The Poetry Marathon

Poem24/24 “sLeEp”

Oh! Those sleepless night

Awake waiting for a knight

Hoping he will come at right

When open the light

He will by my side

Wrap in his arms to hide 

Oh! Those lovely Nightingale

Humming my favorite song

In this night

I close the light 

Think about my knight

Still hoping for tomorrow’s site

I embrace my pillow

As I covered my body with blanket 

So cold, so cold, that I didn’t see my knight

Can’t sleep right away

I heard a magical voice play

My favorite hymn sway

I stood up! Run through the window

Hoping the knight was that

Oh! I’ve seen no one but a shadow

Of those stars twinkling my sorrow

Oh! I just dreamt!

Wake me up before I believe!

Hour twenty

Broken

“You can’t kill someone who is death already”This is you; emotionally death and mute inside out! Only your soul carries the pain inside! Wondering how you still standing when there isn’t nothing left of you to give. Your own flesh and blood drain you. Your eyes show me your pain and scream for someone to seek for your soul and save you. It takes a brave one to enter your hellhole; I did it once and I don’t know how I survive my 7yrs next to your whole life of abandons and sinfulness the pull your innocent from under your growing years. Your biggest prison it’s your mind! Wake up and see the beautiful life you created; is not to late to give your love and nature with a drop of your blood. I tell you a secrete she no longer retains your soul. Smile life begins again as long as you see that true and forgive yourself. Surround yourself with true love within your soul and our lovely creation. She is the devil! Your flesh and blood; but I’m worse then Gabriel ! I set you free! Fly our creation waits for your faithful attention. Earth and heaven shield you. Only their soul matter Bc it carries you in their white cells. Open your eyes and set ur mind free! I speak to you from an upper level. I’m a Gitana; I’m not contain and my freedom it’s invariable
—Marquez

Alzheimer’s

Critical call, result of the fall.

Plead in a panic, mood turning manic.

Hyper extreme, surreal like a dream.

Confusion ensues, planning next moves.

No time to wait, pack, leaving at 8.

Traveling monkey, no sleep like a junkie.

South to Midwest, hole in my chest.

Rain, hail, snow, faster then slow.

22 hours, no sleeping no showers.

Honda’s a beast, nonstop from the east.

Arrived in the Chi, critical but alive.

Deep breath, calm, anything for my mom.

Sleep

Sleep on a silver-lined cloud.
I relax against John’s back.

Fall asleep facing that way. After I fall asleep, we can move.
Staying awake from snoring is possible.

Bandit climbs his stairs to my cloud. He noses his way under the covers and presses into my lower back.

Growling and barking if anyone moves to disturb his sleep.

Breathing yoga breaths, falling into my cocoon of floating clouds, I dream and still renewing and nourishing my mind before waking early.

Poem 22: Love Poem to EB

I know you don’t know I exist,
and if you did, you wouldn’t want
me around, there being nothing new
I could teach you about Florida.
Hell, you camped for days in the
Ten Thousand Islands, and took
too many pills on Fort Myers Beach,
meaning to die there, if Sha hadn’t
found you. So forgive me, Elizabeth
Bishop, for stealing your lines when I
need a great finish, like rainbow, rainbow,
rainbow, or somebody loves us all.
You help me, daily, even when I’m not
writing poetry, obsessively. You help me
practice, losing farther, losing faster, as
we are all losing the time we crave, to finish
what we started. I love you, EB. Rest in peace.

Untitled

drifting off to a dream like state

somewhere between sleeping

and being awake

---

drifting off

 images cross my mind

and I can no longer tell

what is real and what is fake

By: KMH 2015

Hour nineteen

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.