The Poetry Marathon

hidden worlds – hour 12

as a child, I liked to find

little places to hide

a shrub, I pretended was a jungle

a blackberry bush, where the neighborhood cat

joined me

and for a short time, my own closet

I’d bring in a book and a lamp

and for an hour or two

that closet would be a portal

to whatever I could imagine

Hour 12 – Lightning’s Purpose

.Does Lightning have a purpose?

.       Does it only serve to destroy?

.             Or is it made to strike down those

.                    Who are out of Lord’s employ?

.                          It’s a symbol made for magic,

.                         Or for power to cause fear.

.                        Yet even still it has respect.

.                      Whenever it draws near. 

.                Purple bolts of electric light,

.                  bringing nature’s wrath

.                      Are best to be avoided

.                         So as to never cross its path

.                               When it zigs or if it zags

.                                  It soon becomes so clear

.                                       Lightnings purpose

.                                          is to show that rain

.                                               is coming near.

.                   So my friends            when it                strikes

.                           Do not                    look                  away

.                                For       with the rain comes     life

.                                          On each and every day.

Hour 12- Imagination

In the darkness I creep, hands in front of my face

I could be in a cave or even outer space

I battle dragons that come from the sky

Great snakes from down below.

I make courageous journeys and let my bravery show

I take great strides to Narnia, and rule there with a smile

I conquer all the fiercest foes and toss them a hundred miles

I scurry through the darkness, like a tiny mouse

My favourite place to play is in a closet in my house.

8:00 PM – Ballads (Hour 12)

Perfection is boring

chaos ignites passion

Plans and maps should guide

not dictate the journey

glide with tune of

inspiration

opening up your heart 2

Chords of new experiences

 

don’t seek to prove yourself as right

or righteousness

 

rather leave room for the

lessons of

discovery when

wrong

 

proudly bask in your

good intentioned imperfections

for it is those

lovable quirks

that inspire

songs

Closet

I am in a closet, hidding from everybody
I am heartbroken

I do not want to see people anymore, I am
tired of dischonesties, of being ignored when
I most needed love

I feel warm in a closet where it is totally dark,
I feel safe in a closet cause nobody can hurt
me there.

The search is over, I have chosen darkness
over the light. I will be going down the ladder
to abyss

Hour 12 – My Closet

My father’s screams get louder as my mother scrambles to help his pain.

I can’t take the sound of my big strong father in agony, and I cover my ears.

It doesn’t help.

 

My heart races as panic rises within me.

I’m afraid to leave my bed but I gather the courage and run to my closet.

It is my safe place.

 

I close the door quietly behind me and the sounds beyond become muted.

My breathing calms and my heart returns to its normal rhythm.

I am safe here.

 

There are no monsters inside my closet because those are all beyond its door.

No one looks for me when I hide here, no one cares.

I am safe here.

 

Eventually, I hear my parents leaving for, I assume, the hospital.

They have forgotten I exist, which is sometimes for the best I have learned.

I am safe here.

 

In the morning I will get up, get dressed, feed myself, and wait for someone to come.

Eventually, they will send someone for me.

Until then I will be safe within my closet.

 

– Diana Kristine

The Faerie Child

There once was a faerie child
Of golden hair and small size
With an impish grin
And mischief in her eyes

How she loved to run through forests
And climb the tall, tall trees
And laugh as her hair danced
Amid the summer’s breeze

One day her path was crossed
By a human of kind nature
The faerie child was shy at first
For of the human she was unsure

But the human smiled kindly
At this meeting most fortuitous
She loved the child’s spirit
Even if it was a bit mischievous

The human visited the child each day
And each day at their morning meeting
The child’s face would light up
At her human’s kind greeting

The games of human children
Each day they would play
And now and then the child would
Sneak in some tricks of the fae

At midday the child would sleep
Weary from a morning of fun
The human would sing soft lullabies
Until her dreaming had begun

Days turned to weeks then months
And with each passing playtime
The human and the faerie child’s bond
Became something gained once in a lifetime

But as with all good things
Their time together came to an end
The fae child had to leave behind
Her dear human friend

With their final games and tricks
The human felt an aching
Knowing she must say goodbye
Her heart began breaking

Midday came with its final lullaby
For the dear fae child
A song of rain and sunshine
And a love tender and mild

Then came the time of parting
The human bid the child farewell
A blink of an eye and she was gone
No more than a story to tell

There once was a faerie child
Of golden hair and small size
Who held a place in a human’s heart
And mischief in her eyes

Prompt 12

Closets

 

Hidden in Plain Sight (hour 12)

Some of us like to hide from others, the world or even oneself,

we can hide in books, or even with others, always being the

one who questions, not the one who answers.

 

Hiding is second nature for some

beginning in childhood with games of hide and seek.

Where to go? in a low cabinet, under the piano,

or in a closet out of sight.

 

Why are we hiding? Difficult to say.

Like the proverbial Frost poem

depends upon who you’re fencing in

or who you’re keeping out!

 

We all have secrets, that’s not news

So why all the fuss? To each his own,

to keep oneself free from scorn

is enough for me.

 

But the best place–the very best place

is there for all to see but not understand.

 

 

Hour 12: “Ancient Greek Ruins”

A swirling stream of captured glimpses,
memories highlighted with stone and shadow, wildflower mosaics burying segmented
columns and headless statues.

Whole universes of civilizations having risen,
thrived, deepened, and fallen. Fading, fading.
Long before my footsteps dared to touch,
long before my mind sought to understand.

If I stare long enough, deep enough,
into this chiseled rock, crafted by hands
long since withered, decayed. Looking past
the modernity that surrounds these ruins,
beyond the busy chatter, traffic noise,
airplanes that sever the sky…
if I keep staring, might i see?
Might I glimpse, for a moment,
the true gravity of history?

And if it visits me only in quick
fiery specks of realization,
flashes of enlightenment my mind can barely hold,
but returning again, and again, as long as
I continue to stare, continue to freeze time
in the continual disintegration of stone to sand.
Can I put that gravity into my blood?
Move it through the course that feeds my body,
until it settles in the density of my own bones,
into the ruins I will leave behind one day.