The Poetry Marathon

The Gut of Love

If I have to be a love
I will love to be a wine
sipped to the throat pipe
drowsy you like a doze

If I have to be a love
I will love to be an angel
coming down to your jell
blessing you with daily meal

If I have to be a love
I will love to be an ocean
where you swim to clean
the dirty that cause a pain

If I have to be a love
I will love to be a bird
tricking you with sound
for you to dance and tend

If I have to be a love
I will love to be a wind
blowing up your mind
till the happy go round

I Do, I Don’t

Tied by the hands, two to one

The golden shine that sits between

Hiding the truth or lies to the next morning sun

A life of grey or green

Will the flowers stay in bloom?

Will we glow under the moon?

Will the flowers fall and wilt?

Will the moon turn away in a tilt?

I vow to stay by your side as you stand by mine

I vow to leave your side if you no longer stand fine

I vow to love you unconditionally

I vow to hate you unbelievably

Hold my heart in your hands

I’ll hold yours as this chapter commands

If one breaks, the other shall too

And with that, seal this faith with “I do.”

Prompt 4/Hour 4

ring finger extended
ready to accept
princess cut diamond shimmers and echoes the light
the first half, the start, the beginning
this, this is the second half
where she becomes made anew
the unveiling of her face,
the shedding of an old skin
she is being rebirthed
Her eyes twinkle and sparkle
echoing the joy in her heart
the diamond, the ceremony, being reborn in this way
something most women want to experience
but many won’t get to touch

After forty years

He brings me tea, with just enough ice
After nearly forty years, this is quite nice.

He sprays my feet, then covers my tootsies
After nearly forty years, we still play footsies.

He covers me at night, temperature appropriately set
After nearly forty years, he does this before bed.

He plants me gardens, sunflowers for my pleasure
After nearly forty years, he knows what I treasure.

He lets me cook, scrambling his eggs fluffy and nice
After nearly forty years, I sometimes have to do it twice.

He carries the groceries, we buy them together now
After nearly forty years, I have to teach him how.

He mows the yard, keeps the porch swept
After nearly forty years, I am a woman kept!

He loves me, I still don’t know why or how
After nearly forty years, he still keeps his vow.

He is mine, and I am his
After nearly forty years, this is how it is.

Hour 3 poem

MATHEMATICS OF LIFE

Add your smiles
Subtract your sorrows
Multiply your happiness
Divide your chores
Differentiate between Good and evil
Integrate the goodness in all
Time is precious
Count your blessings
Life is not a graphical function
It’s a combination of rational , irrational and imaginary values
Cherish the area and the volume of surfaces around you
Observe the Fibonacci dance of the trees and the bees
Life is not meant to be running around in circles
Nor is life meant to be stuck in a corner,
Your height and weight are mere numbers
Your beauty is just infinite
Life cannot be given a perfect mathematical formula
Yet we can still factorise it to receive love, happiness and success.

Prompt #1

“This is how she found us/ the past draped about us like a cloak”

Selkie Weaning Young (Redux) by Diana Khoi

 

I crawl out of my skin,

out of a past heavy

on my bones.

And this is how she found me:

wet and blind and filled to

the brim in melancholy.

 

It wasn’t you.

I miss the little laugh we shared
last summer over coffee.
I miss the words
your eyes whispered to me
I miss how we held hands.
On the rainy days, our slow dance.
And when the nights were stone-cold
your hands’ warmth atone.
On thinking,
the memories aren’t blithe as they were.
The summer only burns through my skin,
my ears have gone deaf over time,
my hands have gone rough,
rains are dull and slippery,
and nights now, bright and blistering.

I stand where I could never go back.
You aren’t cruel, our little memories are.

Hour Four

Two became one

in theory

in pain

in happiness

chores divided

hobbies united

yelling from opposite sides of the house,

“What?”

“I told you so!”

Stop.

Two souls intertwined

I know yours

you know mine.

not love

but trust.

 

Hour Four: Till Broken Ankles We Part

Perhaps you’ve heard of it.

A game of chasing the bouncing ball,

Only your chained feet can go slow or

As fast as your tethered limb can carry

Another body, vying for leadership,

Sometimes taut, sometimes limp,

Submitting to your pace, if necessary,

Seeking the elusive finish line

If only they find the rhythm, even

For a step or an oddish two down the aisle,

Up the avenue, across the street, a dead end

Where the banner reads: Till broken ankles

We part.

Protected: Careless – H4

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