The Poetry Marathon

#8 – Unbelievable creature

This unbelievable creature

Is flying above the city

Screaming at all winds

To whoever will hear

That the war is over

 

Know, my brothers and sisters

That the one announcing the war is over

Is already prepared for the next one

 

The one ready for peace

Don’t even talk about it

He is in peace and not questioning it

In any way

 

There is so much ink wasted

To talk about these

All countries invaded

Just to please

Monarchs and their slaves

To even more slavery

 

People protest in the street

The creature is still there

Watching from above the city

 

Like an eagle would do

Above the Andes

 

The war is over

Doesn’t mean

Peace for all

Some won’t sleep

This night

In the swamp

Of their inability

To create their own reality

 

The war is over only means

You won’t hear that much about

The victims on tv any longer

 

This unbelievable creature

Is flying above the city

Screaming at all winds

To whoever will hear

That the war is over

 

 

“We Need” Prompt

We need to stop placing the blame, it is all right to be ashamed; it creates change.
We need to accept what has happened, it has already occurred and you can do nothing more.
We need to be who we are and not what we see, it differentiates us between them, him, her and me.

We need to ask questions and continue to grow, if you stop needing how would you learn what you don’t know

We need much more than we know that we do so keep searching, keep trying. After all, someone needs something from you.

Need (hour 8, 4:03pm)

We need to talk.

We need space.

We need air, sunshine, rain.

We need rain.

Drought speaks louder

than the thunder that roars

over the dry crests

of prickly mountains.

It is all protest,

and little promise.

The clouds sputter hail,

then lightning.

the bolts ignite the tinder box canyon,

and shows us

power.

It could have been harnessed,

like the geothermal heartbeats

of the Earth.

We need this rain,

before the dust

of the farms

picks up

and leaves

for parts unknown.

 

Hour 8–Hunger

We need Denny’s to deliver breakfast

We need scrambled eggs and roasted red potatoes with onions and sausage and peppers, ya know, their Ultimate Skillet

We need Starbuck’s to deliver coffee, strong coffee

We need ideas, maybe even useable metaphors (if we dare)

We need to remember we’re in this thing together

Joy Hides (8)

In your palm and I feel it
when I hold your hand.

In the baby’s cry and I feel it
knowing the world goes on.

In your voice and I feel it
when you whisper good morning.

In the dog tag’s jangle and I feel it
as he rushes to meet me at the door

In my fingertips and I feel it
as I text “I love you”.

In the small moments that exist and I feel them
even though I am often too busy to notice.

We need

We need
To just
Let our words
Flow out
Without hesitation
We need
To love
Without
Letting our hearts
Go too far
That our minds
Take lead
When we should
Just express
Ourselves freely
We need
To follow
What we say

we need
To drown out
The wants of others
We need
To BE

We need
Ourselves
As much as
We need someone else

-Angelica Villarruel

 

 

Cadeux

They stand against the glass, eyes the color of cinnamon, curry, chocolate.

Dusty, grimy, a decade’s hand-me-downs of bright pattern that cries

of hungry mouths, of hungry bellies rotund not with satiety, mimic fecundicity.

Tiny hands outstretched, eyes pleading, we need, we want, we desire.

In the mottled, fruit-ripe lush-dark heat of a tiny town in Mexico.

And in the market, the cries of vendors echoing to and fro,

teasing me of my pale flesh unprotected, though friendly, and painless,

their eyes speak the same song that calls to me, sings to me of pain

and a story that could tell a thousand souls the same old line, never twice.

We need, we want. We desire. We need, we need, we need you, your self,

in the jungle depths of Africa, the dense of a monsoon pressing at you.

Here, your shoulders weighted with the baskets of want, mistaken for need.

Your children crowding your ankles, tears at their eyes, hunger plain, evident.

We need, we want, we desire.

Choices

Never know till you flow

will it end or just grow

will it mend for pretend

while

I stare at the snow.

 

Grab the ink

while I think

using keys more with ease

forget the trend

just jot then send.

4 pm Poem

Need vs Want

We want more money

We need more compassion

We want the latest gadgets

We need more love

We want only what is best for us

We need more empathy

We want the coolest car

We need more inclusion

We want luxury

We need more tolerance

 

Imagine a world where

We focused not on what we want

But what we need

Poem #7: Heartland

Heartland

Twin lakes of glimmering green shimmer reflections of sky.
Crescent path to the south curves up or down.
Forests of swaying, short golden leaves to the north—none beyond the lakes.
She is down to Earth, gazing at the sky.
Fields of cream-coloured rye outline the land.
I know this face.
Rain clouds gloom and thunder broil,
Those dark shrouds hanging dim the land grey.
Sprays of rain sputter, spilt upon the lush turf.
The lakes go still afterward, hazed and foggy.
Days in a daze and the clouds lift from her face.
Winter arrives and her eyes glaze over.
White complexion, smooth as an empty white page.
Overflowing with Life.
Spring turns round and she’s still as beautiful as ever.
The path smiles to the sky.
Sunlight beams rays of glistening grace.
Autumn rolls around and her face is rosy.
I walk about, a painter in a drawn land, better than I could ever brush a replica.
The leaves fall but her hair does not.
Face the Moon, accept the Sun.
Love not the world.
‘Tis a fruitful place.
Leaf to dust.
Seasons to and fro, relentless rhythm, eternity oft and off.
Spiral aim swirls my eyes torrents in the sky.
Rising brightness shines my weary clouds away.
Hope is not singular in nature.
The lakes do not give in and neither does the sky.
For they reflect one another in harmony.
Love is stronger than the fibre moulding the earthly material together.
Rain to earth, roots to leaves to seeds to forests to dust to life again and love
indefatigable.
Wind burning cold vapour in, warmth of hope exhales.
Tree to paper to words to poetry to song to heart to you to all.
Oppression has no touch or sound or influential taste in this place.
Sown a single blade of green grass, cutting darkness asunder.
A single blade of grass.
Circular frame—is it the substance or the sustenance that defines the distance?
The picture of a landscape paints hope upon my face, my frame.
Hanging on the wall so I do not forget hope.