The Poetry Marathon

The Imaginarium

Once I’ve finished my normal waking day,

It’s time for it to give way

To something far more spectacular –

As they would say in the vernacular:

It’s time to get down to business –

There are plots to be finished

And dreamscapes to revisit,

New adventures on the astral plane

A choice from the menu –

Lucid or unconscious?

Preparing the venue

For  absolute calmness

So I can be sure to harness

Every spark of magic

My day-life –

Just a mere shadow

Of the existence

I’ve created with persistence

At the Imaginarium –

An entire universe of my own creation,

Where I can take delight in every temptation,

Discover new pleasures without cessation,

See a new world through tight closed eyes

Renewing my citizenship at every surprise

And I never want to leave…

Sometimes I even try to weave

The normal waking world in with my dreams,

But I’m always woken by defeat

Once again exported

From my dreams

And I emerge thwarted

By a disease

The call reality –

Always a travesty.

(c) Gemma Hinton 14/6/15

 

 

 

Mine (24)

My poem wears a warm cloak of anonymity.

It has green eyes and red hair.

It eats like an omnivore evolved from
the T-Rex and the Brontosaurus.

It dreams about children and schedules and love and violence.

It drives a modest car.

It lives in 1000 square feet where there is
too much art and not enough walls.

On weekends it likes to stay up to watch
the sunrise and then nap until noon.

It fears for the future of her children.

My poem is in love with humanity.
But, if my poem tells you she loves you,
you should not take that to mean she wants to marry you,
to have your babies or
to wash your socks.

And it wants to use words to paint pictures and evoke responses.

And it needs to open the skin to let the images bleed.

And it wishes that everyone who calls themselves a writer, then states that they never read poetry would realize they are only half the writer they could be.

And it wants to get into the hands of a million people so they will nod their heads and say ‘Yes’ I know exactly what she is saying.

#24 – The illusion disolver

When I see it,

I just can’t believe it

Many times I have been feeling it

But never ever could I see it

 

Right before my eyes

Never been thinking I would see it

Any day, but here I am,

With it in front of my very eyes

 

It’s amazing what it can do

And it opens a new hope

For all humanity

For all humankind

 

This strange thing

Doesn’t look like anything

Anyone has ever seen

Anywhere on this planet

 

Really is stunning what it does

It literally shows you all your illusions

All the things you believe that don’t serve you

On the path you’re actually walking

 

It shows you all your illusions

And dissolve it

To the incredulity

of your eyes

 

And now, no matter what you do or say,

Your life path is totally open

And the only thing left to do

Is walking step by step

 

On your magical path

To the great temple

Of your great achievement

Of a life lived in pure love

 

 

24

I had a friend
who used to say
that sleep is for the weak.

I guess I’m strong,
as it never comes
easily to me,
even when it should.

It’s a guest that’s
often easy to avoid
and never catches me
off guard.

Today I hope
for dreamless sleep,
for only then
I truly rest.

As dreams are often
quite alive
and full of colour
in my nights.

Hour 24 (!)

Sleep

Lords of slumber, you fascinate me
You mesmerize me
How does one create worlds beyond understanding?
You mystify me
Lords of slumber, you bewilder minds notwithstanding
You let me dream
And escape to worlds that gleam

 

Hour eighteen

Sleep: A Limerick

There once was a writer named Holly

Whose verses were normally jolly.

Until one day she went 24 hours without sleep;

And all her words made her weep.

With the last words she typed, “I’m going to bed, by golly!”

Paolo Coelho

You make me think
You make me wonder
You make me question
You make me seek the answer
Paolo Coelho,
You are the inspiration
I was seeking
Now that you’re here
My mind’s a widening
Through narrow creeks
and streams aligning
You point the way
but leave me yearning

Poem 21: Anne Lamott

I always count on you to say the dangerous
thing, the true thing, about Dick Cheney or
global warming, and damn if you didn’t do it
again, calling out Bruce Jenner for making
himself into a facsimile woman, practically
a Kardashian. I know you, Annie, and I
know you didn’t mean to be unloving to
Caitlyn or anyone else, but that you were
doing that thing we all do from time to
time, making Jesus drink himself to
sleep, or want to. We all embarrass
God when we open our mouths and
“the monkeys fly out,” as Zora Neale
Hurston would say. The monkeys fly when
we get it wrong, when we aren’t truthful,
when we aren’t worthy of ourselves,
let alone Jesus. I’m glad you’ve apologized,
not just to Caitlyn, but to all transgender
people, and their parents, and neighbors,
and teachers, and lovers, and friends. I’m glad
Sam’s got your back on this, telling us his mom’s
pretty clueless about trans stuff, but she’s still
his mom. And you’re still my fave, so get back
to work. Somebody loves us all.

hour 24 prompt 24 sleep

It’s been such a long day I need some rest, my thoughts are mangled and my eyes are heavy

I hit my bed so cosy so warm, l fluff my pillow to lay my head on, maybe I will dream, with hopes it’s not deadly

I’m asleep Im at pece and at rest

This is time of day is the one I like best

The pressure is off the light switch is too

The aches and pains when I sleep are this is so true

The best part about sleeping is I get to snuggle with you in my arms

Now let’s get some sleep because it won’t be long until we hear the alarms