The Poetry Marathon

I am many things … but wish I were more

I am courageous.
In my mind, I am a super hero. When I become fearful, I fall to earth.
A human. Being. But am I?
I am flawed.
In my body. In my way of thinking. I wear my flaws like designer jewels.
In my mind, I waltz with confidence.
But in my body, I drag and limp to the invisible finish line.
I am tired.
Of thinking of cool, innovative ideas.
Of competing. With others. With myself.
So I shuffle with the masses and berate myself, which does not add fuel to the super human being lost inside. Will she ever find her way out?
I am rebellious.
But chose the most obvious path. Rebel without a worthy cause?
Is that even a rebel?
Is this a metaphor?
Why can’t I just cheer choosing and taking action instead of face plant in my phone, not facing reality. Planting more seeds of worry.
I am unoriginal.
As evidenced by this boring choice of starting with I am.
So much for subtlety.
I am. Why oh why can’t that be enough?

Hour 1: I Am

I am searching for my place

My home in the universe

I am searching for inspiration

My grand idea that’s waiting

I am searching for love

My rock to keep me grounded

I am searching for joy

My sunshine when there’s no sun

i am searching for peace

My calm when the world storms

I am searching for my place

My home in the universe

 

So here is my hour 1 poem. I don’t know that I like the last line but I can revise it later as needed.

Glassy-Winged Sharpshooter

Glassy-Winged Sharpshooter

 

Magical dragon easing translucent wings

On warm summer breezes

Allowing flora to breath while

Puffs of seeds whisper

 

But alas the winged sharpshooter

Holds little beauty bestowed

With dark beetle body

Suggesting an awkward dance

 

Without reverence for gardens

This leafhopper offers sticky goo

Painted on sweet red grapes

To ruin the Green Man’s wine

 

Tobe TT   #1

I am, Words [1 – #iam]

I used to write essays, stories, the words flowing out onto the page
but you–
you have messed me up
you have taken me down and now
I am liquid
my words fall out without structure
willy nilly

I am trailing word droppings at work
I am leaving words in the cart at the grocery
I am sorry for the puddle of words that fell out on to the broccoli
I am sure you didn’t expect to be picking consonants out of your casserole.

Even the librarian, who I thought would have been used to words, words, words everywhere
sighed as they fell out of my hair and came out of my pockets in the stacks.
Maybe because they’re not good words
I am a bad poet, a bad writer
(see, here is proof)

but you did this to me
you opened this fountain
that won’t stop flowing
like tears

I AM

I Am glad to see you again, poetry, my friend, my lover, my counselor, my solace, my soul, my gift.

It’ been too long and not at the same time since we’ve seen each other.

Been together. Like we were before.

I Am sorry that I’ve been gone for so long

I’ve been transcending and ascending

Going above and beyond myself

On my journey of knowing, living, and loving me

I mean, I know you know

You’re inside of me.

I Am glad that you haven’t left me you were there for me when I turned the page over and over again

Inside joke, between you and me. 😉😘

I Am here taking advantage of me and an opportunity to be united with you again as one

So close, like we once were all those years ago.

I Am sorry that I slowly let you go

As I slowly let myself go and get lost in a rainbow 🌈

Of wifey, mother, sister, daughter, friend, servant, Chameleon

While forgetting that you, me, are the waters that make them so.

I am sorry for my Blurred Vision

When I looked at my reflection

I Am thankful that my reflection was and is always me

And the vow that I put in me

I finally rose 🌹 to the occasion to apply it to me.

And here writing this now

With the first hour’s prompt of this poetry marathon

That I Almost Missed

Just confirms, reaffirms, reminds me

As I Am doing more than Singing

My life is Right On Vibe™

We are both Cosmic and Ancient

2019, 6th Grade, 33

The Universal Alignment of 3

I AM meant to be

And Poetry once again

Thank you love ♥️❤️💚💛💜💓💙🖤🧡

For showing me

 

Copyright © 2019 By Angelica Stevenson

All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prompt 2: Magic – H.J ©️

2019: In response to Prompt 2
Written by: H.J ©️
https://official-authorhj.yolasite.com/media-gallery.php

 

Magic is your eyes;
The way they sparkle with passion,
and play like butterflies.

Magic is your heart;
The way it pounds with pleasure,
And views life as treasure.

Magic is your laugh;
So light and true.

Magic was ours –
On the day I fell in love with you.

19~1

I am dying inside…

and nobody knows

so nobody cares

(to know me)

 

i am rotting…

a stinking hulk of flesh

where everything is melting

mere tears never matter

and nothing

affects anyone

but

~Me~

(they don’t see)

 

i am being eaten alive…

by overwhelming love

i’ve given

and taken

(none left in me)

 

bits and pieces

consumed

until there is nothing left

nothing at all…

 

i am searching for my Self

never knowing where i’m going

(forever lost)

 

Happy?

 

I Am Not.

Counting

I have become a counter
not just one who opposes
but a keeper of numbers
that move me forward

I count stair steps
and reps of all sorts,
with a blind faith
I didn’t know I had

I shuffle the order
mix it up
keeping track of the more difficult
and only occasionally missing a dose

My mind will drift
losing my way in my series of numbers
only to return
to my finite state

Dealing with old religion

Time on its plain sight

Expanding and Extinguishing

Stirring space across the land and the sky

Marvelous encounters of wizard’s tale

Potions made and counter spells uttered

Stirring to a witness to be astonished

Heart rending tales of old sparkles anew

Legends of old are immortalized

Since the time of its memorial

Wizardry of old religion reminisces

Calling on till the end of time

Myths or realities

Marvels the universe of humanity

How and why of things transpiring

Emulating and elating humankind

A feat of an old religion prevails in its antiquity

 

Prompt # 2 Hour # 02

10:00 PM PHT 22/06/2019

Hour 1

It’s just the first hour

With eleven more to follow

I am staring at a blank page

I am willing the words to flow

I thought writing came easy to me

I am an author, that’s my job

Yet a simple poem eludes me

I am feeling like a big flop

It’s not ‘in’ to rhyme, I know

But it’s the best I can do

I am struggling to stay afloat

I am determined to see this through