The Poetry Marathon

23~24

feeling his bones

through his

paper~thin skin

wound on his belly 

a tumor i’m sure

deadly? ~who knows

so many worries

but for me, he eats

for me, he drinks

purring loudly

by my side

we drift off to sleep

as i stroke his still

silky light fur

ounces adding

on the scale

every time

i check

eyes still bright

the most beautiful blue

i’ve ever seen

we share so many slow~blinks

you’d never guess how wild he was

when he first found me

holding and snuggling him

wishing magic 

into his medicines

we wait

we love

we hope

Hour Twenty-three: Alien Watch

We watched the alien aircraft

Watched them hovering above our world

Watched to see if we were welcoming

New friends who would walk

With us discovering our way

Together or

Would we welcome invading monsters

Coming to take, not give

 

They landed on the Shifting Sea

Where we sailed in my childhood

Digging beneath to gather the last

Coula that burrowed there and the last

Priri that bloomed

 

Did they know we’d killed our world

and were waiting for it to die?

Were they deities come to punish us

For our careless care what was given?

Or were they our

Salvation, shatra of legends

Who would show us how to make our world

Live again?

 

Jala held a handful of color

To shower them in gratitude

Berth hid the weapon inside

Close at hand, until we could

Know what awaited us

 

We watched

Poppies, shasta daisies & yarrow #24

I stood in a wind blown meadow
As poppies, shasta daisies
And yarrow
Played with the wind
Under a sky the colour
Of a million tonnes
Of Welsh slate
Feeling lost, beyond hope
When a gust caught me
Took my breath and reminded me
In a gasp
That where there is life
There really is hope
And the clouds opened
To turn their wrath upon my folly.
I stood, face upturned to the heavens
To greet the deluge
My black thoughts washed away
Alongside my mood
And smiled at the lesson
The flowers taught
To be is enough
To move with the wind is to play
And to receive nature’s gifts
Is something denied to none who still live
And for a moment
I swayed with the poppies,
Shasta daisies and yarrow
More free than I had ever been.

Menhir

She was cracked from cliffs of sandstone,
Took her shape from breaking blows
And shattered from her birthplace
They saw in her the flows
Of tides that bring the fishes
When rot has ruined the crops,
And welcome trade from distant shores
When sickness takes the ox;
They saw the streaking sunlight
As hailstorms flood the town,
They saw in her the breath of rain
When drought is beating down.
They saw in her the dancing
At new-built barrowsides,
They heard in her the singing
Under wind-torn turf new skies.
They raised her on a hilltop,
They daubed her painted length,
They gave her scented oils
And begged her for her strength.
They raised her in the knowing
That one day they’d be gone
But she would stand there steadfast,
That hope lives on.

Hour 24 – Friday

The shower of tears from the sky

She was thirsting for them

She gets filled with the petrichor

Awakening her spirit for a brief time

Coming from the brink of hopes and desires

She holds on to the possibilities

It seems like a meeting point

When the love birds reunite

After a long spell of dryness

Drenching herself in the unexpected rain

No umbrella to keep her safe

Longing for a cover

The chilled air brushing her heart

She sheds her sorrows

The broken her, rain drenched

It is time to fill herself with warmth

Friday making her shudder with life again.

©️ Divya Venkateswaran

Blackety Blackety Black

 

I am Blackety Black Black

Pride in me is where I’m at

Channeling  Big Mama, Big Daddy, Unc and Auntie

Who left me a lovin’ legacy

Being Blackety Black Black

Means loving me inside and out

Cuz my melanated majic is what I am proud 2B about

Being Blackety Black Black

Feeds my soul

Makes me feel complete and a joy 2 behold

Being Blackety Black Black

Is what I will always be

Blacktastic Blacknificent Blacktabulous Me

Hour 18 : Horror! Horror!

Shakespeare, ace of the appalling art,
With horror’s touch, you played your part.
In Macbeth’s castle, fear dwells,
Where the witches weave their evil spells.

The apparition of Hamlet’s father, hauntingly pale,
Sets the arrange for an awful, wrathful tale.
Othello’s envy, a dangerous flame,
Consuming all within the Moor’s dull name.

In Julius Caesar’s ridiculous fate,
A scheme fixed with tricky hate.
King Lear, in franticness, loses his way,
A kingdom in chaos, a nightmarish display.

Shakespeare, you wove these repulsions deep,
In each word, your insider facts are kept.
Your stories of haziness, still endure,
A confirmation to your ageless allure.

In your plays, we discover the thrill,
Of horror’s control to stun and chill.
For in your words, we’re until the end of time bound,
To the repulsions in which your stories are found.

So, Shakespeare, we raise our voice,
In wonderment of your dim, lovely choice.
For horror’s profundities, you challenged to explore,
And in your works, we until the end of time worship.

Torn (prompt 23)

if I could bend the fabric of reality
to form something new
I would make a world where there were two of me
one to continue living the same blissful life
the other to take the biggest risks
one to build a quiet blissful home
the other to leave no stone unturned
it is the constant war between these halves
that holds me back from all I could be

The Desire To Be Truly Loved

Hour Twenty-Four (had to repost because I accidentally deleted the original that was posted at 8:44 am EST I had a horrible case of the dumb)

It’s not so much about the carnal
the jutting hips
and softness of breast
and the iron ripples of
a well-trained stomach.
It’s not about the bulging
muscle and sinew
or the physical
as looks are oft apt to deceive
and change over time-
as a lifetime is quite short
but rather long in it’s age.

It’s not about what is offered
in dollars and sense
of style and popularity-
nor the welcoming embrace of
my partner’s friends
and whether or not their approval
is a cause to question
the worth of a relationship
at face value from a biased standpoint.

It’s not about what can be gained
in the physical-
but the spiritual
and what can be cherished in heart-
it is the elevation of souls
as we work as a team-
never one above the other,
but he is willing to lead
and view life through a clear screen
tossing aside the rose-colored hue
that muddles the view of reality.

Some like their partners
like paper dolls,
carved out and cut
in specific form to remain as that
unchanging-
but what I desire is fluid-
a liquid love to quench my thirst
from a well that never runs dry.

I desire to be the only one he sees
without concern his eyes would catch
upon the fabric of another pretty face.
I desire to be held and cherished
valued as a woman,
safety and comfort, a necessity.
I desire a man who will
rise to the occasion
and gently guard my body and heart
like a sentinel –
ever watching and aware-
protective and respectful of
the boundaries set in place.
Slow to anger, quick to forgive
patience for our highs and lows
as the journey of life
ebbs and flows-
and with every disagreement –
coming together as equals
instead of portioning out complaints
to ears that feed division.
And he’d remind me in every way possible
my value to him-and I, he respectively.

If this be you,
with an oath to remain true
and you see my imperfections and flaws
as beauty marks instead of
a stain and offense upon the eyes.
If you can love me without conditions
without a trace of a second guess-
If you can desire only my hands and lips
and tender kiss-
If you can remain true and chaste
promised only to me…
If you can accept the whole of me
and everything in between-
and are respective to my wishes
and dreams without pressing,
encourage the balance
between both our needs-
prove your devotion through
costless thoughtful gestures-
far richer than can be purchased,
and if You love God
more than you love me,
then perhaps there is a future
for you and I-
and gladly I will bequeath to you
the very best of me.

Hope

Hope

 

Two lines faint and pink

Butterfly kick in the womb

A rush of water