The Poetry Marathon

THIRD RAIL OF POLITICS #1

Ethiopia carved out of red rock. Churches of Christ ravaged by drought. A veritable strong hold of famine. Gold wax dusting rainbows as cars rumble over inaccessible roads…

Living repositories of faith carved into a mountain to undulate twelve churches holding ritualistic aspirations…

(the chill of chanting swaying priests cloaked in antique finery as a drum beats out the footsteps of Jesus himself)

Solomon, Sheba, Emblems, Tablets, shine golden in the rising sun blessing the starving who pick seeds from the earth for Christmas dinner.

They are proud of their poor crosses bared stoically as their hungry eyes dream in fruitful trees.

Tongue in mouth.

Glory in misery.

Substance in shadows.

11~17

My soul sings like fire

When we sway to the sound of my song…

An old proverb comes to me~

 

Those who wish to sing

will always find a song

 

Oh, how I love to sing!

But you are long looonng gone…

Armageddon

It was like the world stopped spinning!
The trees stopped breathing,
and the birds stopped singing.
Everything was as it was at the beginning,
not a single form of life was to be found!

Treasure of love

Take my hand

To your love

Where we will be

Forever

 

In our souls

Will lead to

Our hearts

To the treasure

 

Of love

From the Inside Out (Hour 7)

FROM THE INSIDE OUT

Inside out, outside in.
Break my body, slam my brain,
to fit the golden ratio of beauty.

Two hours, three hours at the gym,
counting calories, watching Macros,
but a Mesomorph can never be an Ecto.
So fuck the scale and the number it shows.
Inside it’s programmed to weigh solid mass,
but outside it should simply say, “Fabulous”, regardless of our size.

Inside out, outside in,
Beauty is more than an algorithm, more than in the eye of the beholder.
Beauty is substance, beauty is essence, beauty is kindness.
From the inside out, we are beautiful.

— Saskia Lynge / Hour 7

Magic Question

Why am I here?

Why am I on the Earth?

Why is it me, my mother did give birth?

This is the Magic Question.

Ask sincerely, it answers itself.

Caverns at the Shoreline (Hour 11)

The caverns at the shoreline are lit by a bonfire’s light,
And the wind begins to pick up the distant sound of a violin.

The waves can be heard breaking deep within rocky chambers,
A girl twirls with curls of red, and lays her chin upon a small fiddle.
Her adoring eyes look over the strings as she draws the bow to make them sing.

The oceans tide speaks of a great distance,
And yet her song lulls me towards some distant shore,
To a time that I have forgotten, in a place that doesn’t age.

She gives call to dance around the fire, as pagan ancients,
Apart of nature, celebrating the new moon.
The birds of night roost nearby,
And upon the wind somewhere is the memory of girl I once knew.

Softly slipping between a dream,
Let my mind be carried by nightingale wing,
To find the source of this haunting reel
And dance beside the fire with the girl with red curls,
In a time that I have forgotten, in a place that doesn’t age.

And if I should never return from the enchantment of her strings,
Let my soul remain amongst the ocean fog
that rolls in through the early morning.

salvation

offered generously

by strangers

who have no reason

to save my life

other than

perhaps

their life was once

saved

and they want to

make an offering

to the ones who

kept them alive

we should all be so fortunate

to have a Rilke in our life

writing us letters in the forest

alone

applying the oxygen mask

paddles to our heart

8

There was a time, once
when I didn’t think I would ever turn on
an electronic device to write a
creative piece,
that I have thought of,
in my head in black and white,
instead of using paper
and a pen to write with.
I always preferred black ink over blue,
and squares over lines.

 

 

The line used is from the poem in the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower: once on a piece of white paper with blue lines

Prompt for Hour Twelve

Half Marathoners, this is your last prompt! Congratulations.

Full marathoners, after this you are halfway there!!!

Write a poem that contains no more than 100 words and no less than 90 words. If you repeatedly use the same word it only counts once. For example if the word umbrella was used 10 times in your poem you would only count it once.

The word count feature (bottom left of this text box) is your friend!