The Poetry Marathon

Anzac Day Man

Anzac Day Man

Where did you go?

Was it an apparition from the

Divine?

 

A lost love

A divine lesson learnt

Complete abandon

At the loss from my life

When you boarded that plane

To serve our country

 

A man of conviction, of purpose

A deep abiding love underneath that

Chiselled athletic persona

A darkness, pain, suffering

And heart break

Fear and confusion in intimacy

Better to get on that plane

Not fearing death

The fear lies within

The man in the mirror

Reflecting back at you

 

A love lost indeed

Or is it?

I think not!

A love deep within

From another time and place

Transitional and shifting in this lifetime

Alas short but sweet

 

An astute student am I? It’s taken over a

Decade to understand the connection

Was it real? Or just my imagination?

A gift from the divine

To assist me in my hour of need

Yet I do mourn you

Anzac Day Man

 

Even after all this time

Blessed be for my life

Has been touched in a way that

Will not come to pass in this

Life time again

Thank you Anzac Day Man

 

2am

Honor

honor is the feeling of doing

she asked me a week ago

do you ever feel as if you aren’t good enough

tonight I ask myself good enough for what

And to hold up to whose standards

i am good enough

i have to be

i would probably drop my pen right now if I weren’t

 

Not same

I am not same

as I once was

I left myself

some where in the past

I have started to

trace footsteps

behind you

I have started to pause

on your path

The Raging and Consuming War of The Poetics

Part XVIII

Letting go of the hands full of flowers is hard,
but their fragrance has begun to choke me,
and I cough so hard,
it pulls the fibers of my spinal cord,
rattling my entire body,
everything is unclear and drowning seems inevitable;

I fight the diseases,
every single moment
of every single day,
and everyone around me says,
hang on – it will get better…

I’ve been hanging on all my life,
it does not get better;
the beatings come in different forms;
I am tired – bruised, bloodied, broken,
I loved with all my heart,
and it was mutilated – put through a meat grinder,
I cried all the tears,
and then some more,
I felt the highest of highs,
and all the increments of feeling from that high,
to the bottom, where sediments lay,
the disease of my brain opening every door on every floor…

– Michellia D. Wilson 8/24/14 1 AM

A Short Haiku by Grumpy

Whistling Dixie

Gawking at the pretty girls

Smiling ear to ear.

#18, gold and white.

There once was a beautiful bird.

Guilded in sunlight and gold was this avian delight.

Sweet and able to read the hearts of man she was also

Coveted. Hunted. Desired.

For all in the land wanted to be the person to possess her.

Exhausted she flew from branch to branch

Over every hill and forest she flew

Over every valley and tussock.

Over every home and city

She flew, only pausing on a branch long enough to bathe, drink and eat.

Her heart was strong and true

But even the strongest and most true can only burn bright for so long.

She fell one day in the middle of a blizzard. Gold pure light lost in a white blast of rushed wind.

What a waste. Sacrifice to the hunters.

Hope they’re happy now.

 

Prompt for Hour Eighteen

Caesar Crossing the Rubicon by Wilhelm Trubner, is one of my favorite paintings. Unlike most paintings of titled Caesar Crossing the Rubicon does not feature an army led by Caesar, instead it is a painting of a dog eying food on a table. I have posted it below.

Your prompt is to write a poem with a stereotypical title for a poem or painting, but the poem itself does not comply with the expectations raised by the title.

Third Person Curses

Hell- they knew how to torture!

Not dragging one down to the fiery pit,

But watching- observing,

Unable to speak, to shout- to warn.

Unable to guide her steps back to safety.

I screamed at her, but no sound was heard;

I ran to her but I did not move.

These nightmares, when, whilst alive we dream

Of straining for sound, striving for movement,

They are surely remembrances of this place from before we were born.

There is nothing to make one value their power more

Than to take it away.

Watching my beloved walk toward her certain death,

I repent.

Minutes to spare

I never realized how hard writing poetry is on a timeline.

How the essence of a limit on when you need it written can turn a passion into a foot race.

Minutes to spare every hour since I started.

Going strong but I just hope to keep the momentum going.

There’s nothing more nerve racking to see the clock ticking forward.

Urging me towards quantity over quality.

Pushing me towards a quicky rather than meaningful material.

I will stay the course though, I will keep making it quality over quantity.

I will not be denied.

Come lets find..

Close your eyes
Take a deep breath

Search inside
You will find the rest

Go past all those places
Leaving behind all those faces

Soon you will enter the valley of solitude

There is silence
Full of peace

Its a point where souls meet…