The Poetry Marathon

Hour 16 – First and Last

Within The Silver Glass

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Within the silver glass I spy
the mask I wear, this perfect lie.
A happy face, but it’s not me.
I show them what they want to see
while deep inside I slowly die.

I cannot let them see me cry,
so I just smile and wave goodbye
then check for signs of pain, set free
within the silver glass.

“With broken wings I’ll never fly.”
I turn away and softly sigh.
My world consists of tragedy;
a scream that echoes silently.
The fools can’t see, it is not I
within the silver glass.

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Prompt 12 – Moonlight Shimmered

Moonlight shimmered
On sweat across her
Breastbone that
Rose and fell with
The wind’s breath
Flitting along the lake

Under a netted canopy
Sprinkled with stars that
Sparkled across the
Gleam of her teeth and
Glisten of her eyes as I
Beheld her glory in this
Shimmered moonlight.

Cat for Sale

“CAT FOR SALE”

The call came through the market

Setting small hearts off like a rocket

The thought of a small ball of fur

Brought feet skittering to hear the purr

Eyes widened upon reaching the destination

Mouths opened in “O’s” of surprised animation

This was no happy kitten sitting in a basket

But a scrappy Tomcat ready for action

Turning, all ran, their mother’s to locate, as

The call came through the market,

“CAT FOR SALE”

 

 

Cat for sale

Lue

August 13, 2016

Nervously Antics

The first day we met
I was in jeans with a Jimi Hendrix tee on
And I had garlic pizza for lunch
And I was quiet because I don’t like new people
And I had just finished my Math homework
And I was editing…no writing an article
And I sat at the end of the table hoping you wouldn’t talk to me
And I was listening to Toro y Moi
And I was squirming because I had to use the bathroom but didn’t want to walk pass you while you were in the doorway
And I, when you asked me my name, couldn’t remember it
And I almost got sick when we found out we had stuff in common
A day we met

Hour 16: Drizzle

Of rainbow colours
There are none in sight
I see only grey

Driving Home

Driving Home

I’m driving back into town and the sun is so bright it makes the air glaze over
as if swales of dust were sprinkling in from the north. Dust, I thought, dust!
I don’t know why I am so excited. I played pop-punk bands on the stereo
all the way back because the sun and sky looked no different than the glistening of summer at its peak.
I felt warm in the unheated car doing 55 in whatever the sign said five miles ago. The road has melted
and I can see its filmstrip face sleek with newborn slush. I love the sound of it curdling underneath the tires.
Receipts crinkle in my back pocket as I lull the car to a stop after 20 miles without a shift in the speedometer.
Its indicator is content, and so am I. Content with the sounds of my own summer beckoning from within
the January calendar. The bay doesn’t even look like a lake anymore but rather a memory of everything
I’ve wanted to leave in the back of my eyes, where the migraines take their vacation time, leisurely every month.
I’m driving so I never have to take my own. I’m driving so I can fall in love with places without entering
their presence symbiotically, but skirting their periphery. I’m driving so I can be the center of attention
for two seconds at nameless intersections that want to be remembered for their fast food joints or
their homegrown boutiques, something for someone to sit down at and plant a memory. I can remember
the places but not the names. My hands turn the wheel to where I parked for a movie here last week
and didn’t cry at the end. My summer was icing over then and has been blizzarding to the point of no return.
The sun looks like a bonfire of everything I needed to forget before the snow: homework, receipts, magazines,
boxes, leftover branches dwindling from this past autumn and its storms. I’ve forgotten all the songs I would play
in autumn, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to play in winter, but I can play anything without restraint,
because the snow won’t seem to go when asked. I don’t want it to go. I want to go with it to ice-capped mountains,
ice-clothed lakes, and ice-paved roads that lead to me staring into revelation in the rearview mirror,
my lungs shivering with cold, the arms of my breath hugging itself as I exhale, think about my best route home.
I want to go home without lying down upon my name. I want to be home without feeling the heater or
air conditioning on as I open the door.
I want to be my home.

Dewdrops

Why the dewdrops now

Now that its nearly done

Now that its almost said

I did it

I am doing it

I will do the rest

I said and i saw

I made the changes too

The night wept a little

The petals caught the dewdrops

The sun kissed them away

Its dawn again

A new dawn

On another new me

Shining bright

Then why the dewdrops now

Why the tears now.

Poem Sixteen ~ Rug Burns

Rugs can burn hotter than any blue flame.
Rugs sting harder than any buzzing wasp.

My knees are shaking beneath my weight.
How much longer until I start crying in pain?

The cold central air gives me goosebumps.
I wish I could put my shirt back about now.

The fresh holes in my jeans are welcome.
Rugs still burn hotter than any blue flame.

Midnight

In the midnight hours, I search.

Wisps of memory confuse me

Shrouding the truth

Distorting the lies

I experience Alice in Wonderland syndrome

Smaller

Bigger

No where near

What I need.

In the midnight hours, I search.

I painted the room purple

I painted the room purple

for betrayal

angry brush strokes smashed against the wall

I’m certain the neighbors heard

divided allegiance

because you tainted their perception

of me

with your lies and twisted truth

oh mountains majesty

a Lenten journey I did not agree to make

when I signed myself with ash

hung the sackcloth curtains

empty belly from an imposed fast

believing Good Friday is not the end

and lilacs resurrect from tombs

but only when its time

you can’t buy lilacs at the florist

I painted the room purple

 

(Prompt for Hour Sixteen:

Write down the first line of your poem before reading the rest of this prompt..

Write the rest of your poem, the poem can be about any subject that you like.

Then copy and paste the first line so that it is also the last line of your poem. You can change one word of this line, but only one word.)