The Poetry Marathon

Second Hour

Most days people can tell you

Who I am

What I’m like

Where I go

When I do things

Why I do the things I do

How I accomplish it all

 

That’s ok-

To live life sometimes

You have to be an open book

Other times?

 

Keep them guessing

 

I’ve got the weekend off

A little cash

A fuck it attitude

And no cares

 

I wanna do something

not me

Go out to the Red light district

Find someone to see

Maybe have sex-

Maybe not

We’ll see

 

Go out have my first

taste of whiskey

Make some new friends

Maybe see where it all leads

 

I wanna go outside the box

Clubbing

Drinking

Sexing

 

No worries on the time

or who I’d run into

Give into all my desires

just going Friday til Sunday

 

Maybe find the love of my life

Maybe see what other people

do for fun

 

The time for fun is dwindling down

and so is my night on the town

Come Monday morning–

I’ll be back to straight laced

me

 

An open book for all to see

 

First Hour

It’s going to hurt

for so long

I just want it to end

 

I have so much pain

inside

It’s gotta come out somehow

 

No one noticed the pain

How could they?

They’ve got their own

I’m not the only one

 

I just don’t understand

How could God come to

take her home with him

Why I found her

Why the image won’t leave

 

You had such a beautiful smile

grace

way about you

and I don’t even remember

your voice

 

I have pictures to remind me

of your smile and how

you look

but it’s no substitute

for hav ing you here

 

I took you for granted

so many times

I had child like fantasies

where you would always

be here and Dad would

be my knight in shining armor

 

I really need to punch

something

But what?

Anything to get my

pain out

By any means necessary

 

I’m survivng

Barely

Just barely holding

my head above the

flood

that threatens to bury me

 

I’m drowning-

Just drowning to

the point of being

overcome

 

I can’t find a way

to get out from under

this

It’s choking me

hands around my throat

Squeezing tight

Can’t breathe

 

One second I’m

Happy, laughing

Next?

Angry and so ready to

punch something

 

Lying here alone

I need you here

You made living easy

 

 

Introduction

Good evening Members,

I am bathing in the afterglow of the Half Marathon.  It was an incredible journey and a testament that whatever your doubts were about entering such a task, they were put to rest as I continued to pursue the end!  It created a synergy and creative flow that nothing that came against  me could stop.  I still want to keep writing!  There it is!  The confirmation that whatever is in you to accomplish, when you put your hands to the plow and push off, the overflow will follow you.

Seventh Solstise

2019 Poetry Marathon: My half-marathon recap

Another year’s half marathon come and gone. As I often point out, I prefer to do the half marathon because I like to sleep; consequently doing the full 24-hour marathon simply wouldn’t work for me, as it would take me at least a couple of days to get back to normal.

Making things easier this year was my recent acquisition of Scrivener. Thanks to the program’s separate panes, I was able to have the prompt always visible as I wrote:

 

 

As before, I worked with all the prompts for the sake of simplicity. That said, a couple of them still gave me trouble. For example, for the hour 5 prompt calling for a poem about a dream, nothing immediately came to mind, so I dug out a couple of my old journals that I knew included detailed descriptions of dreams I’d had. The problem was that the ones I still have dim memories of today turned out to be not that interesting. I finally just picked one and tried to reduce it to the barest details (taking a couple of liberties along the way). Similarly, none of the photos in the hour 4 prompt did much for me—and my first choice (the black-and-white photo of the woman next to the tipped-over stool) felt a little too obvious for me. And the song chosen for the hour 7 prompt was not at all my taste, so I had to take some time to find something I would find more inspiring.

In the end, most poems took me 30–45 minutes to write, lightly edit, and post. On the whole, I think they turned out all right. At least, I didn’t hate any of the poems I posted.

This time, I did get around to checking out the later prompts and using them to write additional poems. I posted only one of them (also written while listening to music), however.

Now to pick out the two poems to edit and submit for the anthology…

(23 June 2019)

Listening

I Survived!

You made it! After the first Marathon was completed I came up with the phrase “I survived The Poetry Marathon.” It seems a lot more accurate than the word winning or even the word completing.

Due to popular demand this year we made t-shirts with that saying on it, availble in three colors.

The t-shirt for the event is now available here. There are three different color options. Any money we make (which won’t be much) will go towards future marathons.

I also made two meme images, sharable versions of these are up on our facebook page.

Night Road

unaccustomed
in taking the road at night
journeyed along the starlit trail
a hill against the southern stars
he plodded along, in the
darkness and solitudes
the world belonged to him
the moon and stars
had wrought
a coat
there were great distances the highways promising
incense to his gods.
he knew no reason
his vague imaginings
he saw
the night
far
off the
night advanced.
so frequently
determined

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Dear Me

dear me, the 7th grade loser–

you, with the short hair,
tomboy embodied

you, with the lazy eye,
the knock-kneed girl

you, with the bullied
quiet demeanor

you, with the anxiety,
the unpopular everything

you, who sits by herself,
hiding

you, whose moments
will shape her life

you, whose memories are lost
on long-forgotten dusty shelves

you, when home have moved
and life unbalanced

you, when the waters have calmed
from the turbulent storms

you, when her life has meaning,
can look back with
a sigh
a smile

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Morning Coffee

“Damn,” she muttered,
pushing through the fog uncluttered.
holding her canteen full of coffee,
her bag loaded with toffee;
down the misty dock she went.
fast upon the hill she made her ascent,
up the path made of concrete,
what a momentous feat!
she arrived with a hush,
she wasn’t in a rush,
she paused–unlocked the door,
oh, her mornings, what a chore!
she looked to her right and on the fir shelf
sat a little toy elf.
a smile upon her face,
the day she’ll well embrace;
her first customer walks through,
that one last sip of her brew
she sets it down,
and sells a toy crown

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)

Hill House

these dark halls
deep secrets and meandering spirits
years of misanthropic ghostly misfits
the house in restless humor recalls
frightful weather falls in rainfalls
the solemn spirits befits
the walls close up; this house commits
the broken down spirits, trapped and held, there is sits

© Nicole Harlow (grenbisous)