The Poetry Marathon

Just my Opinion

In my opinion there are some who confuse love with other emotions and such; things like obsession, possession and control. None of these things are components of love. Love has nothing to do with hate or the devil.

I do not believe that there is a line that exists between hate and love that allows the excuse that love can turn into hate. Can love change? Sure. Love changes still have to do with love. Love can change from love of a mate to love of that same person as a friend, or love of that person as someone you once shared your life with. But if you claim to hate someone you claim to love then it wasn’t really love.

God did not destroy the people of earth because he hated them. He destroyed them because they didn’t know love. They were lustful and evil and non believers in God. They were hypocrites. He watch the power of Mephistopheles growing and growing.

Now, here we are once again. Another chance to love and live and what are we doing? And where is God in what we are doing? It’s a good time to reevaluate what’s going on before it happens again.

God Loves Us

 

 

Cloudlike dreams

My dreams are like clouds written on a sky-blue whiteboard
My clouds are forever moving, changing as they stretch across the firmament
My dreams have accompanied me since childhood, an escape from that reality
My reality of today no longer needs escaping, but I still have those dreams
My dreams are sails on my boat of life, seeing me safely from port to port

I’m Alive, Hour Seven

I’m Alive

It’s summer, and I know I’m alive.
I used to endure it, dreaming away the days, as summer has no filter,
its brazenness abashes more timid souls,
cowering from its bold and sweaty hand
away into air conditioned, cool, dim interiors.

My garden burgeons beyond my capacity to gather, but
it’s summer, and I know I’m alive.
Quart and pint glass jars filled with what I’ve processed
glimmer in jeweled rows on my kitchen shelves, despite exhaustion,
summer’s bounty and abundance to be decanted on a winter’s day.

I lay in the grass like I did as a child, transfusing sunlight
through skin into my core, just as then, because
it’s summer, and I know I’m alive.
My hairs stand at attention as ants march across me,
the grass stitching criss-cross patterns in my flesh.

Birds gather by twos, tens, twenties around feeders
I provide, a learned dependence that delights me.
Squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, and opossums find shelter here, and
it’s summer and I know I’m alive
in company with these many in my secret walled garden.

I lived for years avoiding summer’s brassy intrusion,
retreating from its sweat and buzz and bother.
Living away from home in Texas, I longed for cold, but I’ve aged,
I keenly feel my body slowing as time passes, but for now,
it’s summer, and I know I’m alive.

Hour One: Catch

I am not dainty

I spend 5 minutes a month

Doing what I call my makeup

And my dresses don’t fit

So I mostly wear jeans and shit

 

I bite my nails to the nub

And I’m always burning my tongue

On words I’m told I shouldn’t say

A lady doesn’t speak that way

 

I’ve never been told I’m too feminine

More like vegetables floating in gelatin

I’m out of place in this generation

A near offensive combination

 

People don’t say that I’m elegant

Nor do they treat me as delicate

Though I really can’t blame them for skipping my station

Who wants to be guilty by association

 

I have bruises from hitting the coffee table

And you’d think I’d learn with it being so painful

But darling, quite frankly, to put it plainly

I’ve never been thought of as dainty

 

Not many would use the word “beautiful”

For the most part, it’s simply unsuitable

I’m not unattractive but, darling, the fact is

Letting my hair down is anticlimactic

 

I’ve got bags beneath my eyes

There are stretch marks on my thighs

And it’s true that I’ve got legs for days

In a lanky sort of way

 

I’ve never been told to try modeling

My smile is nothing near sparkling

And with my lack of poise and grace

I find I’m an acquired taste

 

Now, it may sound as if I hate me

But that is not the case

I just have a tendency

To lean into my strengths

 

And, trust me, I am truly great

At quite a number of different things

But if you asked the best, I’d say

Selling myself short is my forte

 

My friends all say that I’m a catch

Just yet to find the perfect match

They’re wrong, of course, although they’re kind

It’s not their fault their words are lies

 

I found my other half many years ago

I feel as if I’ve known them all my life

 

So save the date and count the days

The limo hearse is on the way

And be prepared to meet the apple of my eye

 

My other half, my soulmate:

This darkness that I feel inside

4 PM – Warning Label Draft #2

I’m still learning about the man I am.

I don’t love myself, but I wish I did. 

 

Always tender to the wrong touch,

overcome by the nausea my white savior complex induces. 

 

Opinionated to a fault–my own detriment,

my perfectionist best will never be good enough. 

 

Poor with a capital ‘PO’

the world I can give revolves around homemade cards and love letters.

 

I can make a decision when there’s a gun pointed at my face,

but never about food. 

 

Habitually bitching that life isn’t fair,

while I ache for the reassurance it can be.

 

Absent to my world– too early, too late,

but never just in time. 

 

Perception burning sunlight through me, 

but I can’t digest your thoughts.

 

Show me love and my fight or flight kicks in,

bear to witness the lack of acceptance I hold for myself.

3:00 PM – I can’t see it (Hour 7)

When

I am pulled

to focus on

targets

others develop

I struggle to see

why

Prompt for Hour Eight

(Not exactly a) Text Prompt

Every year I include a song prompt. The idea is that you start the song and write a poem while listening to it, starting the song over as needed (or not).  There have been protests in the past when I include one with lyrics, so this year I’ve included one with lyrics that you can listen to here and one without, which you can listen to here. No titles or artists given to increase the element of surprise.

Image Prompt

Photo by Tianhao Wang

Hour 7 “A Study Of Self…”

Hour 7

9/2/2023

 

“A Study Of Self…”

 

Academia has changed the meanings and syllable count for the forms of Senryu, Haiku, and Tanka.  They are still elegant and meaningful …just not quite what would be expected by “purists” of old (nor the new ones).

 

Abuse touches…

leaving moments to echo

a life’s time.

 

Lighting candles

in memory of a girl

who laughed.

But not ever AT me…

Just life.

 

There ARE monsters.

Some even survive their touch,

most wish they hadn’t.

 

God took everyone

and everything,

except my feet.

And I’ve wandered this world –

one step at a time.

 

Guantanamo Bay, Cuba…

Doubly fenced and protected perimeter,

their guards, our guards:

 

I saw a circus…

but the artists died –

on the barbed wire

separating their prison

from our freedoms.

 

And on and on

it goes:

Life as we live it –

is seldom as we want it.

 

Chris

(C) Chris Twyford 9/2/2023

 

Twirling Round and Round #7

Twirling round and round,
clouds overhead. Swinging
higher and higher,flying.

Arms out, head back,
twirling round and round
until the sandy yard comes up to meet me.

I hold the laughing baby,
dancing through the house
twirling round and round.

One Look

One look
And my guard falls to hell
Every ounce of survival instinct falters
And my heart melts to mush
Memories flash in my minds eye
Scorching and heady
Arms and legs tangled in sweat
Cheats heaving
Lips smashing into each other
With fervor

One look
Sends me off my balance
Teetering over the edge
Desperate for that sweltering connection that we used to have

One look
And my heart is crushed
Into sharp and jagged pieces
For what was and what could never be again

One look
Is all it takes for me to question everything
Every fear
Every desire
Every expectation

Two ships passing in the night
With just
One look