The Poetry Marathon

Muse

Some say that inspiration
is the work of muses in our heads.
My muse is stubborn, obnoxious, dull.
He throws about the papers
in the office of my brain.
“Give me inspiration!” I demand.
He laughs and takes a nap.
I can’t be expected to do his job!
Look at how he’s wrecked them,
all my good ideas.
Now, never-finished stories sit
(I suspect he ate the ends).
When I put a pen to paper,
my muse becomes quite riled.
He snatches everything I might have used
and hides away in some deep cavern.
I think he must be minuscule
to do damage so tremendous.
His hair is long and blue and spiky,
And his eyes a scheming green.
I asked for beauty, emerald forests,
Instead, he gives me this.
Does his ego know no bounds!?
When will his antics cease!?
Well…
I guess the poem wasn’t bad…
But he still won’t get a raise!

Prompt Seven

inside-out

because of his eyes
the moon waxed
out of tune
and like a dying star
she waned

because of his eyes
her tether
to the earth
held fast
and kept her chained

because of his eyes
she let things go
the house
her health
a child un-named

because of his eyes

The Golden shovel

The Golden shovel by Hayes

Da, promised to leave me everything,

the golden shovel we use to bury the dog.

But my Dad didn’t promise anything to me because, we were poor  then and

The only thing he promised is my education.

Education can’t be taken away from you, Dad said and will give you a ticket to a better life.

to time

If there was something there, and all we had

could be carried, this slip-thin gently-used old love we

had used along would remain; but

this is us, the ones who had enough of the world.

And you wanted more, but I had enough.

Enough to carry and sustain, but you and

she had your minutes, while I had enough of time.

 

“Had we but world enough and time..” To His Coy Mistress, by Andrew Marvell.

Hour 8 – Prompt 8 – Unleash

Attempt at golden shovel
Inspirational lines – “The music in my heart I bore,
long after it was heard no more”
from The Solitary Reaper by William Wordsworth

Could I trust the
words of the music
that weaved magic in
the glorious picture it painted, in my
imagination, that my heart
desired to believe? I
chose the risk, instead of broken dreams I bore

It took a long
time to overcome the vicious circle of self-pity, after
I decided that it
was time to move on. It was
hard to leave the echoes of past, that I heard
in my heart, to ensure that the voices had no
control on my actions any more

(c) Vijaya Gowrisankar

The Words are Marching

The Words are Marching
VCS

I wrote a hundred thousand words
I tossed them in the air
I wrote them in a coma
I wrote them on the stare
I tried to keep the words down
With chicken soup and ginger ale
But gypsy curses and wandering street light people
Threw my words like cookies
Back out of me and I brayed them
From the steeples
I thought that eventually
They would be picked clean
When I hung around at rookeries
But it was not to be
A million words came marching
And jumped right out of my cerebellum
Not caring a dash about what happened to me

Words are thoughtless creatures
Even when used thoughtfully
Marauding little beasts
They have complete control over me
Sometimes they pick my hands up
Even when I’m sleeping
And ghostlike pluck the keyboard
Into unknown symphonies
The words are coming from the rafters
They live in the crannies in the walls
They live in desperate lovers
They make the weak tremble and fall
They make the strong the same if they’re not careful

The words are marching out of me
Brazen creatures they! Coming out of my hands, my mouth my eyes
And yet you make them say to you as you would have them speak
That’s the way they like it
Twisting
Making wind
Tornadoes swooping down on landscapes
Leaving ruin
Or bringing us to brand new worlds
The choice is theirs
It isn’t up to me or you

Journey’s End

When we took on the world it was just us two

Hard to believe we’d trod so many roads

Hard to believe that our paths have now diverged

We had the perfect journey to believe in

It started with sunlight so bright in lights of yellow

Now we depart in different was with hearts cold as wood 

jj2017

Golden Shovel From ‘The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost

Poem 8- Golden Shovel- Billy Collins-Forgetfulness

Each day is eternally long

I spent my soul years ago

Even now I blame you

We should never have kissed

It was just the

Night a minute,no name

We spoke of

Wind and want and the

Factors of nine

We danced with the Muses

A woeful upheaval before our pleasant goodbye

Red Light at Morning

A Golden Shovel from Kimiko Hahn’s poem “The Dream of Bubbles,” in her book Brain Fever.

Smoke is obscuring the sun, the
message it brings is of unborn
dreams from the north. It may
remind us always to be
grateful. We are seeing
the grief and ashes of some-
where else. Light is a telltale thing.

Hour 8: A Carol (from Carroll)

A Carol (from Carroll)

If it were up to me, I think that I
Would sit with you by the fire and sing
And spend this life doing nothing but this
Making each day an eternal, melodious song
Always in your presence, always together, for,
To me, you make this world a wonder, just by your
Being here, laughing, embracing, loving, an endless delight

Line: “I sing this song for your delight” from Humpty Dumpty’s Song by Lewis Carroll