The Poetry Marathon

Limerick of Jack and Jill

A clear, flowing river in the middle of the desert, where the water was dry,

John and Jill fetched water to spill, to see Jack and Jane rolling the sandy hills.

Let’s continue while taking a nap,

I’ll tell you a fable and it’s all about facts of nursery rhymes.

Look John look, said Jill to Jack, let’s listen to the pictures in the book.

See John, listen to what I see,

The story of the quadruplets Jack and Jill , have a different father and adopted John and Jane.

They all died young and live happily ever after for about a hundred years.

Praise #10

I took a day to mentally prepare, I walk up to you in my skirt,

I enjoy the sunlight before I climb in, to sit on the dirt,

You make me feel safe, you let me know I am cared for,

I know at the end of this journey, I will feel cleansed and more.

 

you show me my insecurities, to let me know not to be insecure,

You let me know if I am sick, there will always be a cure,

You help me see things I am usually blind to, I have to admit,

You make me admit things , that I would usually omit.

 

The sweat lodge to one , may just be a cleansing of ones self,

cleaning all the build up, of the crap we leave up on the shelf,

to others it is like church , spiritual, amazing and freeing of our soul,

maybe you need some help to open a new journey or set a new goal.

 

The sweat lodge is a place , I love and recommend every human to go,

I guarantee you will learn something about you, you did not know,

The sweat lodge fills you with love, bravery, and compassion,

It is everything I believe we need to come into fashion.

#PoemNo11

An Ode to Old Odes and Poets We Owe

Keats was the guy our
English teachers fawned all over
‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’ spellbound
many a napping student, when not
making their stomachs churn
Coleridge, Wordsworth, Shelley
all dutifully took their turns
more recently was Neruda, in love
with socks – a sartorial, lyrical turn.

But those that write in praise of things
follow a lengthy line; Pindar, Horace, and
Solomon could turn a phrase quite well;
Ancient Rome gave us Nero, who did them
all one better; he sang his odes to music
he played, to his subjects mounting ire,
his ending was poetic: lyre, lyre, toga on fire

Shakespeare took a crack at odes; though
murder, betrayal, lust all played a bit  better
the ancient men who wrote at length
and in praise of beauty, form and such,
present imitators, they mostly, usually suck.

Still, without their eleoquent inspiration,
where would us writers be; we’d be
left to our own devices, describing love of trees!
But there is a place, though it may seem odd,
for the odes of olden days;  for were it not for
poems of praise, poets would’ve never gotten laid

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016

happily

I probably should have waited until I’d fallen in love

or was old enough to vote

instead

as soon as I met myself fully for the first time

stepped out of my closet approved sanctuary

declared myself ready for my happily ever after

I was asked, not asked, told, to leave this house,

abomination.

They did give me $100 to get started

on my way

as long as my way was away.

I sewed a bright pink triangle to my backpack

to make sure we all knew

what exactly was happening here.

Transcripts would not be following me,

and my happily ever after became my happily never after.

Shelters don’t take minors.

Minors are fresh meat on the streets.

So I headed to the mountains, of Colorado.

I don’t think of myself as homeless, but houseless.

My home is in my tent, with my sketch pad, and a dog that adopted me along the way.

I named her Milk. For Harvey Milk.

Our hometown is here, and our time is now.

We once camped in a lady’s backyard for four months.  We chopped wood for her and piled it on the back porch.

She offered us a space in the house, in a room with a crucifix, but we’d rather live houseless than in a room with a tomb.

When she died her son gave me her hatchet, and I keep it in the tent to sleep with at night.   Me and Milk and our hatchet are home now.

Happily severed after.

 

 

 

 

Bodies of Tainted Water

My hometown was poisoned,
Chromium tainted water eating away at our bodies,
the company was quick to cover,
buying off people,
buying out houses,
just to tear them down,
the desert ground overpowered spaces where houses once stood,
people once lived,
community once congregated,
now desolate,
school was closed,
gas station shut down,
the bar remains open but I am not much of a drinker,

people ask me for my permanent address and I respond,
“It is wherever I am.”

they look at me with puzzled faces.

Poem 11 — Happy & Homeless

I live on cold concrete,
But that’s okay with me.
I am more content than the rich.
I am poor, broke and lonely.
I tried to live in a house,
But it required too much stress,
I hated buying everything,
I worked and dressed my life to impress.
I bought a sexy, muscular husband,
I decided to buy an expensive car,
I just couldn’t deal,
My mind got lost and disappeared far.
I worked and invested my money,
I even saved it in the bank,
But those dollar signs
Molded me dry like an empty gas tank.
I am happy without money,
I don’t have to eat,
I travel one area to the next,
And be surprised with a good treat.
I don’t plan to be anything,
Not bold or rich, just boneless,
I am not many things if anything,
I am happy and homeless.

Hour Eight: Omens.

He sat back in an abandoned complex,

flirting with the evening,

touching her pretty flesh,

he’s so lovely, he is, puncturing fragile skin,

and summoning demons when he breathes.

I felt the world at the tip of his fingers,

as he brushed stardust across the room,

I fell down into his black hole curse,

as he pursed his lips and whispered in her ear.

He was the last of it,

He dripped down into my vision, staining the day with quick incisions on my body,
he wept for days and called me home, after he was done with her,
sold magic to my backwards daydream,
sold himself to the fury,
sold me to the crimson god on his body,
turned me inside out and wore like an autumn coat,
told me not to doubt, the ruling of the new world.
as flames became inferno love,
I knew it then,
this was the final omen.

Aswang*

That last one, a shapeshifter, was a kindergarten teacher
Can you believe that?
A real dainty thing before I snapped her head off
She said she wasn’t an aswang anymore
She’d been reformed

Rules are rules. She’d killed before. So,
off with her head.
Her daintiness dried up quick. Her skin sloughed into dark blue scales.
Her fangs out yea’ big.

She said a lot before the head snap.
That there were few active aswangs now
The humans are killing themselves
Too kill even more was depressing

I hear ya! I said.
Wrapping my rope tightly around her.
Aswangs can be slippery little bugs changin’ shape
Then Bam! They’re gone.

She said she deserved to die for the sins she’d done.
I’d never heard one talk like that before.
She said I looked tired.
Tired of yer mouth, Missus!

She gave me a severe stare.
Told me I needed to go home.
Strange one, that one.
Like I say, off with her head.

That was three weeks ago, twenty towns before this one.
This next one –
A jazz musician. Famous sunava-
Can you believe it?

*An Aswang (or Asuwang) is a shapeshifting monster usually possessing a combination of the traits of either a vampire, a ghoul, a warlock/witch, or different species of werebeast in Filipino folklore or even all of them together. It is the subject of a wide variety of myths and stories.

Invisible

Everyday I catch them staring
Trying to figure out if they should trust me
Trying to decide whether they should give
Or if they should pretend I don’t exist
But out here I am invisible whether they physically see me or not
I feel worthless
It’s like every time I try to dig myself out of this pit I slip In deeper
Every night is almost always sleepless
Trying not to get raped or robbed
Praying that it doesn’t rain
I’m fighting for life but all they’ll ever see is a beggar
Or someone pretending to be
SO I AM INVISIBLE
I’m invisible because they will never know my story because they can only see my situation
Or at least part of it
They will never know me because they are afraid to ask
I will always be someone who probably didn’t try hard enough
To them I’m just a good deed to help them get one step closer to heaven