The Poetry Marathon

Hour 16

Leave Her Alone

Leave her alone, O straying grief
Muddle her thoughts not like a thief
Procure not sadness inept her relief
Pray, let stray not her belief

Leave her alone O hurried despondence
And join her not agony, in correspondence
Let her spirits not give defeat admittance
Devoid us not her presence

Leave her alone O mimed feared
As her courage is torn and sheared
And will is shattered and seared
The day of her fight is neared

Leave her alone O canny who betray
And he who promises away
Hurl not at her a dark day
Wait now she is to say

Leave her alone O desperate solitude
Accept her renewal of humble servitude
Unmarked her name, renowned attitude
Gather apologies, she has no substitute

Autobiography Of A Face

Face
Young, hairy
Performing, educating, expressing
Smiles through the heartbreak
Ian

Poem 14

The stars sprinkled down around us

As I looked into the blue sky of your eyes

The sun tucked itself in behind its purple blanket

The moon hung above on its silver beams to watch over us

The tide rose and fell in syncopation with our mutual heartbeat

And all was right in my world

 

Eve Remillard

6/14/2015

Mermaid Sestina

On a quest for Love
swam the Mermaid
With hair of Curl
And eyes the color of the Moon
She avoided the Sun
And frolicked in the Ocean

Deep in the Ocean
Swam the Mermaid in search of Love
She avoided the Sun
So men would not catch the Mermaid
As she danced by the light of the Moon
And stroked her hair of Curl
The mermaid played her hair of Curl
As she frolicked by the Ocean
Guarded by the light of the Moon
On a fruitless quest for Love
Danced the Mermaid
As she hid from the Sun
The Mermaid avoided the Sun
And stroked her hair of Curl
In her element was the Mermaid
As she frolicked in the Ocean
In search of Love
Under a silver Moon
Beneath a silver Moon
And away from a golden Sun
Danced the mermaid in search of Love
She stroked her hair of Curl
As she cavorted in the Ocean
Danced the Mermaid
Lo, there lies the Mermaid
Underneath a silver Moon
Returned to her Ocean
She came too close to the golden Sun
No more to stroke her hair of Curl
No more to search for Love
The Mermaid could live only if she avoided the golden Sun
And danced under a silver Moon while she stroked her hair of Curl
For only in the Ocean, not outside it, could she find Love

-30-

On closing

closing seems such useless work,
only to open up again.
Today and yesterday again,
Tomorrow through the day again.

Let’s pretend that we could quick,
these hopeless pointless working wade,
Let’s pretend it means something,
To will away these weekend days..

Attempt at Sestina

poetry forms a cacophony

lines and words to mesmerize

feelings more than theory

rhyme, rhythm, pentameter

In my mind, a vortex

What is this mad manipulation?

 

Intentional manipulation

creating cacophony

swirling vortex

Memories to mesmerize

graphical elements,shift, pentameter

feelings more than theory

 

feelings more than theory

syllable manipulation

sound devices, feet, pentameter

creating cacophony

rhyming lines mesmerize

Concrete poems in a vortex

 

Swirling vortex

feelings more than theory

Synthesize thoughts to mesmerize

word manipulation

pen strokes create cacophony

haiku, tanka, pentameter

 

Paradox in pentameter

Verses within vortex

Cadence or cacophony

feelings more than theory

Masterful manipulation

Internal rhyme to mesmerize

 

Couplets mesmerize

Palindrome or pentameter

Structure manipulation

Visions within vortex

feelings more than theory

Refrains rings of cacophony

 

lines mesmerize; visual vortex

pondering pentameter; feelings more than theory

masterful manipulation; clearly cacophony

(Hour 16) 1.30-2.30pm — #1 “Kelly’s eye”

A slightly post-modern, self-referential metafictional style poem — which, when I was doing my preparations, I thought I’d be excited to see the #1 come up, but when it arrived, I was like “Oh no, I have no energy for all that”.  But it was actually fairly easy flowing. I kinda like the end product (good jumping off point for revision hopefully) … & it uses every call I found about number 1 — including a very modern one. So pretty chuffed. Plus if I upload it quickly, I’ll get 20 minutes off.

#01

i am the B1 baby
first on the board
at the beginning
of all time
i am little Jimmy
who sees with Kelly’s eye

lack of sleep means
i don’t always make sense
but when i do
— Nelson’s column —
i am the son of a gun
top of the pops
number ace
Bernie’s formula
means i win the race

now if only someone would
make me a number three
& maybe butter a scone
but i’d better not lie down
or my marathon will be gone

More 5’s — #25

wait

Some more

my lady

Some more

is what you need

 

The wait

is for fate

how can

there be

a date?

Aesop’s Truth

Turtles are a sluggish lot

carrying armor on their back,

swathing their soul with care.

Most of us think we are burdened

when the truth reveals

that it is easier to be

The bearer of hard tidings

than the ones who

remain to survive.

Turtles are a hardy lot

tough, thriving, long

valued by those who

favor the underdog in the race.

Sturdy, loyal destined to

survive under estimation.

Celebrated turtle won the race

rabbit was too flighty, erratic

not inured by woe or despair.

MTA

NYC has very talented individuals with great potential for greatness. And I will say you find it at the MTA.
I had tears rolling down my face when I attentively listen to one of the youngest poet I seen so far. He it’s between the age 12 and 14. I don’t know what it’s more painful seen him work the trains for his next meal and not enjoying his childhood how he is suppose to. Not been able to give him at least a dollar since I’m only have a monthly metro card, seen how very little other individual care or the actual lines of his poetry. If I had to describe his poetry;
I will say it was written down in blood and say out loud with pain. All I had to offer was a beautiful prayer for him to get the opportunity In this life to be successful with the blessing of his talent as a great poet. I do not know his name, but I would always remember his face and the title of his poetry “I say” which describe his upbringing and pain and how he strive for the best. I will name you street younger survivor.
God bless you my dear poet, you deserve the best.
—Marquez Meriyen