The Poetry Marathon

Hour 4 “What Makes Us?…”

Hour 4

9/2/2023

 

“What Makes Us?…”

 

“Momma!”

“Look!”

pretty, pretty… “pretty…”

And the lil fingers grasp and pull,

grasp and pull…

legs RUN to other visions

of pretty, pretty…

lil fingers, stained with green,

stained with smiles

stained with pretty, pretties…

lil hands complete,

lil mind FULL

run, run, RUN!

“Mommy!”

“MOMMY!  HERE!!”

Reach, open her fingers.  Place the ‘treasure’!

Beam so hard, so clear.

Move away – MORE treasures to give …share!…

Pause …stare…

…mommy threw them in the trash…

…mommy threw them away…

…OH…oh…

 

So many, many “echoes”

behind our eyes…

 

Chris

(C) Chris Twyford 9/2/2023

“She’s Called Alice” (prompt 2)

out of touch but always touching something someone
place or person

give me a name that means whole stable satisfied
if you have a name to spare

if I bleach my hair if I skip down streets if I skip meals
quiet the feeling

the sun may come but I will not be coming with it
white lies are a gift

I give away everything every piece every bitten nail bed
unmade and slept in late

sedate the panic not another word not another burden
can’t I just

calm down grow up smile more eat more tell the truth any truth
except that one

one day I will find myself heal myself give myself permission
to exist in this body

any body will do anybody to stay anybody to tell me it doesn’t have to
be this way forever

MY MARRIAGE – #4

He is her safe harbour in every storm

She eats all the chocolate

He keeps house while she dreams

of creating beauty

An echo of the life she lives

still in the honeymoon 

when she wakes beside him

looks at his sleeping face

and remembers the moment 

she fell in love with him

Hour 1 – Out of nowhere.

Prompt 1

 

Out of Nowhere!

 

(First two lines from Selkie Weaning Young (Redux) by Diana Khoi Nguyen

 

This is how she found us

the past draped about us like a cloak,

she offered a helping hand

soon the weight of the past was lifting.

 

Her smile was for real

however, no words did she speak,

pointing the way forward

pulling the draping past from us.

 

Wanting to say thanks we

wondered where she went too,

making our way onwards

moving more freely than before.

 

How did she know our past,

how did she know where to find us

Settle wergle wrote me a poem

Again she stumbled on a contest
“why do they care?” she said
There’s this scar on her chest
“No one cares how little writers fare”

Same old same old
What glitters these days is fake gold!

I know a girl
Who wrote a million and one times
But no one would swirl
They live on as her artistic heart dies

Even the London bridge lady doubted her fairness
Until the builders shielded their eyes from all her brightness

I’m quite shy to admit you see,
Perhaps you have noticed?
I’m the she and the she is me
One writer no one has ever noticed

A horse by the name Wergle
Neighed at her from her phone screen
Your feather kept giving her a tickle
Till She yelled ‘I’m a persevering Queen!’

She usually toiled her pen for no dime
But you had the girlie’s black pupils
replaced with dollar sign

You seem to be a straw
‘Cause I’ll be a camel
“No entry fee” was what I saw
Okay! Here’s an offer sweet as caramel

I may not have stressed my brain
But here I am about to send the mail Settle Wergle wrote me this poem
Fingers are crossed if it will sound sane
Will this hammer head hit the reader’s nail?
Yes it will, Amen!

Remember Your Worth

Remember Your Worth

Dedicated to the First Nations of USA

 

“We’re Worth It Too”

Society may not think we are.

But we are.

 

We are adorned by the stars with turquoise.

Entrusted to keep the land safe.

Looked up to for wisdom.

 

We are Indigenous.

We’ve survived the many faces of death:

drought, disease, and genocide.

We rose up like a rose in the sidewalk,

and bloomed with endurance.

 

Others may call us ugly and inferior.

Remember, we taught people skills,

we should them how to survive.

 

We are so worth more than a pint of beer.

More than a grain of rice.

Remember, we travelled through 4 worlds

and were led by our ancestors to where we are today.

 

Never forget,

You are more than just

“Native American”,

you are Indigenous

and surpassed “Manifest Destiny.”

February, Not July hour 3

February, Not July

My birthday came and went
and I thought of you,
yours came and went
of course, I thought of you,
think of you every day
missing you, though
the missing feels like less
and that feels wrong
but I think you know
what I mean, especially
after almost four years.

But let’s go back forty years,
I’m guessing, but it feels right.
Your birth stone, February
amethyst. Mine July, ruby.
I say to you, Mikey, you will
never need your birth stone,
never buy a necklace or earrings
because it represents you and
your connection to the month
you were born.

I remember how you rolled
your eyes in your head, exhaled
a big brother sigh, wishing this
were over already but you knew
how detailed I can be, definitive,
precise if not concise.

And I don’t really like red,
don’t connect to it other than
Christmas and St Valentine’s Day
though purple hearts are better
than red.

So I summarized it, finally
your eyes said, stopping
their search for respite.
Since you will never need
your birth stone, I’m taking it.
You can have mine if you want
but I’m taking amethyst. You
can keep February and snow
and all that cold blustery frost.
I’ll keep July, perfect for me,
summer everything and now with
purple. Amethyst I’m taking, ok?

I’ll never forget your laughing
assent, so glad that it was over,
an agreement made that meant
nothing to you but even after
all these years, means so much
to me.

~ J R Turek Hour 3

Little Black Boy Drinking Coffee with his Dad Hour #4 9/2/2023

Whether it is a dream or not

it doesn’t matter

 

But somehow Life has conspired

to find me here, now, with you….

 

I find myself…

 

With this mountain

Stranger…kinfolk…

This imperfect black strength

This beautiful scarred freedom

My history…my possibility…and more…

I am small with a mountain in my belly

Because You are here

Keeping me company

 

That…and my coffee

I’ve grown to take mine

with just enough cream, just enough sugar

and a hint of bitter bite at the back….

 

I find myself…

 

With this quantum of wildness

Stranger…kinfolk…

This buoyant black strength

of a vulnerable, unanswerable question

A sacrament to respond…to tend…to tenderness….

 

To raise a wildness

is never an easy thing

especially in these evil days

that plot against black boys

 

But grace has conspired

for a moment’s respite

to lay all my burdens down

 

Size is only a matter of time my Son

one day, I pray, the Mountain of God

will grow you tall like me

 

My beautiful black boy wildness

My history…my possibility…and more…

Keeping me company

 

That…and my coffee

I’ve grown to take mine

with just enough cream, just enough sugar

and a hint of bitter bite at the back….

Taking Care

Taking care of ourselves may not always be easy

The troubles and pain can hold us back

Being stuck in our head

Not moving forward

becoming stuck

We have to learn to move forward.

Looking for the easy way out,

There is not always the answer when we want it.

Looking back and forth washing the pain away

Noticing the beauty in life

helps us to remember that we need to be free

The beauty in life

can only be seen once we are free of ourselves.

Hour 4–A Calling to the Cave

awakened by my deadened Soul

a Calling to the Cave

an Icy entry

into a room

set for prayer

with empty benches