The Poetry Marathon

Hour 3: Journey of Self

Forlorn, Forlorn, my smile has gone

Do come if deep concern to be shown

Every moment my heart was aching

Still tried to live for my darlings saking

Ruminate for awhile, what I felt

All matters how were to be dealt

 A long journey of sorrows and pains

Shaked my identity for spiritual gains

I learned the art of selfless smile

We all are registered in immortal file

I don’t need you for the fun

Lavish love to all instead of one

Usually the world deserts me in the dark

The only place where my inside spark

 

God- The Garden of My Life

God is the warden

Of my little rose garden.

 

Behind every land

God has a hand.

 

God has a reason

For change in the season.

 

God makes it plain

That He controls the rain.

 

God with His paws

Made Nature’s law.

 

Use God’s gift

To give you a lift.

 

God gave us muscles

For all life’s tussles.

 

Only God can tell

If we have lived our life well.

 

We all need a nod

From the hand of the God.

 

Small price to pay

To thank God every day.

 

Even in never-never land

God plays His hand.

 

God, we must thank

When all the pages are blank.

 

Thank God for food

That can improve your mood.

 

God’s grace has no hitch

It will make you rich.

 

God’s every creature

Has a redeeming feature.

 

People must be taught

That God must be sought.

 

We all need a nod

From the hands of the God.

 

God will bless

When needs are less.

 

Feel like a Lord

When you are one with God.

 

Little to Say, So Far Away

In a hospital waiting room, they meet.

A prisoner of war and a plastic surgeon.

 

Pale in color and demeanor, the POW. Bronzed and tan, is the rich, successful doctor.

Sterile is the air between them, ammonia-tinged and  frighteningly still.

 

Though the room is packed with people, there is no one else these two women can see. They’ve both overcome such overwhelming odds but when given the chance, neither has much to say. Two sisters, so close via blood, yet in life, so far away.

 

 

 

Ekphrastic Selfie Poem

 

The light is just right.

Background of red and beige,

Decorated with dark brown dots.

Creases ironed in muslin,

Crow’s feet

If crows had eighteen toes.

Alien furrows

Separate black caterpillars,

Above a drooping but decorated squint.

Folds like elephant skin

Appear around the smile,

Seersucker button below.

A pillar of crepe draperies

Falling in folds for support.

Spots and crevices that

Don’t show in the mirror.

Sunlight reveals

The landscape it helped create.

 

 

Fate

If the shell of you met the shell of me,
I wonder if we would get anywhere,
if eye to eye the truth we could still see.
Would we walk right on by, without a care;
would we feel any connection or stare
just long enough to wonder: had we met
before once or twice, some cosmic kismet?
Without baring souls in the nick of time
would we miss the chance, our fate lost, ill-set?
Would the future, present, still leave you mine?

 

Elements of a Moment

Motionless, like a painting broken
By a wren’s panic,
The wind watches
And waits

For the Earth to flutter somewhere.

It always does
Flutter
On its wobbling spin through space
And time.

Its fire within, alive
Like us,
Alive.
Devouring itself

As we devour its fare.

Oceans rise and fall
While my teacup sits
Still as the wind.

Death- An Inevitable Truth

Death will drain,
Life’s every strain.
All things will mend,
After death in the end.

Be it big or small,
Death has its role.
Death is not a notion,
That fears no pill or potion.

Life is a maze,
That will take away every gaze.
Death will drain,
Life’s every strain.

Stay of every man is destined,
There is no question.
Death comes in stages,
Asking for its wages.

Death takes to Heaven or Hell,
Little knowing, death is a well.
Death is very clever,
When it comes, it tells us never.

Be strong and sturdy,
Get ready for this hardy gurdy.
If you prepare for death in life,
Happiness will become strife.

Whether young or old,
Death will be told.
Wake up old man,
Death could be at hand.

None can avoid,
Death leads to void.
Spring, summer or fall,
Death remembers us all.

Why is stealth?
Health yields to death.
Hope death is quick,
When you are very sick.

From pole to pole,
Death has a role.
Towards the end,
Death is a friend

 

2017 – Hour Three

How imperfect you seem now.
How much work would it be to restore you?
All the beauty that surrounds you, why do you remain?
I’ll bet it used to be a gorgeous view.
Warm and safe, a home for the ones who built it together.
Abandoned, but still it stands.
Broken, but not erased.

Eternity, almost

We were invited
to what was called
an “unusual meeting of the minds.”

The chatty hired driver caught our eye
in the rearview: letting us in
on a secret.
The conversation was one-sided.

His concern for our pleasure
not extending to getting out of the car,
we readied ourselves
for the rain the sky threatened
as we stood outside.

The driver doffed his hat in the rearview
and scudded the palm-lined blacktop.

We looked at each other
and then at the building.

Were we early?

Up and down the austere runway
were only more trees and
one family restaurant closed
hours ago.

Hopes for coffee dashed,
we walked the length
of the building, trying doors,
peering in windows, disappointed
how the darkening sky and
the unlit interior revealed
so little.

Were we brought to the right place?

Time passed and we considered
calling a cab, but neither of us
could find our phones.
This made me laugh; I was
the prepared one.

At length, the florescent sign
flickered, then turned off.
This sign of activity
hinted at a caretaker,
someone to answer our questions,
arrange another driver.

We began to talk
about the trip we’d had so far.
It looked like the seafaring portion
would never happen.

Then, your voice, out of
the pitch:
“A shame since we’re so close.”

3- Silhouettes

We are bodies

We walk the same earth

I have two eyes, you have ten fingers

And yet we are all different

 

We are spirits

We experience emotions

I have cried and you have smiled

And we have our own souls

 

We are silhouettes

With a string of lights

Shinning each step, glowing each change

And we all have our own story