The Poetry Marathon

Misplaced or Stolen

my cousin, Ingrid, is so careless with her important jewelry

if her diamond earrings irritate her ears while she’s out

she’ll take them off and simply throw them in her handbag.

one time she called to say

she lost her diamond bracelet

it wasn’t in her handbag, she looked

this time she found it wrapped in a tissue in her bathrobe

miraculously, she had always found her missing jewelry

she was lucky…until the day her luck ran out.

she had a habit of taking off her ring while doing the dishes

but this was a diamond ring she inherited from her mother

it couldn’t be replaced, it meant so much more to her.

on this particular day, she was having her house painted

it was filled with painters in every room all over the house

after the painting job was finished and the men went home

at some point she remembered she left her ring on the windowsill

well, it was gone!

was it misplaced or stolen?

she knew where she last saw it…now it wasn’t there

this time the police were called in

and the men who had painted

were all asked to take lie detector tests

all, except for the one man who flew home to South Ameriica

right after the job was done.

all the other men checked out.

to this day the mystery of the missing diamond ring has never been solved

was it merely misplaced or stolen?

 

 

 

 

KEEP US SHUT

Right now, we are lost in maze, how do we
choose a leader,
we’ve chosen many, they only lick their ten fingers

the people are the class
who pay dare prices; women lose recognition of their
dignity:
mouth first before beautiful image
men die in war, youths die at a protest scene
democracy, democracy, it’s only here, scraping our sanity

If we don’t take it from them, we are left empty-handed
they don’t care, they don’t care – if you choose
to die, you only become a curse to
your struggling family, the nation is broke
to host funeral for victims of a government
sponsored massacre

© Àdèlé

Video games

It’s always been one of the best ways to escape.

Whether collecting coins while jumping on mushrooms or

stealing someone else’s vehicle for our own amusement,

it gives us an out.

 

With endless possibilities, it’s not hard to see

why parachuting onto an island or trying to gun

down the enemy has enticed so many from so

many walks of life,

surrounded us

& binded us together.

Thriving together (Hour 5)

Holding hands,
together we stand,
no judgement,
no hate,
we won’t let suffocate,
Society might dictate,
we won’t let it take,
our freedom away,
we dance our way,
we ride on the wave,
compassion we say,
yes to passion we say,
there is no time for hate,
only love will prevail.

Hour #5: Sinister, Shady, Signs of Malice

Early afternoon lines formed in front of the corner bodega as

construction workers, letter carriers, and business owners

came for street tacos and massive coolers of sweet tea,

soda, horchata — absolutely anything to break the heat

and haze of this late summer day.

 

For years this corner of the world had thrived in a massive age

of promise, industrial strength, entrepreneurship, and growth.

Immigrants found the hardest work, and they created neighborhoods,

churches, parks, and new welcome centers. All these were divided by

interstates, run down by neglect as eyes and energy moved on.

Who remained? Artists, families clinging to home, teenagers thrown away,

many who had been homeless for far long — all who found safety in the

brick factories, grain houses, lofts, and multi-storied homes.

 

Time moves forward, and progress returns. Bigger! Better!

newer but nothing for those who cobbled together safety

as shaky as these eroding buildings, yet a safety that was theirs.

Growing fainter, the chalk outline persisted on the sidewalk

as boots tramped over it, motorcycles zoomed over with burning rubber,

spits of iced sweet tea, soda, and horchata landing square.

“Developer buying us out,” whispered one passing by.

“He promised thousands more than he actually paid for

my great-grandmother’s home,” sneered another.

Every slur was slung and spun, heaped upon this nothing of a man.

 

Dirty concrete under a blistering sun: that was the place of death,

neatly marked and cordoned off that sweltering evening into darkest night

just months before. Stoned to death, but from where did the stones come?

Did slingshots send them, or did hands hold bricks and rocks firmly with each

pounding, pounding, pounding? Again, nothing remained of this big shot.

Boasting, greedy, loud, gluttonous, filthy-rich, scheming, conniving,

he was Nothing. The outline alone remained for all to visit and trample.

 

Far above, a gargoyle guarded all below. Quiet and solemn.

She perched high in the once gilded hotel now serving as a haunted house.

Around her were the stones of history, the bricks of family houses,

pebbles and rocks of people from these past hundred years.

Her eyes shone, and a deep laugh came from deep in her concrete being.

Hour Five: Iron

I walked the line
along the tracks.
Two iron straights
connected by wooden slats.
The end would bring the answer
if I kept on the straight and narrow.

No turning back.
No veering off.
Just straight and narrow.

In the end, though, it was my hands,
not my feet,
that found the jewel.

At the end the answer
dug deep into the soil,
scratch and scraped,
fingernails chipped,
bones crooked from age.

Dug deep into the soil
to hold dear,
no matter the weight
or pain.

No judgements.
Just digging.
Then holding.
Not walking.
Holding.
Deep and near.

Straight into the
iron of my heart.

Hour 5 – My Saturn in Pisces Speaks to My Jupiter in Sagittarius: A Contrapuntal

My Saturn in Pisces Speaks to My Jupiter in Sagittarius: A Contrapuntal

a planet of discipline and all I have is this liquid sign  an ocean that knows no boundaries wants to swell, to engross perhaps this is why I struggle with wanting magic amidst the realism still I honor the water that quenches allows me to float that lets dreams slip through the cracks of order

a planet of faith in conversation with fire but fire cannot be contained in its own right a spark turns to blaze turns to consumption I have too much fire, the only element that needs to eat it becomes its own beast but never gets to live despite all the burning rather than letting rage fester then turns my optimism to a Phoenix within the ash

EMPTY BED BLUES – #5

Who stole the daffodils by the front door?

I planted them when I first moved in 

Happy jonquils would join them on flowering

But the bed is empty

The soil spread around

My patch of sunshine gone

Tulle (prompt 4)

I’ve told you that I want it and I still do
despite my struggle to find a compelling reason
despite that neither of us ever have

I sewed a dress when I was young
white tulle scratching my face and thighs
longing for something that I couldn’t comprehend

the safety in being claimed
day to day, it carries me
I haven’t yet because I am waiting

I am waiting for the right voice
that will say the name and mean
I finally belong

The Piano

Keys of black and white

lined up in a row.

twos and threes, a combination that makes a melodic sound.

Flat and sharp, whole note or half;

when they come together they make music.

Music we all know and love.

Music Unforgettable; like Yesterday. Do you remember?

 

Music of spring and flowers that bloom.

Autumn Leaves that fall and Wedding Bell Blues.

Words we all want to say,

but Without A song we couldn’t second That Emotion or Cry The Tears Of A Clown when no one is around.

 

Seductive or dramatic

loud or soft

when the first note is struck

we want to name that tune.

Acoustic, electronic,

baby grand or upright

it’s the player and the song

the voicing you can’t get out of your head.

late in the midnight hour you’ll remember

You’ve Got A Friend.