The Poetry Marathon

#4 a cat that i used to know

there is always that cat and a cat that grins. i know where i take my purrs,

on realities much different than yours; i find that i cannot get along with

anyone that’s not mad and bluffs on where they are going,

when they don’t even know, where they are at.

me, i don’t care much to please, but it is charming that life

is nonsensical, a rainbow-felt nap that you can leave.

unless you are between lazy and fun, and there are no gnats,

that share with you, space in trees. i despise all their flitting,

and questions, especially when they’ve lost themselves to stress;

why not just be in the sun and decide upon waking, what’s best?

My cat is acting crazy
pulling out all his hair.
He keeps biting and scratching at something,
except I can’t find anything there.
He seems to be trying to catch something –
something tiny that he sees.
He’s twitching and itching . . .
and, OH NO, he has fleas!!

Hour 15

Higher than being and yet still sober

Complete peace in the face of insanity

A living dichotomy

Wrapped inside the mystery of a double edged sword

Who holds the keys to darkness if they are holding the keys

The keys, holding them, and a sense of neutrality has them seized

No, death and death are not capable of owning each other

And believing in myself to rise above myself

Is a logic puzzle of a whole other

Please.  As if I was truly capable of anything

When since the day I was born I was breast-feeding

Not even capable of choosing my own food

Please.  Believe in myself.  Ridiculous

Because it is the brains who are full of non self which achieve the most

Nothing metaphysical just a practical arrangement of space

Just as absence of feeling is the opposite of love

Not paying attention to self is not self destruction

Or a lack of self care

There are those who rightfully choose

To not, believe in themselves, but rather in the power of God

And the weaknesses I have do not drum themselves up

For they can’t, just as metaphors are never made in and out of themselves

I make them to make the poetry make sense

Obviously. But I don’t believe in myself.  No, I believe in Jesus- in God and know that is the only reason I can sing

Sing 15 poems and jump into a marathon already running.

Even evolutionists can recognize that evolutionary advances only adapted over time based on external conditions

Survival of the fittest

And yet when faced with the external conditions of eternity, human depravity, and the inadequacy of savings oneself – very rare to find a fit

Humanity actually thinks it is surviving.

Deadliest Woman in the Galaxy

All I want, more than anything in the universe, is to be a mother, have friends, and settle down. Hard to do when you’re an emerald-tinted badass with a reputation for assassination and being proud.

 

Not to mention being the last of my species, to some a novelty to be collected and traded around. But to most, it means no family, no stability, and no dowry or estate to be handed down.

 

What’s a Zen-Whorbis girl to do, when she’s killed or vanquished most the eligible bachelors around? Sadly, I’ll probably get some space cats, learn to knit, and place a rocker on a moon, safe and sound.

Poem 16

Taking the wrong turn;
Ignoring signs
take care not to go mindless –
falls happen like that.

Who Am I

Who am I, but a convict?
Serving out my time
I have a sentence I do not deserve
It was bread I took to save a life.
When I am finally given release
Even though a convict I’ll stay
I steal a Father’s silver
I’m brought back, but he saves the day.
He gives me all the silver
Adds candlesticks to the lot
He called me his brother
A term I thought I had forgot.
In going on to find my way
I leave the past behind
I will no longer be Jean Valjean
Monsieur le maire I become, so kind.
I spend my life avoiding
Javert’s arm of the law
When I choose to help Fantine
He corners me in a draw.
Fantine dies and I escape
I run so far and free.
I rescue Cosette, from awful people
And raise her as mine, instead of I, it’s we.
Cosette she grows so sweet and fair
I’m her papa, all that she’s known.
Then I find out she’s in love
With Marius, I can’t condone.
Once the shock wears off, I find him
Marius on the barricade.
When he is injured
I silently give him aid.
When Marius awakes,
He finds his Cosette there
He grieves for his friends who died
On the barricade, so unfair.
They marry as I leave them
I am old, but they are young.
They somehow manage to find me
But my time left is not long.
I confess to them who I am
The convict Jean Valjean
Cosette forgives me, Marius too
Time’s up, I must be gone.
In death I meet with Fantine
She is thankful I did love
Her beautiful daughter Cosette
We go together to Heaven above.

Prompt 13

The population diminished rapidly

For babies could only be created by pure, unconditional love

A love one could not be taught.

Or tricked into. Or manipulated by.

A love that was more than a fuck.

A love, like a long lost language that nobody quite understands.

Everyone is having sex.

Nobody is making love.

The Hole in Pan’s Wing (Hour 16)

In a world that waits for the next grand adventure,
I fly by the free spirit of my heart,
never to age, never to compromise my morals
in sake of stability, fortune, or gain.

I live to chase the sun, and laugh throughout the night.
To crow the loudest,
and strut my boyish bravery to the mermaids in the lagoon.

I seek sanctity in the trees, partake advice from faeries,
laugh at the fumbled will of aging pirates,
and lead the boys in hunting,
and in preparations for war.

I am the Orphaned King of the forest,
In a land that never dies,
I parade beyond the stars to my never-paradise,
And have no need of any complicated things.

There is only one hole that I can’t beat,
She left it in me long ago, before I could speak
I do not understand the spell that a woman can weave
As she sings soft lullabies to babes as they sleep.

A mother? A lover? What is it I need?

shakuntala

Shakuntala
She slept in the glade
Dreaming sweet orchids
For the dear she had.
He laid beside her
in the orchid glade all night.
Was it a dream or real
She failed to fathom nor tried.

His words flowed soft
His foxy eyes
Smiled at her.
The bliss permeated
from his eyes
to her form.
From her skin
to her soul.

The sweet nothingness
that filled her being
kept her afloat
all days to come
for the rest of her life.

The Trouble with Tuffets

I did not, repeat did not,

Sit on a tuffet.

I sat on a bench.

A bench, I tell you.

 

And this nonsense about curds and whey?

Have you ever tasted curds?

They may as well call it “squeaky cheese”—

It is not good.

And whey?

C’mon.

It’s disgusting.

 

And that spider?

I’m not afraid of some

Spider.

He may have startled me,

But I was not afraid.

I squashed him.

 

That Goose is a lyin’, flippin’ fowl