The Poetry Marathon

OH JESUS HEAR OUR PRAYERS

HOUR SIX

POEM # 6

24 HOUR

POEM

MARATHON

OH JESUS HEAR OUR PRAYERS

Monday’s here Call to Jesus

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Call to Jesus Call to Jesus

Tuesday’s here Forgive us Jesus

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Forgive us Jesus Forgive us Jesus

Wednesday’s here Go to Jesus

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Go to Jesus Go to Jesus

Thursday’s here Hear our prayers

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Hear our prayers Hear our prayers

Friday’s here Pray to Jesus

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Pray to Jesus Pray to Jesus

Saturday’s here Run to Jesus

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Run to Jesus Run to Jesus

Sunday’s here Sunday’s here

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Call to Jesus Call to Jesus

Forgive us Jesus Forgive us Jesus

Go to Jesus Go to Jesus

Pray to Jesus Pray to Jesus

Run to Jesus Run to Jesus

Hear our prayers Hear our prayers

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Oh Jesus hear our prayers

Hear our prayers Hear our prayers

Written by Carl Mann

The kurlman

6-13-2015

Mise-en-scène

The fields of sunlight-green go on forever,
The ancient arch reveals the rural scene
Containing countless shades of blue and green
Each leaf and blade of grass defined but never
Destroying harmony with one another
But delicately balancing between
Variety and unity of mien
A perfect patch of land, in perfect weather

Observing from the shadows, I remain
Detached and distant, in the cool, grey stone
As only those who stand without can claim,
Touched by the sight, held back from being home
In such a peaceful idyll, sad refrain:
Suspended on the threshold, standing alone.

---

Prompt:

Form: Italian sonnet

Hour 6–The Hesperus Wrecked

It was a tragedy.

She was the captain’s daughter. She was found in the dim surf tied to the mast of the wreckage. Her bosom was white and her long hair swirling. I was 12 and a boy and the bosom thing is mostly what I remember and she was dead. Her father had tried to save her and thus killed her.

And I was dying up in front of the class. Miss Hepburn as our English teacher had made us each memorize two thousand lines of poetry. We had to recite on command. Procrastinator, I, I faltered badly there in the surf with the captain’s daughter. I couldn’t rescue her or myself. I couldn’t remember the words.

As if I had a choice I chose the greater humiliation. I broke down and sobbed there at the blackboard. Miss Hepburn told me to take my seat. I did so sloppily. Relieved it was over, I cried quietly at my desk. My colleagues were embarrassed. They backed away. Fear of contagion. The whole school would hear.

It was a tragedy. It was my introduction to poetry.

 

 

NAS  Prompt 1

Underwater start

clean and fresh, loving welcome

joyfully Baptized

Haiku by Nancy Ann Smith

POEM 6-Burning question

Your warm voice is the secret passage

to your heart.

Is your frankness or your smile

that made me love you?

 

Is your light or even your shadows

that aroused my interest?

However, I am not complete without you

and I want you here, by the fire.

In the Dressing Room: A Prose Poem #7/24

In the Dressing Room: A Prose Poem #7/24

“We still have a pay phone back by the three bathroom stalls with the doors removed cause someone got caught smoking weed or doing coke or something else equally bad in there but the girls in this place don’t really care cause there’s nothing to hide around here other than your money and you better keep that in a place no one can get at or you’ll be leaving here with tears running down your young and disillusioned face broke as when you came in so you’ll be smart not to trust any of the girls and don’t loan them your stuff or you won’t get it back–here you go! here’s a locker you can use just don’t leave nothin’ important in it if you don’t have a lock cause you can leave your things and your money with the house mom who’s right over there on the other side of the dressing room. Up those stairs and through that curtain there is the main stage and you’re up first so you better get dressed–My name’s Exotica. Good luck out there, girl.”

The search

Run fast

or you will get late

No matter what

you have to win the race

said everyone

 

But in your head

you have already seen

places are calling

roads are free

 

The decision awaits

while choosing the fate

listen what the

heart says

 

Maybe a way is not there

but that path will be made

by you

keep wandering

to search you…

(hour 6) The birds sing

The sun is rising bringing in the bright  light, the birds they start chirping a song so uplifting.

On the branches of the trees they sit and they chirp, through the windows the songs flow I want them to keep singing

As the sun is up high the rays hit my face

The birds keep singing songs I keep in that special place

 

Time

Waiting … we are always waiting, watching and tracking the time

The time is passing and we are steady, unsure of what’s next until the time comes or until we find our day in our thoughts and within our desires

Until we find a reason not to watch the time… we are still

Wasting time, waiting for the right time, wishing for the right time but time does not care … Tick, Tock

We are older now … time will be the same tomorrow but we will change with every choice we make today

Time has not answer, reason or rhythm but it is always there reminding us what we have wasted, what we have spent and what we have left

 

The Butterfly

The brilliance of the butterfly is

headed for destruction

as humans kill the things we

cannot spend or make

space for in our ample schemes

of prosperity and wealth.

I shall not write a lyric about bright

Lepidoptera or variety of

bugs, hold back from imparting gilded

Remarks on ecological conversation.

Yes I am grateful I have known and seen

rare melodic inspiration from

episodes god sends me, beloved hymns

sung by flying, floating imps.