The Poetry Marathon

Queue Don Williams

Prompt 2, Hour 2

Write a poem about magic. Magic as something real, magic as something imagined, magic in a fictional setting, magic in an urban situation, it can be about how children perceive the world as magic, or possibly magic, anything really. The word magic need not be mentioned, but it can be.

 

 

I don’t believe in magic and what some call fate

I don’t believe in knocking on wood

Nor crossing myself three times

I don’t believe that seeing a black cat brings me bad luck

Nor does spilling the salt

 

I don’t believe in wishing on a star

I don’t believe in curses, spells, or voodoo dolls

Nor karma righting all wrongs

I don’t believe Friday the Thirteenth is worse than any other day

Nor is Halloween a night for the dead to celebrate

 

I don’t believe staying healthy will add years to my life

I don’t believe eating an apple each day keeps the doctor away

Nor do I believe there isn’t a cure already for cancer

I don’t believe an annual mammogram is necessary

Nor do I need a yearly colonoscopy

 

I believe you can love more than one at a time, although not very well

I believe in love that never dies, that distance doesn’t separate

And I believe there are those who fall in love at first sight

I do believe in making every moment count

And I believe that love truly does conquer all

 

19~2

Magic Man

whose fingers know me

inside and out

upside down and beyond

 

Magic Man

who knows my mind

he can see past confusion

unraveling with time

 

Magic Man

believes in me

he’s always there

though mostly invisible

 

Magic Man

 sees inside my heart

wraps it gently with his

in all ways he loves me

 

(is he Mine?)

Magically Magical You

I used to think of living alone Of being old and be unknown
Until I saw your smile that day My plans and goals have blown away

Because you’re amazing Because you’re fun
You bring good life Under the sun

I resisted but I knew I can’t I knew it was a useless rant
I tried so hard but what can I do when my heart says It’s It’s you

I planned to go but couldn’t go far Being away felt so bizarre
I was so worried but you made me calm With you my life became so warm

I knew at once it was gamble A thing I knew is hard to handle
I knew so well it’s so unplanned but what I feel is very grand

You made me whole complete my life You stood by me and made me your wife
A magical feeling I know so true brought by a magically magicaL YOU.

Reflections on a Filthy Pool

The pump still works, but something’s broken.
Some busted pipe under tons of concrete.

Without that one little tube, nigh impossible to get at and fix, the system failed
And you stopped being a swimming pool.

But a pool you remained,
as water shifted from blue to green,
clear to cloudy, vacant to crowded.

Chlorine and chemicals thinned by rain, absorbed by leaves,
perhaps imbibed with gusto by some intrepid microorganisms like moonshine-drunk prospectors plowing into an unexploited region.
You became habitable, then vulnerable, then welcoming, then home.

In time, enough brazen algae and audacious critters crawled into you,
and did those creeping, growing, icky life things
that you went from a sanitary refuge for overheated children to
a strange captive ecosystem, bound by four concrete walls, a deep floor, and a few clogged pipes.

A palette of greens: from sickly, puke pale to nearly bile-black.
A scent not of pond, but off; a smell from the uncanny valley.
A habitat for bacteria, paramecia, amoebae, and fucking mosquitoes but
Woe betide the snake or toad, or frog that tries to find refuge in you;
those walls are a lethal prison to wrong-size creatures,
And the accretion of thriving muck at the bottom hungers, always.

And yet, to others, to so much that spawns and blooms and perishes,
You are home; you are enough.
Their tiny lives pass, full, within your poured walls;
content to have served their purpose.
However unnatural their place, and unwelcome their habitation.
They get to live.  Because of you.

Wool and Gossamer

Like old tattered boxes

Stacked in the dusty corner

Forgotten

Like blue flowered plates

Behind a cupboard door

Waiting

Like a glossy coffee table book

On display

Some cold

As if left outdoors overnight

In January

Others warm

As a July night

Glowing with fireflies

My memories

Eve Remillard

6/22/19

MAGIC – An Acrostic

MAGIC: AN ACROSTIC

Mysteries surround our lives; a twinkle, a glimpse
of something new.

