The Poetry Marathon

SUMMER WORKERS

HOUR FIFTEEN

POEM # 15

24 HOUR

POEM

MARATHON

SUMMER WORKERS

Was it you passing through my valley?

Were you asleep on rags in an alley?

Sweat beads on your brow from the heat,

Flames from the Suns nostrils, call retreat.

Misfortune travels coast to coast,

Your ears hear frustration boast.

Shade from the giant oaks curtail the fire,

Fields of crops needing workers to hire.

Sit down in our valley by rushing stream,

Fall asleep as your mind engulfs a dream.

Snow dragons wrestle you till dawn,

Once again you are the Suns pawn.

Written by Carl Mann

The kurlman

6-13-2015

Empty

I remember saying don’t cry, as the tear ran down my face, who was I to believe I would listen to myself, after all had I listened last week, last month, last year… then surly that ridged tear, the one that is probably as sick of me as I am of it, yes that one, the one I lost count with, the one that turned salt to stained cheeks, what makes you think it will listen now……

Hour fifteen

many of us have heroes

who lead remarkable lives

but few could ever measure up

to the hero in my eyes

sacrificing and unselfish

never asking for praise

always willing to give his all

never expecting to be repaid

dependable and loyal

strong and always true

yet even with a human flaw

I model my son to be like you

faithful and devoted

always there for me

I could not be more proud

of the father God gave to me

 

gj

Eyelid

Heavy lid.  just for a bit

I will not stop,

I shall not quit

Love story

I could write about
How the earth
Continues to thrive
Or how
The ocean waves
Hug the shore
Right before the tides
Pull themselves back
I could write about
Love
And all its
Magical ways
But I’d rather write to say
I’ve loved you
On your good
And
Even bad days

-Angelica Villarruel

Poem #16: A Night at a Concert

A Night at a Concert

This night smells of brimstone,
needles in the atmosphere
piercing the bones of clouds keeping us all together,
a heart burning, dripping brimstone upon the road.
I cannot borrow the tears of rain shivering
all in one piece;
the sidewalk is boiling from the colour of pale skin
to the cardboard hue like packages in the mail.
The taste of cherries were in my mouth, but
it’s all gone rotten, and
walking downtown never tasted so foreign—
oh, El Shaddai, save my soul!
This music is hypnotism, the traffic hungry
for movement—oh, let me move mildly free.
The big trucks passing would rattle the house,
but home, it refuses to see with human eyes.
Hesitant as the fogbanks curling on the horizon,
I’m strapped in silence,
sodden with all the secular kids,
in so little room to cross the road, hundreds at a time—
my knees are jerking just to jump back in the car ride home.
Modesty—what a suffering word,
but don’t we love to live with it?
Oh, El Shaddai, save our souls,
For we hardly know what we are doing.
why do we need so much space to get
through the door? One concert over, a thousand
more bands to see; folding and unfolding feet
treading a crosswalk of inhibition, rain settling
on these blank downtown corners—Union Street, steaming
of brimstone, like a river of hot coals.
This movement, this consuming, irrelevant, inevitable
movement—beautiful, isn’t it? Afford me this
rationed breath to move, to escape nowhere, and
I want to know the colour of everything
without it hurting: to know the colour of a true
walk downtown, the colour of loving life. Now, here,
I hear the rhythm shaking, the chords being cut;
Music—where are you in this mess?
Here, now, this is how my head will lift on high—
Oh, El Shaddai, help me save this world,
for we don’t know where it’s going.

Hugs :-)

Hugs <3 🙂
Virginia Carraway Stark

Hugs across the miles
Bring me tons of smiles
Because I know
You are glad I am alive
And happy that
I'm in your world
And when you send me
'<3'
It means the world to me
Because I know
That you likely smile
When you see
Me post
Or send a message
Or comment
To you
So thank you for your hugs
Your <3
And your
🙂
Faces
You make me smile too
And every time I see you post
I'm glad that I know you

(Hour 14) 11.30am-12.30pm — #32 “Buckle your shoe”

Two fairytale-esque pieces that I was working on simultaneously & ran out of time on each. The Mother Goose mash-up replaces the traditional end of lines from the nursery rhyme, with the relevant bingo call. The plot, such that it is, kinda dictated itself based on the pre-exisiting rhymes.

#32

There was a young gal covered in tattoos
Who only knew how to buckle her shoes
—–—–But would Cinderella
—–—–Have landed her fella
If she wore more than ink … & her Jimmy Choo’s

*****

A Dark Mother Goose Bingo Mashup

One, two,
—–all you can do is buckle your shoe;

Three, four,
—–wait for that knock at the door;

Five, six,
—–when silent screen hero Tom Mix;

Seven, eight,
—–rides up to the garden gate:

Nine, ten,
—–finally you’ll be free of Dave’s Den;

Eleven, twelve,
—–one dozen years here you’ve dwelled

Thirteen, fourteen,
—–since Valentine’s Day 2003;

Fifteen, sixteen,
—–sweet sixteen never been seen

Seventeen, eighteen,
—–coming of age, living in a cage

Nineteen, twenty,
—–one score to settle, none too gently

#26. Hmmm, could be tricky…
PS now have 3 out 5 for my first possible BINGO of the day.

Again To Jenn Avelar

Are you still embroiled in tiny scandals?
Has love passed you by yet again?

Do you have money and a room of your own,
or would my Virginia Woolf still be disappointed?

When I wrote you that sonnet, I was caught
in the same net as you, or a part of it.

It’s been months since that was true:
I tore myself out and began to breathe normally.

Nevertheless, my mind strays, and
here I am, asking the air how you are

but too nervous to actualize the question
and shoot it your way on a paper plane.

I couldn’t have been the only one who asked
about your pain, out of all the friends,

all the hookups and all the bands
who said you can tag along no problem.

But now I don’t know how you dress.
I forget if you still have short hair.

 

The Love that Won’t Let Go #13/24

The Love that Won’t Let Go

It utterly amazes me that we can still love the same
raw way we did back when we were both less tired,
less torn up by the falling down lives we’re acting out.

Whatever magic your eyes let go in the dark barroom
a quarter century ago, still has power over my breathing
and your strong hands always find what belongs to you.

From the screaming passion that turns physical
to the hushed relief in a hospital room the day after
I tried to leave my life because you had led the way.

I can’t say why we are tied together; karma or
willed by some god, or the destiny we’ve chosen
for ourselves: to love the other to a strange madness

that is always undoing itself, spiting it’s own validity.
But I cannot unlove your eyes that are home to me.
I return to you like a warm fire on a bitter night.