The Poetry Marathon

Magic!

 

Hour two: Bodysong

I dig my fingertips down
into the soil
past the point of warmth
in search of the dandelion’s root

& I might as well be standing before a mirror
running my palms along every fold
and crevice that screams woman
pinching my cellulite as if I could
pluck it from the surface of me

the earth seeps through
the fabric of my gloves
finding home beneath
my fingernails

I ask myself
when was the first time
I thought of myself as a boy
or at least as something
that was not a girl

& if my womanhood can
once and for all be plucked
from this body
or if I’ll spend the rest of my life
watching it sprout yellow
turn to the wind &
scatter across my surface

War Machine Blues, Hour 2

Oily sludge
Drips from war machinery
Lubricated by blood-seasoned crude

We watch it on our TV
In air-conditioned misery
Wonder if there’s anything we can really do

In a world where fame supercedes the art that makes us famous
Where image misportrays the essence of who we really are
Where everyone’s not good enough
Just getting by is so damn tough
But we’re all just this close to being stars

Update Instagram to the rhythm of the war drums
Drone strike videos suggested on YouTube
Is this what we’ve become?
Constant passive viewing of atrocities make us numb

But not dumb

Overeducated, overworked and underpaid
Too informed to be anything but jaded
We bow to the gods of profit-driven resource extraction
And wonder why America is synonymous with hatred

Gears grind, dripping tears of Afghani mothers
Of Iraqi children
Of Syrian refugees
Of a world under threat from those who view their fellow man as others

Lubricated by petroleum
Habituated to violence
Inundated by conflict, chaos and distraction

So many distractions

The only sane reaction is to isolate
But that level of alienation McKenna spoke of is unattainable with the drones above

Dark skies punctuated by military satellites twinkling in space

(Hour 02) 11.30-12.30am. PROMPT, magic

a sort of sorcery

born from the tiniest spark
it can rip the chill from a room
or consume entire forests
birth dragons, electrify wands
enchant dogs, illuminate the hidden
draw stories from strangers
mesmerise us till only embers

crackle whisper roar

 

 

Magic (hour 2)

She always loved witchcraft.
She performed little acts of magic over her lifetime:
making it rain (just a simple dance and chant),
bringing a child back to life (nothing like Pet Sematary, sorry Stephen),
turning a prince into a beast (much harder than it sounds, but worth the effort).

However, when it was time to empty the lioness
and put away a universe of misadventures,
She could only pray in the cool garden of the roads between.

Within, every dirty pretty thing seemed like a lullaby.

She soon discovered that the nectar of knowing hurt
and every word she uttered was a shotgun to the head.

 

#between hours

Fearless
That ain’t me
Though I was
Born to be free
Living
I do it everyday
Or is it breathing
Whatever it may be
Happy
I know it’s me
Though I have no idea
Why would that be.

Introduction

Hello all! My name is Abeo. I use they/them pronouns. I am Comparative Women’s Studies major, Creative Writing minor at Spelman College in Atlanta, GA. I love poetry, especially spoken word (even though I don’t perform) however I haven’t written much in the last 2 years. I am excited about this marathon as a way to set aside some time to get back in touch with my work. I am a Libra sun & moon and a Sagittarius rising. My favorite color is lavender and I love sunflowers and sunlight.

Their Seething Contentment

I wrote a novel
about
a couple
who won the lottery.
It may never sell,
but my mind plays with
the concept
of winning
and what that means
everyday.

It’s always at night
that I think
what a waste,
what a cosmic joke
could be played
by the universe
if the grocer
sold us a winning ticket
and on that same night,
someone’s hand grabbed
the nuclear football
out of nothing more
than being
miffed
by Denmark.

They always got better press.

The magic called Love

When I am with you
Everything feels like magic
Like I am standing in a fairyland
Full of flowers a d fresh air
The touch of your hand
Feels like butterflies flying all over
When you kiss my lips
I feel like the ground beneath my feet
Has suddenly turned into fine dust
The way you make me feel everyday
It makes me believe in the magic called Love even more

Alluring World

A butterfly alighting on a bright yellow flower
Can bring on a chorus of gleeful shouts
A swirl of wind among the whispering trees
             There is magic in the air.
A cloud in the shape of a galloping horse
An intake of breath that whistles as it is let out
A firefly dancing at the edge of the dark woods
            There is magic everywhere.
The sunshine glinting off the surface of the lake
Can elicit a whirlwind of blissful sighs
Twinkling stars in the night sky shine
            There is magic if you dare.
The flickering of firelight, dancing shadows
Smiles of relaxation and warmth all around
The happiness shining from a child’s bright eyes
            The magic that we share.