The Poetry Marathon

Miniature Monster House

The elf’s dwelling is something to witness
It has its tiny windows and small doors
But more than that, it has a miniscule kitchen
A child’s tale has spilled into the real world

The crafted tables and chairs highlight
The woodworking merit of the little man
The gleeful paint and the beautiful flowers
Capture my eyes and occupy my thoughts

The windows are left slightly ajar
To allow some cool wind to enter
Outside, the starlings provide a nighttime
Concert to all who are willing to listen

My legs, paralyzed by the tight ropes, can’t move
But I can feel the tight cloth enclosing my mouth
Delicate cotton pillows caress my pink cheeks
But my hands remain wound with green vines

I admire the furniture and gawk at the wallpaper
Imprisoned and suffocated, pleasure is long gone
The pumpkin candles give light to each crevice
And my captor cooks to stuff me for the festival

Locked Out

Hitting a wall with this but trying to unblock

Just going to rhyme. Think of some rhymes as well? Add them . . . .

From there, I’m going to try to figure out a poem. I seem to be writing more prose poems, and the lists aren’t coming today, either.

Locked out      Blocked out    Knocked out   Rocked out

Tocked  Stocked  Frocked  Smocked   Mocked  Crocked (?)  Flocked  Rocked  Shocked

 

 

 

 

The lockbox

The box is empty

otherwise we would be safe

filling the box now

Tunnel Play

Bright, vibrant colors
Swirling and encircling
Seeing Mommy Through to the end
Squeals of delight
Announces 
There is no better place 
To be than
Through the tunnel. 
Except, 
Sometimes, 
It’s better to stop
and tease and wait.
Mom smiles,
Doubt vanishes.
Crawling slows to a sit
Safe within 
Happy to stay.

Trapped

Hello?
Yes, I am here.
Can you see me?
I am trapped.
Could you free me?
Please?
Oh — yes —
and thank you —

Trespassers Will

Trespassers William, Piglet’s Grandpa,

sat ‘pon a log in the mead.

“Someday, I hope, said the Piggie Grandpa,

that my grand-piglets can read…

 

I hope they will know a Pooh from a Roo.

And why Tiggers are wonderful things.

And how to garden with contrary Rabbits.

And that Owls inherit their wings.

 

And how to have courage.

And how to have friends.

And there’s no one else quite like you.

And to always include every Eyeore you meet,

be they happy or crying ‘Boo-who’.

 

And oh, not to fear any heffalump lumps!

Nor woozles woozling about…

Be brave, little piglets, no matter what;

Shout at them, “P-p-pleaze, stay out!”

 

Maybe Christopher Robin might help me make

A sign that just fits the bill…

We’ll post it right here at Pooh Corner;

And I’ll sign it “Trespassers Will!”

Hour 6 – West Virginia

West Virginia

24 thousand square miles is not small
A person could get lost in all that space

But I feel stuck
A small person
In a small town
In a small life

Locked out of new experiences
Locked out of meeting new people
Locked out of moving forward

Trapped

Death of Me (Hour 5)

We raced through the jungle trails on a motorcycle,
faceless men, clad in black, chasing us.
Throwing stars at us from their Ducati’s,
you were finally saving me.

We spun around a corner,
your father’s houseboat docked within the marsh.
Safety, at last!
There was a table for the dead affixed to the stern,
extending into the water.
At first glance, I thought it was a slide.
I lay on its metallic surface, warmed by the sun, because you asked me to.
Then streams of crimson spilled into the water surrounding me,
and then I knew.
You only saved me to drain me.
But why?

I jumped from my death and stormed the boat.
You had my passport, trapping me,
saying I had no choice but to die.
Begging to know why, you told me you had to obey.
Your father wanted me dead.
There was no time for tears, I was determined to find another way.
I could run back to the ninjas and let them take me.
But just like that we were already out to sea,
and your father wanted my blood.
But why?

Standing starboard, I could see the shoreline twenty miles away.
I could swim it. I would make it to shore, and then disappear.
Before I could dive, you grabbed my arm.
You gave me the small paper bag that held my identity and a key.
I followed as you led, a jet ski tethered to the boat.
You told me to go before your father came back, it was the only chance I had.

I straddled the jet ski, ignited it’s fury, and rocketed away.
The salt spray mixed with my tears as I left you behind.
I had no thank you to say, only confusion and defiance.
The further I rode, the more my heart broke.
I loved you more than a human could ever love,
but you were the death of me.

Poem #6

from the high shelf

of a dainty toy store

the pretty doll looks on

as kids of all ages

smile and play and take home

their new playmates

friends, even best friends for life

( or until they overgrow them)

but that’s all she does

she would sigh if she could

oh! how times have changed

she thinks as she waits

once a rare treasure

now she is just another toy

in mass-production

left to wait an eternity

and watch-on from

the high shelf of a dainty toy store.

 

 

(no, I did not write this while watching toy story)

Freedom, Ltd

Locked in and locked out both at once;
So slow, I convinced I’m a dunce
In all the social niceties.
Some friends help, other like to tease the encumbrance.

Locked in when I can’t leave my bed
For the pain in my back, legs, and head.
Locked in when I can’t talk or hear,
For the roaring fog in my ears leaves me dead.

Locked out when a shop says, “Boo-hoo,
“You can’t make us put ramps in for you.
“Stop acting like you have the right
“To give decent people a fight, you scrounger, you!”

Locked out and locked in, with no cure;
There’s nothing to do but endure.
But one choice is left here still mine:
If I want to let this define me: No. I’m more.

 

Form: The Florette

Prompt: Write a poem about being stuck in a very small place, actually or metaphorically; or Write a poem about being locked out, actually or metaphorically.