The Poetry Marathon

New World Order

The world was quiet on the 15th of April, 2017.
Everything worked the way it always had, and everybody went about their usual business.
But just as 8:35 p.m. came around, something decided that it wanted to watch the world burn.
All creatures and organics that had once been living, decided to all come back at once.
The predicted zombie events happened, with coroner’s, morticians, and gravediggers fleeing their posts immediately as corpses begin to walk and talk again.
But a few unexpected things occurred concurrently.
Everything was greater mass than a fistful of wood decided to sprout leaves,
And everything of the meat variety reverted to their living forms,
Bursting from fridges and meat lockers,
Joining the purses, jackets and shoes that also came alive.
Safe to say April 16th established a new world order, when nothing stayed dead for very long.
I’ll let you guess what happened next.

Waterless World- 13

They were just spectators

At the local Tech Con

While they checked out VR

Some sci-guys got their mad on.

Building shook violently

People wept silently

The world changed mightily

Next thing they knew,

Everyone was gone.

Six sole survivors,

Bottles, food, and lighters

That’s all they had left,

They felt rather bereft.

Exploring around,

everything was quiet

Not a single sound.

Not a single sound.

Ashes on the ground

Dead bodies all around

Gone straight to bone.

Our heroes’re all alone.

Thunder rumbles suddenly

Rain begins to fall

Pain befalls them all

Acid instead of water.

Water is no more.

Shaking our heroes to the core.

 

Poem 10

The gentle breeze dances,
fallen leaves tries to attach

see me, see me,
desperately pleading
crying for attention

Time

(more…)

The Cosmos Cops

If the world stopped spinning,
You with shallow grips on realty
Would hurl to space, flora and
Fauna: trees, mountain tops,
Cats, mothers, SUV’s, and dirt.

Or the endless day burning on
Would singe sight, burn stars
And the Northern Lights? Out.
The moon, introverted admirer,
Would silently spin out alone.

The earth’s sudden surcease
May clear the planet of drift
And all living slack and softly
Yet we who levitate, risen up,
Afloat on lily pads and dust…

The cosmos cops wave us on.

Hopefully Again (13th Hour)

Your land of fire and ice

Still flows through my senses

Raw brisk air hits my lungs

My body begs for warmer defenses

But my eyes did not want to miss your fiery sun

Slowly but vibrantly it raises its beams upon your land

I am watching intently by your Viking ship I stand

I feel like a brave foreigner on foreign fields

Enraptured by your glorious golden terrain and curious steers

Witnessing ancestral spirits reaching across the dark skies

Whistling at the glowing green rays of the Northern lights

Just to see how close they would come to me

I am still in awe for seeing Iceland in all of her glory

Hour 12 – Prompt

in and outof my thoughts
come only your thoughts,
I surrender my dreams
to your thoughts,
thinking someday
you will look around for me,
feeling my presence
in my absence,
a day – when it will be
just you and me,
weaving uncountable desires
i just think of you,
faraway when the first light
will filter through these clouds,
till the snow moon will appear
from my window to your window,
i will live with your thoughts.

Hour 13- a haibun

Dream Come True

I am growing younger by the minute. So is everyone else; everything else. Whoa! Time is in reverse gear. The sun sets first and then rises. But no one notices it after the first day as they alternate anyway. Like repeating “maraa maraa maraa” endlessly. After a while, it just sounds like Raama. Or maraa, if you prefer.

prayer beads
the merry go round
of a prayer

Everyone is tickled silly, congratulating each other. The woman next door can hardly wait for the day she will be twenty. Twenty years to go back in time, if you were to believe that she is only 40. Maybe on mercury.

But hey, my sister is pregnant again. Only with the same baby she had two days ago. This is ridiculous. And I am not even thinking of what happened in the toilet.

I don’t want to be not born again. I want to live. I Want to Live! I WANT TO DIE!

Monday
the layers of warmth
in my good morning

 

 

Hour 13: Magic

Magic

I stretch out my fingers
The magic starts to flow
I levitate this stack of books
Inside it starts to snow
I strew fireworks across the sky
And flowers about the land
And for every empty heart
I find a willing hand
No more sickness or famine
No more wars or strife
Until my power empties out
And thus concludes my life
With no more magic in the world
What will the people do?
Bring back war and suffering?
Try to muddle through?
There are different kinds of magic, friends
We should attempt a few.

Hour 11 – Prompt