The Poetry Marathon

Grandma’s Apron

Wrapped tight around
her full breast, rounded belly.
Thin cotton fabric worn through
breakfast, lunch, dinner prep.
Pink and orange petaled flowers
scented with kielbasa and sauerkraut
and a clean, pungent salty sweat.
Our faces buried in it
she hugged us each hello.
“Sit! Sit! It’s time to eat!”
A blur of cotton and steam
from kitchen to table, “Just sit!”
Each plate piled high, the table filled
elbows jostling for room to dig in.
“Oh! The potatoes! Make room for potatoes!”
And yet one more dish squeezed in
until finally she untied the apron
hung it unceremoniously
on a nail in the door.
Apron strings, frayed ends
swinging gently to rest.

(Prompt: An End)

The End

You said “Goodbye Sara” and the ground opened up

a chasm between us. I was knocked off my feet.

 

Meanwhile elsewhere:

 

A horn-headed woman with a gown of stars

lay back and birthed a flaming sword.

 

A bright-shining Prince took up her sword and mounted a white horse

under eight burning suns that scorched the sky together.

 

Where He led the charge, Demons and Giants clashed,

hooves churned sparks from the rubble of ruined cities.

 

While the entire seething mass of sinning men cried out

for mercy, and found none, running underfoot like rats on the battlefield.

 

They were trampled into the bloodsoaked earth

bodies broken, their sufferings just begun.

 

When seven suns set, Fenris slipped his chain

and ate the last, and in darkness, the snow began to fall.

 

In that frozen silence I received your letter, and here is my reply:

“I’m sorry.”

Hope in a Dark World

I saw a world in shambles
Lost and broken; in despair
Without some form of anchor
To hold its peacetime wear
But deep within that sadness
A faint beacon still remained
Within the little children
To whom hate must be explained
For they know not of races
Of gender or of creed
They see the world as equal
When they ask “Please play with me”
What if we all were children
Back in grade school once again
Maybe we’d take life lessons
And rid life of pain and sin.

Hi Guys!

Hi Marathoners!

I’m Chokka and this is my first year participating in the Poetry Marathon. I love literature of all sorts and I hope to see great poetry here. As this is my first year, I am getting used to it and adapting to the fast rate at which we write the poems; however, I will do my best to finish as many poems as possible and I am very excited to see the other poems that are in store for me written by this wonderful community of poets.

To start at the end

Open. Widen. Rip.

Tear. Twist. Push.

A soul’s first first journey,

at the expense of another.

A mother’s gift to her babe,

a gift unreturnable, unpredictable,

a present to create presence.

Love begets agony,

at its peak —

silence.

Time freezes, the world is created anew,

history forever altered,

countless lives to be altered, affected.

All because a mother’s pain ceased.

But life began.

Mother’s Morning Music

Alert! It’s time to begin. Again

Birds rejoicing for clear or cloudy skies. Either way they fly.

Cricket percussion keeping the rhythm of a tropical sounding serenade.

Dogs even chime in to great a great new day.

Mother is the conductor. Good Morning. The new day has begun. All yesterday’s come to an end.

 

jj2016

When It’s Time to Say Goodbye

I have already had such a good life

Two precious children, I’ve been a fair wife.

Remember both the good and the bad

Don’t ever let time make you sad

See life through my eyes and know

How proud I am wherever you go.

I will always be with you

No matter what you you want to do

My love can never really end

Protection and prayers I will send

Whatever happens , if I die

It won’t really be goodbye.

The End

First God’s gospel given
For to accept by those willing
Time and chance changes
Lives of many rearranges
Darkness of life
Tornadoes, Earthquakes and strife
One World Rule
Don’t give in and be fooled
Military Law came
The Mark taken by many the same
Fear set in
Not to buy anything without the stain
Truth Ends
A New Time Begins

Hours Gone by

The empty space, staring her down

The Clock

Glaring at her, from behind.

Gone were the people

who could drown out the sound

She didn’t dare turn around.

 

Studying the wall, towering and creeping

keeping her mind, as loud as she could

Noticing the cracks and openings

Tracing back to its conjuring.

 

Glancing up at the, white round face

it’s black embellishments, sharp and pointy

running its red tongue

around, encompassing

clicking its teeth, with every second

Its eyes moving,

every hour and minute

 

She could hear it

Trying to block it out

the footsteps in the hall

the alarms in the next room

the voices, that carried, running

along the concrete walls

 

But it always comes back

to the Ticking

 

As waiting, has its own

Palpable

Sound

 

 

One metmorphisize fits all

Happily-ever-after

mythology only prefacing
the sequel
continuing the saga
tacking on the index onto
volume one

having read this scene
from life movies
writing, rewriting the books
playing déjà vu-all-over-again
never more than
countless times
here-we-go-again
monotony of changing times
same cast of characters
different roles
haven’t-I-seen-this-show-before?

Exit, stage right
enter stage left
either or, vice versa
prefacing intermission
part one ends…
next!

time to regroup, recalibrate
endings are simply ellipsis
masquerading as comfort
to the ill-at-ease

 – Mark L. Lucker
© 2016