The Poetry Marathon

Prompt for Hour Three

Read the following excerpt from Caryolyn Forche’s poem Elegy (from the book angel of History) and when that excerpt ends write your own poem from that  point.

Start by writing what you imagine the next line to be and go from there. When you finish the poem, remove the excerpt of Elegy or move it off to the side and put it in quotes, with her name and the name of the poem.

This is the excerpt:

The page opens to snow on a field: boot holed month, black hour/ the bottle in your coat half vodka half winter light./ To what and to whom does one say yes?

Mom vs Monster

“Mom” she said, “please check for the monster under my bed.”

“Sure” came my reply, “should I tell it you say hi?”

“Mom” she said, “I am afraid of it, so much, it is inside my head.”

“Fine” came my reply, “then you should tell it why.”

“Mom” she said, “it wants to kill me in my sleep.”

“Sucker” came my reply, “he is not a very wise guy.”

“Mom” she said, “what do you leave unsaid?”

“Love” came my reply, “the monster under your bed says goodbye.”

“Mom” she said, “did you scare it or is it dead?”

“Neither” came my reply, “it saw the warning in my eye.”

“Mom” she said, “are you scarier than the monster instead?”

I did not answer her, I gave no reply – on my lips was a grin, ever so sly.

Natural Disaster

I should have been prepared for this:
how random words form swarms overhead,
how colors crash and collide mid-air,
how sounds ooze into small spaces,
how memories meld yes, no, maybe.

I should have smelled the chaos of these poems coming.

Hi

Hi, my name is Rohan Rathore and I write at a blog name The Twenty Something on my website www.rohanrathore.com

I’m a writer, a blogger, a geek, an artist, a scientist, a believer and a seeker. I’m not perfect, I’m just passionate about practice.

Butterfly cocoon (VII)

Paper thin veil,

lushious heart and blissfully open soul.

Layer upon layer in strokes of heat.

Waves of star constellations;

shivering.

Convinced by wishful promises,

as secret gardens

were filled by drops of water-

falling like leaves.

Five

I am the crone. I live to honour the five elements, glinting in the gems of my sacred pentacle:

Fire: must be wakened, however formidable it seems. Its radiance comforts with its light and its heat. And in its crackling warmth desires are replete.

Water: may drown, engulf all in its wake. But if treated aright, our filth does it take. And reminds us daily that all must pass, as it swifts away rivers, gliding past.

Through air I fall, in the night- in my dreams. It cannot hold me, but I need it to breathe. To carry away the clouds on its back, and bring home the birds to perch on the stack.

Earth: This is my element- my parent, my bastion beneath my feet. Her only failing is man: he whips her until she bleeds. I curse his deeds!

Spirit: eludes physical description. It is what I am. It is fed from the five known senses and engenders the last.

Pretty Picture

A pretty picture

A broken frame

A shattered glass

A memory

A place

A time

A day

A moment lost

A moment gained

 

 

 

 

 

Even Today

I can remember the times we argued

They stab me like hot pokers

From a fire that will never extinguish

It burns me, even today, years after you went away

 

I can remember the times we smiled

They bathe me like the sun on a new spring day

Welcome and quietly shining

They warm me, even today, years after you went away

 

I can remember the times we cried

They eclipse me like the moon hiding the sun

Both coming and going slowly

They darken me, even today, years after you went away

 

I can remember the times we laughed

They tickle me like dancing faeries

Twirling and smiling with joy

I giggle with them, even today, years after you went away

 

I can remember the day you left

It both soothes me and tortures me like the wind

Your last words, your last smile, your last breath

I cling to them, even today, years after you went way

Friend

We are here for a reason I suppose to keep each other away from the cold.

Grab a friend and let the story begin

~.%

2. out the window

nothing of significance:

a fence scarred by weather

new-mown grass brown with clippings

sometimes a sparrow dancing on a rail

a patch of Oklahoma sky soft with autumn

the home I dreamt of as a child