The Poetry Marathon

Hour Ten

That smile…

The one that reaches your eyes,

The one that makes my heart swell,

The one I seldom see,

The one you only show to me.

That smile…

The one that you hide so well,

The one that brightens my darkest mood,

The one I would walk across fire for,

The one you don’t see, that’s only meant for me.

That smile…

The one I first saw so long ago,

The one that takes me right back there,

The one that makes me forget I’m angry,

The one that turns back time.

That smile…

The one that keeps us young,

The one that reminds me why I love you,

The one that makes me feel your love,

The one I want to see for the rest of my life…

That smile.

 

NAS Prompt 12

NAS Prompt 12  Moving

 

Moving on my own, determined and excited,

thrilling new adventure taught me

all the basic things new brides learn —

take charge of many household chores.

 

Moving into a home of our own

a two story home gave us lots of room

so we filled it with babies, every year or so

a home that the children still love.

 

Moving  on, as in divorce, I did that once.

Misery and grief — survived and grew stronger

Eight years later, wounds had healed, kids had grown

chose a better match.

 

Moving through the familial losses —

Happy losses to marriages; I approved of every one.

The sad losses were in death;   Mom and Dad and little Mari, too

Celebrate their lives, and let them go; to whatever Heaven holds.

by Nancy Ann Smith

(#7/12): “Elegy For Mum”

Mater lies before me.

Her earthly torments ceased.

No more half-breaths to take,

Eyes closed, in peace at last.

 

And yet, my tears do not run,

No wellsprings of regret.

Or mourning I perceive,

This curious absence of grief.

 

I never listened.

I never understood.

I never empathised.

I was never a good son.

 

You may think me cold.

Unfeeling, ungrateful,

The heart of a beast.

Yet Mother, I mourn thee.

 

© 2015 Silvester Phua

 

Hour 12

hate is such a powerful feeling
I can barely put it into words
to confess would be a crime
I realize that much
but the anger I feel towards you
is about to flood from the dam

give me a kiss
and I’ll give you one back
if I said I loved you
that would be a stretch

what is this that’s happening
you’re messing with the wrong girl
and I hate to say it
but I’m loving every minute
thank you for the time we spent
struggling to figure out what we were doing

The Path Most Forsaken

Two roads diverged

And one submerged

Below the route that all maps urged,

Where most would naturally go –

The overground pathway

Trampled underfoot toe by toe

By those who would not stray

And make their own way,

But down below

I chose to go

Where demon sprites

And hell-fire bright

Warned off the bravest souls.

I was sure I wouldn’t return

I was sure the way back would burn,

But what do you suppose I learned?

Oh, you’ll never know,

Along this path you’ll never go,

But believe me when I tell you this –

There are things you should not miss

Down there in that abyss.

(c) Gemma Hinton 2015

13. The Road Not Taken

 

(Haiku 2015 @ 9:15 p.m.)

Poem#12 Unconventional Hero

Spectacles sparkling eyes … round and bright
Warm and contiguous smile … spreading sweet lullaby
Big Embrace … loving arms
Kind heart … pure and giving.

Not a hero … but always to his love ones
A father … a friend that extend
Not the most vocal … but sensitive and affecting
A lover … still trying and perfecting.

A funny soul … a sunshine of joy
Unconventional man … but never an option
Polite but not weak … kind but strong
He is my Mickey … my spider man in the making.

Paths

Broad is the road that leads to destruction

Majority travel along its path

It’s filled with those who believe such phrases like, ‘Whatever makes you happy’

Just because you feel it’s right doesn’t mean that it is

The world is full of ‘good people’

Whose lives end in tragedy

Thinking there’s no hereafter

No God, only the foolish believe

There is another path

Narrow and trim

Only those who hear and know the truth

Journey this faith driven bend

They follow after the Word of the Gospel

Receive adoption as children of the King

The 1st way can seem easier

But the 2nd is Heavenly security

 

 

I Used to Know A Guy Named Steve #11/24

I Used To Know a Guy Named Steve

Steve was a black man of thirty-five. He was greasy and had dandruff. He dressed very badly in black denim and cheap stretchy pullover shirts with three buttons center, top. He wore too much Drakkar Noir in an attempt to cover up the smell of sweat that clung to him always in the south Texas heat. He’d had a bad acne problem in high school. The scars were quite deep. His thick glasses were always smudged with fingerprints because he was always pulling and pushing on them. It was a nervous habit. And when he talked about his life in the music industry and how he’d just come from rehearsal, it was all a lie. He was really quite convincing with his musical knowledge, but someone had seen him slinging burgers at Maggie’s Restaurant on Blanco. Can’t say I was that surprised. I never brought it up. Steve had enough strikes against him for one guy. I decided to let him live his dream with me since no one else was buying it.

Empty at the bottom.

If the world was a whisky bottle

I would swallow it whole.

Like a drunkard drains the bar,

The bartenders stores

and always finds it empty.

At the bar,

The only thing I ever found

at the bottom of the glass

was me a little drunker,

The only problems I was able to escape

were problems I didn’t help create.

We’re all empty

At the bottom of the glass,

And at the bar

The bartender stores

The little last peace of a heart.

The last bit of pride

Of some young tart

The brains of a lost art.

The foolish ramblings

Of a fool from the start.