The Poetry Marathon

Hour 13 The Moon

Astrology is a science
also so interweaved
how the moon rotates or the earth
but if they just stop rotating all the same
will the planet effect be same
as the moon has on me now
making me so restless
and wary of my future
If the moon stops rotating
the sun would be open
to its menace
or the earth
unaware of the ebbs and tides
of the moon
eclipses would be a far off thing
let alone the moon
be as a stagnant object
in the sky
As I stand here for it to budge.

Copyright © Snigdha

Strandbeests (prompt 20)

A collection of plastic and string and wings;

part stick insect, part sailboat,

walking kinetic sculptures from the realm of fantasy

moving up and down the beaches unsupervised

and avoiding the water with no technology at all.

 

Just stored energy applied to actions, like rubberband propellers.

Purely mechanical parts, no self-replication.

They seem remarkably alive, they seem intelligent, and yet

Just plastic and string and wings to catch the wind.

A zoo of bizarre, multi-legged dreams made real.

 

Walking with weird gaits, these giant beach animals

seem to think, and move within nature as if they can see,

as if they can avoid dangers. They shock the unprepared.

Mythical creatures like some twisted nightmare,

startling the senses and baffling the mind.

Unnatural elements in otherwise ordinary nature,

yet completely at home. Dark imaginings

exploring the light of day.

 

Hour Twenty

The son has gone, the weeds grow
The daughter looks up,

discovers the weeds have become tall as trees
growing in a disarray,
through cracks,
along the foundations,
and reaching over the property line

She smiles at the sunlight passing through the leaves
– impish beauty.

The stars have anxiety

the tongue loosened too far

by laughter the falter that comes

before the fall

 

it is not the end of the world but

it could be the end of me

it is not the end of the world but

it could be the end of me

 

inconsequential I am just a product

of gravity misplaced stardust that

stumbles over words like rubble

inevitable

earthquake

look

 

life is too short to say anything that isn’t

I love you we are all standing on fault

lines the world will never stand still

for us but right now

this moment

I love you and oh god there

is the silence the world is making

itself in reverse except

 

it is not the end of the world but

it could be the end of me

it is not the end of the world but

it could be the end of me

 

it’s not so strange if you remember that

we are all beams of light underneath we

are all made of the same stuff I wish

we could connect like constellations like

neutron stars which could actually be the

end of the world but right now

it is not the end of the world but

it could be the end of me

it is not the end of the world but

it could be the end of me

Sweet Embrace

Sunrise every sunset stars is your love

For our hearts

Moon Haiku

After the long rain
the sky looks like crushed velvet
and the moon a brooch

Motivation

In a funk , stuck, try my old friends they always work for me

There’s plenty too choose all depends on your mood

We got soulful jazzy gospel even the blues

Ella Shirley And Billy too

To girly you say give the boys a play Dizzy James even Ray will do

Turn it up feel it low let the voices motivate your soul

20~17

~i often think~

~if i were a tree~

~i would always be there~

~waiting for me~

~smart blossoms smell beckons~

~we sway in the wind~

~looking around to see~

~who wandered in~

~my feet reaching down~

~with a grip of delight~

~drinking my meals~

~sucking soil all night~

Oh~Happy Bee!

~dancing toward me~

~bad humans just sprayed~

~now you are free~

~you were the last one~

~people be damned~

~i think you’ll agree~

~we’ll soon be hun~gry~

#8 at the lake

water slaps featherless bottoms, tiny mammals chewing on pine cones

predators not learning how to swim or hunt, are they waiting to be eaten?

bigger versions, still no fur, elders paddle with long limbs, looking at the ones

at shore, maybe floating to lure food. they have no greeting or signs, do

they see us as we are here, living with our children and lovers, calling permission,

two, three, six times? to the wind and dirt, each of us knowing our turn,

should we pass the message and go closer to smell with a hello?

20

I could sift through her mystery
and suck it in to make ash.
She is a poorly patterned couch.
She is the pill bottles, the potential of them.
Rooster alarm clocks.
One sharp tooth.
The fourth leaf on a clover.
Wolf chewing on rawhide.
She gargle in the throat.

She makes herself quite ill.