Hour 12 Tanka
They are listening,
They are watching what you do,
Oh, little sponges,
Taking in information,
That is not appropriate.
Slater (Hour 6)
I see,
This round earth bullshit belief,
Was all a big hoax by the morbid elite.
Who knew it was true no planets, no orbits,
Just pancake flat earth on the back of a tortoise.
That’s a big fucking tortoise, I wonder who feeds it.
I try to see God all I see is a beatnik.
He tells me “be mellow man expand your horizons-
-existence is full of exquisite surprises”
Are you God, the all mighty, the grand lord and creator,
He said, “Na, I’m his cousin Winston man, I’m just here to feed Slater-
-Slater, the turtle”.
Oh, ok.
Winston.
Up
Up
high up
Up is high
high is always up
high up like a cloud
Clouds float up in the sky
the sky is blue with white clouds
the clouds rise up and over the mountaintops
the mountaintops rise up and over the valley below
the moon is up higher than the sky and the mountaintops
the moon is up higher than the sky, mountaintops and the clouds
yet, up has even more with the stars that twinkle and shine at night
the sun is up and shines over all, never yielding its glory to anyone.
except when darkness covers the earth and the moon smiles down
Just look up tomorrow and you’ll see another day.
It’s Just a Leaf Prompt 11
Old and brown.
Only your imagination can remember the deep red
Of this maple leaf on her tree in autumn,
Exuberant with her sisters in the fall wind,
Pirouetting on the tree.
You picked it for me,
Holding it by the stem,
Pointing to its lobs, declaring the five ways
You loved me,
You could not live without me,
And five reasons to immediately marry.
Our red maple tree made the best leaves for jumping,
Our children laughed. And the best shade in summer,
Your mother declared.
I stroke the old leaf as I gaze at the tree,
Sprays answering every breeze.
She is my secret poetry tree –
Where my eyes wander when the words are congested,
A promise of movement in stifled time,
Treasure of our tribe.
Hour 9: Elena
I know you didn’t do it long
But I need your advice
Tell me how you made it
As a creature of the night
I turned my switch off too, you see
Many moons ago
But I must’ve done it wrong
Now all I feel is low
I must’ve turned it halfway off
Can you do that? Can you not?
It’s the only explanation
For this darkness that I’ve got
I feel no joy or happiness
No light, no pleasure
Just a deep despair
With no hope of getting better
I still feel fear and heartache
Pain and misery
All the bad I’ve ever done
On loop, just haunting me
Make it stop, I beg you
This whirlwind to insanity
Tell me how to get it back
I’m missing my humanity
Prompt for Hour Twelve
Text Prompt
Closets are a big deal inside a house, but also metaphorically. One can be in the closet, or come out of it, for example, But they are also places of safety and joy for small children, or where a monster is lurking, depending on the small child, and/or time of day.
There are very few poems about closets, but this is your chance to write one about the closet, metaphorical or physical or both.
Image Prompt
Mandala drawn by Vidya Shankar (this is the full image that we ended up using for the cover of the 2022 Poetry Marathon Anthology)
8 PM – Grief
Creeps up,
feels like nothing,
a numbness,
until you feel everything.
The buzz of my skin,
hive minded,
thoughts disconnect,
left with resentment.
Can’t accept it,
want to deny it,
flight of the bee,
reaching crescendo.
I feel nothing.
Did I ever feel at all?
Did I ever stop to think about surfaced thoughts?
Did time stop to be my friend? Or pass as my enemy?
Will I always be in storm without peace?
(Hour 11) 08.30-09.30am. TEXT PROMPT: “Extraordinary in Ordinary”
pillow talk
i don’t : want to sound : soft : believe me : i’m no soft : soft : soft : city boy : upper middle class git : everything comes so easy to me : unconscious of my own privilege : woke whinging softy : cos i’m not
but : i tell you : right now : i’d go to great lengths : to secure : the deepest : softest : memory sensing : foam pillow : (bamboo preferably) : money can : beg : borrow : buy : steal : be gifted : just to rest : for one night : in luscious luxurious : lighter than air : angel’s wings : fairy floss : cotton cloud cliche : comfort
because : my swag : no matter how many socks : i insert : remains : harder than the rocks : it rests upon
Tiniest stones (Prompt 11)
It’s just an old quart Mason Jar
two-thirds filled with sand
sitting in the corner, small shelf
just above my desk
as nondescript as artifacts go
prominent display
typical jar, ordinary sand, hand
scooped by me –
my hand, from shallow bottom
Horseshoe Lake
grandparents home, my summer
oasis – though
over twenty years had passed
current owner
allowed beach access, I had a bag
and an impulse
My stop spontaneous, my actions
deliberate
In glancing at that jar so much comes
back to me
lapping waves on the beach, walking
barefoot on same
summer days have lasted a lifetime
amazing what sand
thousands of granular bits of rock
most common
element on earth, most uncommon
touchstones
Mine alone.
– Mark L. Lucker
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