The Poetry Marathon

NINE

The dog rolls over,
her belly a map of the world —
islands and continents
freckled on a pink sea.
Iceland soft and smooth
with fine blond hairs.
Polynesia. Sri Lanka.
On the inner flank
of her hind leg the Galapagos,
where blue-footed boobies
splatter the rocky headlands
with their Jackson Pollock
signature, startling still,
though he’s been gone
for 60 years now, never
aging, always 44 and bursting
with paint — only my hands
left to measure the turnings,
a splash of spots random
as cooking grease
and even now I hope
to learn the hidden answers
if I can find the right sequence
to connect the dots.

© j.i. kleinberg

The Seventh Hour

MEANING

 

a pizza box

can mean many things

like he was late from work

and decided to not make dinner

or that it’s family movie night on a cold Friday

and popcorn’s in the microwave.

possibly there’s nothing worse than when one

reaches for the pizza box in the fridge

only to find it

empty

 

9 Appreciation Overload (after the long haul)

Thank you, Friends and Enemies,

for the kind words and not-so-kind words

Thank you, Tear Ducts for the tear dam

Thank you Work, for making me the busiest ever

Thank you Kins and Relatives, for the realization

and pats not on the back but on the head

Thank you, 6-Hour Sleep, for coming back, welcome!

Thank you Rah Rah girls and boys, for crying with me,

for upliftment, for believing in me, for egging me on, prodding me

Thank you, Prayers, for being there for me,

for being my constant communicator,

for being my  instrument to talk to Him,

and, Thank You, most especially to You, for inculcating in me

that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel

and yeah, there is not just a light but BLAZING LIGHT!

thanks to You, all of you.

THE BAT TREE

you never saw such a wretched tree,
standing in the middle of a beautiful, full ivy patch;
the tree was dead,
but had eerie life nesting inside it’s hollow;
quiet during the day in it’s spooky stance,
inside hangs dozens of sleeping fruit bats.

Dusk changed the dynamic and sleepy bats
turned into a plethora of squeaking, hovering
winged creatures that scared my sisters and me,
my older sister told me that if a bat pooped
on my head, I would go bald,
she had me terrified as I ran around
in the darkness, dodging potential hair loss.

Michellia D. Wilson 8/13/2016

(Hour 08) 05.30-06.30am. PROMPT, form: “pantoum”

gobble

love my lolly gobble bliss bombs
nut & caramel coated popcorn
made by choirs of tripped out angels
singing love songs to sugar highs

nut & caramel coated popcorn
makes my brain oh so slightly dizzy
singing love songs to sugar highs
with my fingers all licky sticky

yes my brain oh so slightly dizzy
loves my lolly gobble bliss bombs
with fingers all licky sticky
tongued by choirs of trippy angels

StarGazer

There in the fields, with her long

Black flowing hair

Resides the StarGazer

Twirling round and round.

She leaps with her long legs

She spins in spirals too

She smiles and laughs.

When the moon is full, she

Frolics like a young fawn

Enjoying its first spring dew.

Her laughter echoes through

The cool night and dances

From tree to tree

It can be heard through the

Rivers and valleys.

When the sun rises, StarGazer

Tucks herself into bed

She sleeps sound.

Dreams of love and her

Meadow full of luscious green

Grass play melodically through

Her peaceful slumber.

When night comes, she awakens

Her Stars call out her name,

“Oh StarGazer, come to us.”

Out she goes, spinning and twirling

Dancing merrily.

StarGazer has come home again.

 

8

Austin was a shape-shifter. He turned over stones
and there was writing underneath. I turned one once
and found blind maggots writhing. When his

mother asked me to look for him, Jeff came too
in case Austin’s body had turned blue and wooden
because of overdose. Jeff was recovering from heroin

as if that were protection. But Austin answered
at the first place we went and said his phone
was dead. That was the last time I saw him.

An accidental betrayal. Unforgivable. I had proven
that he was findable, and after this he wasn’t found,
except a call sometimes from jail, ever again.

About Apricots

Asian origins.

Armenian plums.

Alexander the Great.

there is a lot to learn about apricots but I don’t really want to learn about apricots,

I just want to eat two that I bought yesterday and which seem less flashy

than the peach.

I bought three peaches, too,

haven’t dared to eat them, yet.

peaches are for poets,

apricots for the rest of us

who dare to live everyday,

we buy peaches in a can.

our stories are prose.

 

 

 

 

#PoemNo8

Poem (#8)

Web strung groundcover

Makes scary, enticing hole

You call your home