Apart from the way we are taught to see; a fairy’s
fire – not real, but true.

Glittering glamours that can’t be explained; where
logic will not dare to tread.

Intrinsic knowledge of powers beyond lie in our
souls, not in our heads.

Come into the light, come into the fold, and be one
with the magic of days of old.

Caveat

After two prompts, and having recently completed that many chemo treatments, just let me give fair warning that, though this is, evidently, going to be a catharsis for me, of all the tearful nights and painful days, this is not ‘daisies-and-sunshine writing. It is rather morbid. It is helping me heal already. It certainly may be disturbing for many of you. PLEASE do not feel the need to comment or respond. I have so very many well-wishers swarming around me daily, that this morning I discovered I have a lot of grieving to do and they can’t stop me from doing it here. They can’t curtail my ‘negative’ worrying, my fears, my frustrations…and it is all going to be dumped here. Maybe by 9am tomorrow, I will find a daisy-and-sunshine couplet, but for now, it’s all about ‘pushing up daisies’ and the burning hell glow of helium and chemo.

Modern Magicians

she does not wear a pointy hat
or traverse the sky on broomstick.

he doesn’t have a long white beard
or brandish a mystic wand.

they mix their potions
bubble, steam, and fizz
carefully adjusting each spell
a little too green, a little too thick…

she wears her hair in a ponytail
and drives to work in a blue Ford.

he has a dark forest of stubble
and three boxes of his favorite pencils

they wear long robes of white
and translucent plastic masks.
she knows a couple card tricks.
he has a black cat named Whiskers.

the magic that they practice,
study, and perform
would surely shock the ancient peoples
who lived in fear of knowledge

what once was evil now is good
as Magic is renamed Science.

A Mother’s Love

I have loved you since that very first beat of my heart, the first time you knew of me,
The scale of love I have in store for you, an ocean’s deep,
I have been seeking for your love but found none, I was left without a clue,
Hampered by my own inability to gain your blessings, futile attempts,
It pained me greatly, to not gain your trust after all those years of proven loyalty,
It puzzled my mind, to listen to slanders spread of me, to relatives and friends,
It killed my hope, to always be third on the podium of choice, my requests never granted,
It destroyed my will, to be denied of love and support from my own flesh and blood,
It mortified my intelligence, to opinions of mine scorned upon released,
It drove me mad, when my sincere offers to help got brushed aside,
It grieved me beyond cure, to the fact that you refused to accept my invites to be with me,
Many nights, I cried myself to sleep thinking of the reasons for you to loathe me,
You left me in the dark without any reasonable explanation for your actions,
Is it because I did not excel in my studies, thus I am seen as unworthy?
Or Is it because of having the mind of my own, thus I am seen as rebellious?
I am in need of answers to end my dire pain , not cash, properties or any other gains,
I am just a son dying to be loved by his mom,

sanctus deus

there is an evil on the other side of the street – it crawls in the corners of your eyes when you sleep and it stays in the crevices between your hips every waking hour; would you do it like a child? would you go up like exposure wires when he asks you to? it does not corrupt: this evil is much smaller and paler than that – deliver us from evil, oh father – an evil that festers like a wound, an evil that burrows like a  graveyard, an evil that unties everything that’s left of you – the LORD God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken – do not name that which you shouldn’t, do not try to blame other people for your misery – how do you pray? – do not question he who tells you what you need – this is how you worship, my child – do not wish for him to be sucked up in some unholy black hole – on your knees, my child – your anger shall burn down what he has created only when it is time – open your mouth – do not believe in man-made retribution if it is not eternal, even if you wanted to – Christ died for the dirty things you did – do not take his holy sword unto yourself –  He will strike the earth with the rod of His mouth, And with the breath of His lips He will slay the wicked – do not speak of blasphemous magic to protect yourself, do not call upon the old Gods – God loves his children – stay silent for all that is worthy – God loves his children – all things good come upon those who wait my dear: rise up and walk. none of your bones are broken.