The Poetry Marathon

I Am Changes

Of course I am smiling.  I define me.

I am a prude that wears the red lipstick that people once considered rude if not on the lips of women with low discretion.

We smile together now. Because we know it means freedom…and power.

I am determined, so far outside of the box folks think I live in based on the version of me that they conjure up in their mind.

I smile knowing they are wrong while letting them carry on…waiting for my hour.

I am a dictionary that presents herself as an acronym, just to Keep It Sweet and Simple. Kisses to you my love. I prefer that you understand.

I don’t challenge who they think that I am. Is it worthy of time or talent to challenge weaknesses? Surely it is not worthy of treasures. Confidence is my knight. So I rest well in the times that are dark.

I am changes and consistency. The best of it all is the best of me. I am my smile.

 

(jj2019). All rights reserved

2019 Poetry Marathon Hour 1

 

 

poem #1

To be here
I am happy
Indeed I am
Sharing a passion
That burns my soul
Content, I am
Nurturing an idea
The same as you
A little nervous I am
Though knowing
There are no bounds
Encouraged to be real, I am
To be here, now, this moment
Full of pride,
I am!

Hour 1

I’m posting rather differently this year, as I am out. I will go back through them all when it’s over to edit and transcribe them.

Rainer Ep: 1

Rainer,

The name called out to her

Like a perfect note played on a piano

The woman couldn’t remember where the name came from

It just came about within her mind

Rainer

She soon realized that she could think again

What was thinking?

She quickly became aware of her surroundings

The other workers in the same exact outfit of navy blue

The soldiers watching over the workers with rifles in hand

She looked around realized one last thing,

The woman had to get out of there.

I am

I am vapid
I am vain
I am pleasure
I am pain
I am salvation
I am disdain
I am the bounty
I am the bane
I am corrosive
I am inane
I am possessive
I am the rain
I am delirious
I am insane
I am a nobody
And you are to blame

Apologies

 

Unfortunately for personal reasons I am not going to be able to wholly participate in the half marathon like I originally thought, but I hope it’s okay that I’ll still post (hopefully) a couple poems today throughout it, so that I can at least be somewhat involved.

Just wanted to give anyone reading an explanation!

Am I

Am I, perfectly perturbed?

I am

Am I, wonderfully witty?

I am

Am I, consciously creative?

I am

Am I, decidedly determined?

I am

Am I, titillatingly thoughtful?

I am

Am I, graciously grateful?

I AM!

 

Amanda Potter©: 2019 Poetry Marathon

1. The Messenger I

I’m alone in this room

In this city, with so many

I’m alone and I compromise

With my biggest disguise

I am alone and I compromise

With so much effort, like a child

I’m meant to be with you all

I’m meant to communicate and share

But I stay here and I don’t fall

For that fair share

My biggest dream is to share all with all

I don’t do it because…

Because I’m afraid

Afraid of what?

Being Rejected?

Really?

How is that even possible?

(Not like me at all)

I’ve been trying

But dispersed and distracted

I changed too many times direction

I’m alone in this room

In this city, with so many

I am alone and I compromise

Prompt #1 – I am…TIME

I am…
…all

I am…
…nothing

and all …
… at the same time.

I am sadness
trapped within myself
lost in a space of time
Caught in an endless loop
that can’t be measured, 
unstoppable destruction.
restless madness.

I carry lost moments 
and regrets. 
everyone wishes
they could turn me back…
can’t be controlled.
wait for no man.

I am time. 

I am the prisoner.
I am the prison 
I am prisoner 
I am prison…
I am

free. 

-Janice Raquela Mendonca 

 

2019 – One – The Highwaymen

There are words creeping across the meadow,
here beside
the Queen’s Highway.
I can hear them out there
on their little legs,
all
As
and
Ms
and
Peg-leg P,
no doubt with
that infernal, pop-gun,
piratical pistol.
Please, pardon my alliteration.
They’re making their
plans,
I can hear them out there,
like tiny,
Hitchcockian
highwaymen,
and they’re going to
highjack
the precious hours
of
my day.

I’d like to go out.
I’d like to go sit in my car
in the rain
and watch the people
stroll by with their
gaudy umbrellas
–
Have you noticed that
nobody carries black umbrellas
anymore,
except for those cheap,
awful
little disposable
jimsons?
Everything is
peppermint stripes
or
sunflowers
now,
or starry nights.
I wonder if Van Gogh
owned an umbrella?
–
Or maybe if the rain would let up,
I could go to the park
and listen to the children
flying kites.

As much as I enjoy watching
the kites dart
and rip holes in the
afternoon,
I’d much rather listen
to the joy
of their flyers
because I know that feeling
that exultation.
I fly kites too.

But no.

I’ll sit here with my pen,
capturing those
spidery intruders
as they crawl across
the sunlit floor of my day.

I’ll capture them
pinning them to paper.
And I’ll be safe for a while,
from those words.
And I’ll feel a different
exultation,
one which will be doubly
ecstatic,
when I fold and paste
that rough, first-draft page
into a kite
and join the children,
tearing holes in the sky
of an afternoon.
I’ll have nothing to fear
from the words
that will be frightened enough
of me
that they’ll retreat and regroup
to assault me some other time,
on some other rainy day,
in the inky darkness
beside the Queen’s Highway.