would have named magic,
envenoming landfills and clogging the oceans.
Desertification, rising floodwaters, resurgent diseases
spread on winds far warmer than nature provides
outside of an asteroid or pyroclasm.

We are an extinction level event
on par with the end of the Cretaceous.
We are witnessing the birth of a world
that cannot hope to sustain us.
A millennia-long harvest of dust
after a century of sewing the skies with poison.

Leaves fall, but it grows no cooler.

Music and Writing/Prompt 9 Hour 7

Music can be
Intrusive, distracting
during my writing time
lyrics carry me off topic
deep beats, groovy melodies
I’m listening more than I’m writing
Snapping my fingers and bobbing my head
I can’t get it done this way, frustrated
Something had to change
Opened up to something new
Symphonic poems, classical music
preferably slow, completely unfamiliar
symphony-style by unfamiliar composers
Now my writing flows easily
Mission accomplished

Song (Prompt 9)

Wagons

dirt roads

trails rarely traveled

were traveled by us

Memories of those times

stick to my ribs

satisfying my taste buds

I’ve been in the the eye of the storm

and its satisfying in what it provides….

 

 

Anti-mimesis

Our Big Brother is a cloud of rotten eggs
that doesn’t dissipate,
infiltrating all realms

His thought police work overtime
as his malodorous vapors penetrate
all axons and neurons

We smell it but doublespeak teaches us
that old and new creations stories
have replaced known forces and histories of nature

Our faith in brotherhood is weak and
is unable to vaccinate us from the 2 minute hate
that has become 24/7 hate

The rules are unclear
and asymmetric and
we are no longer playing cricket

Roman Kiss

Hour 5

Fiery sunset, piercing the sky

A Roman prince, a demigod

just waiting for my arrival.

I knew it was you,

Inciting the fires within.

Smoldering flames,

A fiery love.

 

To All the Break-Up Songs

Singing along with the car radio,
It seems like every song’s about you.
CeeLo forgot you (at least on the radio),
Carrie slashed your tires,
Taylor’s never getting back with you,
Gloria’s surviving,
Kelly can finally breathe,
Beyonce assures you’re replaceable,
Gotye and Kimbra were cut off and screwed over,
and all fingers point at you.
Surely I am happier not knowing you at all.
Tears, destruction, and malice are your souvenirs,
Broken hearts and Top 40 hits.
The rest of the world seems to relate.
Although I know all the words,
I just haven’t met you yet.
Perhaps you’ve been slandered,
Made some mistakes,
Thought that love was just an easy game to play,
Stumbled and got lost in a convoluted relationship.
I wouldn’t know.
I think I would prefer to feel the heartbreak
Than be the only one who doesn’t understand
So, take a little piece of my heart,
I need someone to share it with.