The Poetry Marathon

The Off-Sonnet of Norma Jean

I imagine my mother’s hateful life,
how she wishes she could be someone else,
and I, too, wish I could be someone else.
I imagine stardome like my idols,
how everyone loves to see them preform.
I do want to deviate from the Norm.
I yearn for the beauty of Jean Harlow,
how she glows from within to everyone.
I, too, want everyone to see my glow.
I have what it takes to be a true star.
I will show the whole world what I can be.
My name will echo from near, and to far.
I pray this now: to stand the toll of time.
May I never be forgotten on earth.
May I be remembered by all from birth.

Hour 5

Here in the desert
I dream of orcas
rippling through water.

Awake, their memory
undulates rhythmically,
deep in my chest.

I am as vast as the sea.

5. This all Painting

 

 

(Persona 2015 @ 1:15 p.m.)

# 5 poetry marathon: Times’ a changin’

As the hustle and bustle rushed by,
several actors trying to reach their rehearsalgot lost.

“what happened to that seedy restaurant?”
This square as remembered was a bit more dark, dirty with specific cast of characters of its own.

Not this multicolored, flashy, overcrowded shopping mall square.

The square used to hold an essence of character:
when you would walk to the train. hail a cab, or see a show.

It was a place to encounter but never dwell upon a resting post.

Even the musicals seem vaguely familiar….yet the story is buried upon all the colorful costumes, sets, and overly dramatic acting.

This place….has lost its gritty character full of obscure smells and sounds.

As Marlon Brando, Vivian Leigh, and Frank Sinatra reentered their hotel suites and contemplate their day in a city and industry that seems far away from the times of their stardom.

I Am That Girl #5

I walk

The streets laid out before me like a thousand unbidden promises.

Which way?

I could walk down here toward

The little antique shops which sell dolls without limbs;

Faintly scratched vinyl records;

A copy of “The Merchant of Venice” missing its last page;

Somebody else’s life.

But I don’t want somebody else’s life.  I want mine. That life I had with you.

I could go to the park.

Lying in the sun, knitting daisy chains and talking about the future that we both knew was scorched by lies.

I could go home.

But home is not down these streets.  That is where your home is; your home with her.

You call out as you see her, but as she turns her head to cross the road, you know it is not she.

I will go home.

I will lie tonight on the back garden and look up at the same sky that is above you.  And wonder if you are watching it too.

I write a pattern in the stars that tells how this girl met this boy. And though he wasn’t hers

He became hers.

I am that girl.

It turns out that you were never really that boy.

#5 – Sex Bouquet

You get in the room

I smell your love

The air is changing

Starting sparkling

Stars are blushing

Moon is dancing

Your bliss is buzzing

All your skins is ting ting

 

You give me your broom

I don’t know what to tell

When you look deep

In my eyes

I forget

To tell you

What happened

 

In the blue

What happened

When you flew

So far from me

Far too long

After this time

Below that shame

I was enforced

To love you

Beyond reason

As must do

 

I was enforced

By my feelings

That have the lead

On all my deeds

I was enforced

By your smile

To love you

Like a fool

To love you

I am so cruel

 

Your sex bouquet

Gets me frustrated

I can’t stop

The game of falling

In love with loving you

I just can’t stop

The stronger than me

Power from the blue

 

 

 

 

Hour 04 1.30-2.30am — #71 “Bang on the drum”

(Finally caught up. So to coffee #2 & a small chocolaty treat)
#71

when i was at uni, i was in a band
(one half of an average rhythm section)
the other louder half always said:
“save a drum, bang a drummer”
i’m not sure that line ever worked
but, i couldn’t talk: being the bassist

as far as bangs go, it wasn’t
the biggest, nor by any stretch
the best, it was simply the last
which is the reason i remember
our vocalist punched the drummer
midway through Maggie’s Farm

& so the less-than-stellar musical career of
The (Quantum) Mechanical Engineers … ended

NB I’ve decided (now I’m on a roll) to give a preview of my next number. This time it is #64. Please gimme some more low ones soon universe.

……

Although he was comfy is the hammock of his beliefs

she chose herself, the comfort of another, to feed her relief….

V.Sky

Locust Girl (1:00 PM)

Locust girl won’t talk.

She creeps beneath grass and damp

soil to parallel play with worms.

She is of no consequence.

Here, she is only mineral to dirt.

 

Locust girl can almost feel the sun.

Deeper she burrows into her earthen den.

If sun can find her so can he,

smiling sickly as he pries away her sweet pulp.

 

He will rip off her wings, fry them

up with a sprinkle of salt.

He will dine on a salad of her legs,

procure a pudding of her soft belly.

 

Finished, he curses her with sour breath,

tosses her masticated body back

into the muddied tomb.

She, the loveless leper.

Slut of the grave.

 

Locust girl acquaints herself with worms.

Turns stiffened legs up to a liberated sun.

On her back, belly exposed, wings

folded beneath her.

 

She waits in silence for

the strength to fly and

abandon her defiled shell

in the grave.

Mid way

mid way up the leg I found something to stand on, then I froze… ughhh fear.