The Poetry Marathon

The Rebellious Poet

(photo of Becky Beck, my birth name in Iowa…singing first and later acting and writing …now back to finishing my book project)

As a Participant in the Poetry Marathon
In just eight posts…I cannot go on

I’m a Rebellious Poet in my old age
I have gained no wisdom…I’m no sage

I’m not really a poet…I can see that now
yet, I’m hooked on Rhyming…so it’s time to bow

but before I leave…I really must say
It’s been a truly challenging day

To Further describe my inadequacies…
Here’s One more Rhyme…my apologies!

****************************************

“I’m NOT an intellectual
My vocabulary’s small
I simply write my thoughts in Rhyme
I cannot ignore the CALL

Imagination…what a gift!
my CUPPETH RUNNETH OVER…
Corny Words grow into verse
and leave me in the clover…

where I lie and laugh out loud
at silly words I’ve written
Natural Medicine…me thinks
I know, ’cause I’ve been bitten

by the BUG…that makes me write
and resort to alliteration!
I’m a hopeless case…so never mind
I’ll continue without hesitation!

A Rebellious Poet…
shunning all the rules
ends up …going down
with the Ship of Fools!”
*****************************************

Poem 8

Chapter 8: Return

 

I leap

 

Back

My prince, no prince

Is back.

 

Strapped down

A branding iron closing in

In the middle of town square.

 

Cheers and ruckus loud around

Mage working magic black

Like smoke in rings surrounds them.

 

Dead – he will die. The mark

Will kill him. His magic is too closely linked

To flesh, to heart, to core.

 

His magic is a magic of the body – his flesh

Can sing, become a different thing.

From beast to bird to man again.

He’ll die if that thing touches him.

 

My right palm burns.

My left palm sings –

Lavender light flings

The mage away.

A moment’s breadth – surprise.

Too late.

 

The brand burns above his heart.

Death is sinking in.

I must chase it away.

 

Lavender light bleeds

From my palm into the knotted mark.

What else, but hope?

A wish.

A desperate act.

 

The mage is stirring now.

The crowd cheers.

 

Wish, hope, sing.

Impossible thing – he lives.

Politics (a pantoum)

Politics

 

Politics has become
like the beating of a drum
talk instead of mum
but our lives can come undone.

Like the beating of a drum
talk show radio has its scum
but our lives can come undone
like you’re a tree and they’re a plum.

Talk show radio has its scum
Politics has become
like you’re a tree and they’re a plum
too much talk instead of mum.

 

8/24 sinner

I ran out of ideas I count on my fingers,
I crossed the ocean without knowing a swimmer.
I can’t eat you, while I’m still getting thinner.
I hate the summer but I don’t love the winter,
She took me to church and she prayed me a sinner.

fondest memory

i want to taste the air that you have been breathing

while we were meshed, tangled, and sweaty

my fondest memory on that blue and white checkered couch

when I felt all of you

slide into all of me

and those hours slipped away

nothing else mattered when I was in your arms

(or under your naked body)

and you whispered in my ear the greatest love story ever told

about how much you love

fucking me

City Muse #1: New York

City Muse #1:  New York

Frannie Z

 

One of the best things

was bumping into friends

or relatives.

Almost careened into my parents

near 34^th Street.

Unshut a train door

for my best friend

on a platform.

 

In those days New York

–four of the boroughs-

was like a vast interlinking honeycomb,

studded, netted, limned through

with people who were mine,

and their friends.

 

I loved taking trains

to see how they connected.

Subway maps

spread out like tea leaves

in cups, unknown fortunes,

spider webs, but better.

My friends and I

recited lines and their stops

by heart, our subway rosary.

Each weekend

we’d inhabit another train

from start to endpoint,

never minding how gauche we appeared

or how un-neighborhooded,

 

Perhaps, like some redlined buildings,

we looked too vacant

to attack.

 

#Late

I was so excited about this year’s marathon but went on an unexpected last minute holiday and have been without Wi-Fi all week.

The poetry marathon has already started – I have just got home (9.30pm UK time) after a 7 hour drive, and so cannot participate this year.

I will still engage and write and read

 

Love and luck to you all

 

Moon Kisses

As I stare into the midnight sky
She smiles down
Showering her pale light
Upon my face

She smiles down
Her light kisses the treetops.
Upon my face,
She places a kiss

Her light kisses the treetops
As I stare into the midnight sky
She kisses my face
While I shower in her pale light

HOUR 8

DRONE THIS!!

I’m in a field

flying high

with a  toy

called Drone.

 

Flying high

feeling high

in a Drone’s

minds eye.

 

Feeling high

with your

minds eye

drives me crazy

 

With your

drone in play

driving me crazy

I give up!

 

 

Prompt 8 – I Was Alone

I was alone.
I felt, with the deepness of my heart,
That I could not escape this
Feeling which consumes me.

I felt, with the deepness of my heart,
A rush of breathlessness, a
Feeling which consumes me
And threatens to pull me under.

A rush of breathlessness, a
Silent struggle, weighing against me –
And threatens to pull me under.
It hurts to face – it hurts to know

Silent struggle, weighing against me –
I was alone.
It hurts to face – it hurts to know
That I could not escape this