fast
The time goes fast
it won’t last
#19 – A flock of seagulls
Your eyes don’t know where to turn
So many colours and shining all around
I am a flock of seagulls
Flying away from haven
And hoping for a better place
To fly and rest in all colours
A place where they look invisible
And no one will bother them
Frozen limbs
I wish I have a strong bone,
thats what I’d like to hone,
I’d rather do what I’ve got to do,
but its too late,now you know,
my old age controlling though
my cracking fragile bones,
breaking more bones
and the pain, sitting pretty on the throne.
I am Sun
Never gave much thought to what you said before. Of course I was never really listening anyway. Even when you told me what to look out for. I was determined to still find my own way. Of course that goes without saying. Even after seeing what you went through, I was still determined to do as I wanted anyway. My mistakes were always mine to make. Yours were only snapshots to eyes that could only see a fraction of what you were trying to say.
So what was it that you were trying to say?
Don’t let go of who you are.
Being friends is better than being lovers.
Forgetting who you are can be deadly.
Learn who you are before learning who you should be.
Looking back, I can see now where you were coming from. It’s not so much that you were telling me what to do, but rather just warning a traveler of the dangers ahead. Thanks for the heads up, I guess. Not that I listened anyway. So I can’t blame you for what I did. It’s not like you didn’t warn me. It’s not like you knew what I had guessed was the right path instead. I’m just glad you didn’t have to watch me fall. Or stand over my mistakes and hold out your hand to help me up and say, ” I told you that would happen.”
Can I blame you just this once?
Can I say, it was all your fault? I didn’t know what I was doing.
I didn’t know things could go so bad.
I didn’t know who I was, because you never showed me.
You never told me how.
So who am I?
Who am I?
When I found you along the way. It was so long since I’d seen a new sun, I couldn’t help but linger. Mine had long since found another horizon to break. New day, can you shine your light in my direction? Can you show me new path, and warm my face? You can burn me a little, I won’t mind. The pain of new skin is refreshing after feeling the cold for so long. So long.
New daylight. New day. Same light. New star.
LUCKY DUCK
HOUR TWENTY
POEM # 20
24 HOUR
POEM
MARATHON
LUCKY DUCK
There is a little duck,
We will name Buck.
His mother almost died,
We all stood and cried.
A miracle was given,
Momma is still livin.
Now this little duck,
We will name luck.
Written by Carl Mann
The kurlman
6-14-2015
Primal Scream
In contrast to our past lovemaking;
we
don’t
talk;
Instead, we act;
My mouth goes to work on her breasts;
While her hand heads further down;
As does mine;
We stroke each other;
Faster and faster;
Faster;
I am hers, I think;
I’m her bitch;
Faster;
Our years on hormones mean that part of us doesn’t respond as fast it once did;
Which is okay;
We get to;
do
this
even
longer;
Faster
We are breathing through each other’s mouths now;
Faster;
Each of our girldicks is at full mast;
We thrust into each others bellies;
Faster
Then;
We explode together
and I scream deeply and primally because
I’ve never done this with another person before
I’ve never let go like this
Leaving
us
spent.
-30-
Minerals (Hour Twenty)
I’ve started composing poems in my dreams,
But they shatter upon waking and are unusable.
My arms are laden with gifts in the other world,
But through the portal they cannot pass,
And my hands are empty when I arrive on this side.
But no matter;
I remember the cascade of words,
Not the words but the cascade,
Trickling from above, beyond,
Into my mind like water seeping into a cave below ground.
Minerals are left on rocks, and form structures
In Time.
Poem 20
William Shakespeare
and Emily Dickinson
were discovered in spite
of the lack of a Poetry Marathon.
(Emily was actually discovered posthumously)
And all the poet greats in between lived lives
of napping and eating and working and raising children.
They were not trying to be better than another poet,
they were too busy challenging themselves,
as only a good writer would.
Empathy toward their fellow man is what made
the great writers what they were.
Eve Remillard
6/14/2015
Reverie (explosions in the sky)
I see them
Those memories
They flash in non-linear fashion
A long line up of regret
One soul
Losing in dreams
Lasting in drama
Drifting thru past lives
In the present name
I see them
A line of lovers
Friends betrayed
Friends believed in
Long lists of less
Shapes burning in darkness
My darkness
Private and alone
Memories floating on clouds
Memories lying in graves
Pieces
Shame Depression
The ultimate torment
Riding the wind to my own
encounter with karma
What will the guides say
When we meet
How will they judge
This long list of loss and
Regret
I imagine they will be less harsh
More coaching
Less blaming
Maybe not
I glide into an endless sea of reverie
Assaulted by my own failings
My own choices
My own eternal judgment
Maybe forgotten
Put away in a small box
Hidden under the bed
But always in my heart
Always eating my soul.
Twentieth poem
Floating above,
I look on my life.
I’ve gotten the part in the play!
I know my lines,
I’ve practiced, rehearsed.
Stage make up is all in place.
The show goes well,
They ask for encore.
Who am I to decline?
The costume seems real.
It hides all the scars.
That helps keep the illusion.