The Poetry Marathon

Hour 05 2.30-3.30am — #64 “Red raw”

I admit to being a trifle sneaky on this one — but how can you not when you get this call. It’s a googletranslate poem of The Beatles When I’m Sixty Four (going from English, to German, to Polish, to Russian, then back to English — the logic behind the language changes should be obvious. A few more would’ve given a more eclectic result, but this version has a nice cold Communist authoritarianism about it) 🙂

#64

“If I Sixtyfour”

When I get older losing hair
Many years later,
Will you still send me a Valentine
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I had done with the two forty-five
Do you want to close the door?
Do I need to, you feed me yet
If I had sixty-four?

They are older
And if you say the word
Can I stay with you

I could be handy, repair fuse
If you have lights
You can knit a sweater by the fireplace
On Sunday morning for a walk
Here the garden, digging the weeds
Do you want more?
Do I need to, you feed me yet
If I had sixty-four?

Every summer we can rent a cottage on the Isle of Wight
If it is too expensive
We will be very rich and save
Grandchildren on their knees
Vera, Chuck and Dave

Send me a postcard, drop me a line
Overview Statement
Enter exactly what you mean.
Sincerely, spending
Give me an answer, fill in the form
Mine always
Do I need to, you feed me yet
If I had sixty-four?
Ho!

Dear god! #79. I know there’s low numbers in there, I do, I cut the damn things up myself.

The 5th hour – persona

Taylor

Gifted, Philanthropist, Genious, Icon

Lives to Shake Off the cares of Life

Family, Friends, Fans

Love, Trust, Humiliation

Peace on Earth, Fulfilled Dreams, Joy Unspeakable

Nashville Country at Heart, Pop Culture by demand

Swift

 

Hour 4 — The Dwarf Song

We are the Dwarves of Grivenweld
A stronger beast you’ve never beheld
We never cry, we never fear
We’re veritable strangers to despair
And when the fight is upon us
We’re not known to stall or fuss
And we love to eat our boars and deer

Elves are friends, and trolls are foes
Our strength and might, our enemy knows
We never forgive, we never forget
We stay alert for any threat
By day we toil, by night we sleep
Summers we sow, in winters reap
And we live our lives without a regret

And when our day is done
We’re buried under the sun
We, the Dwarves of Grivenweld
Many a troll our axes have felled
Our treasures are many, our sorrows few
This our song, we sing for you
And now we must retire to our earthly bed

Woman of substance

There’s no words the could truly describe you. As time passes I keep discovering more quality in your personality. Your actions speaks loud them words. Your love speak with actions. How you carry yourself through life it self is pure value to the life we are raising together.
Your strong character brings the necessary discipline to raise and guide our kids. I truly admire your way to handle things, even if it mean risking an argument for the sake of the kids.
Thank you for standing strong even when I’m weak. You are the biggest support for girls. You rise to the challenge . You are a team player and for that I’m always grateful.
As you always say kids don’t come with instructions, congratulation for always cracking there code all the time. Thank you for been a great mother and awesome guardian.
I respect you as a woman, mother and friend. Your kindness melts my not genetic cells away.

FREAK OF NATURE

HOUR FIVE

POEM # 5

24 HOUR

POEM

MARATHON

FREAK OF NATURE

Am I am don’t you see

I only have one leg instead of three,

My leg made from the fine birch tree.

Am I am don’t you see

Pretty face with two noses instead of four,

Is two enough or do I need more?

Am I am don’t you see

Boxer with three arms instead of five,

One punch opponents take a dive.

Am I am don’t you see

Feet with four big toes instead of six,

Pair of shoes out of a box of KIX.

Am I am don’t you see

Five big eyes instead of seven,

Waiting for my Lord, take me to Heaven.

Am I am don’t you see

Written by Carl Mann

The kurlman

6-13-2015

“Liar, Cheater, Heathen” (Hour 5)

Liar, cheater, heathen,
are the only words they’re breathing,
while the laws are so deceiving,
thinking it will be relieving,
to continue believing our old ways,
even if it was all just a phase,
given to us by ones
following some strange craze,
but these are the days we live in.
An oppression of the imperial power,
putting one more flower on their grave,
yet continue with their rave,
only standing with one more foot in the grave,
mindlessly popping more pills,
then hills they had traveled,
baffled by the amazement,
given by these pills,
they ignore the worry and chills,
no expectations to acknowledge,
when none are going near college.
Liar, cheater, heathen,
are the only words I want
to hear them breathing,
even though their laws are deceiving,
I find their words relieving,
the truth that they’re speaking,
calming yet relieving,
I see how reality can be deceiving,
hopeless without meaning.
So they changed their wills,
began with popping pills,
spending late nights hiding in the mills,
these were the greatest thrills
of their lives.

poem #5 underwater

what the shell said

when the water claimed me
took my salt & copper body
deep into its bluegreen throat
and swallowed me whole
I thought of my mother
how her tears would taste
of this same saltwater
how she would wail
like the rushing sound
of tidal surge around me

warmed by the sun
I could not see beneath
the ocean’s surface
water the colour of the sky
lifted me high
still wrapped in water
slammed me into ocean floor
and in my ears my mother
a whisper in a shell
calling me home

some visceral fear
tore from me
ripped by the tide
sank into the sand
and I spread my arms like wings
soaring underwater
into rescue

Haiku, Hour 5

Mud and sticky air—
Grateful for icky weather.
No wildfires today!

“The Bones Speak”

I watched the girl as she waded knee deep in the swamps and reefs.

I watched as she was flailing in the bushes.

How could I not?

She made enough ruckus to raise the dead.

Her feeble attempts to pry the chest from my fingers only resolved my ire.

Did she think the gold would somehow usher her off of the island?

What a fool!

The gold is a curse, a mere tool.

Soon she will be no more than a pile of bones on a desolate isle-

Just like me.

Warning

Unexpected loop

taken by surprise

dreams forewarning

meditating eyes

analytical thoughts

waiting in disguise

this is why Lord sees

bigger pictures from the skies.