The Poetry Marathon

The Restaurant of Poetry

Hour Twenty-Three

My brain is pudding
a casserole of deliberation
charbroiled musings
a culinary art.
A souffle of hapless meanderings
sticking to the bottom of
the deadpan stare of a sleep-deprived wordsmith.
I take the spatula of resolve
and chisel away at metaphors-
with eyes glazed over
the sweetness of sentiments
and the salty brine of experience.
My verse becomes gelatinous gravy
smothering the carefully prepared meal
in a swarthy succulent and savory condiment
a condemnation of palate.
My humor presented upon
a poo poo platter
of nonsensical imagery…
but in all my serious kneading
of the dough, baked, and left to cool
upon the fresh morning air-
I find I mourn the loss of words
as my audience takes bite-sized portions of me
in exchange for the full meal.

Solitude

Elegant lady,
I respect and appreciate you.
To be under your mantle is for the brave.
The idea of solitude is obsolete,
one person represents many categories
and almost never
have you as an advisor.

In this time of information and speed, everything is a reason for unity and celebration.
Hardly anyone is removed from these facts anymore
and therefore hardly anyone has the courage to stand alone.

Many ideas have been accepted
in the name of not accepting the true facts.
Almost no one is alone,
and if that is the case,
that is a case of bravery
that should be
documented day by day.

The Canary Still Writes Poetry

cw: none

This story is a metaphor:
the canary speaks to me.
Through its eyes, I told you
a story of never fitting in:
a story of expectations,
and failures,
and all the ripping out of the heart.
And though this is a metaphor,
I promise you:
it is all truth.
It all happened –
in its own way. Its own time.

The canary still
writes poetry
(it will never stop)

24. Will A Haiku Do?

The right sparkling words

On golden parchment repose,

then no more need speak.

Hour15

Do you want to fight evil together?

Do you want to be my wings?

Do you want to be my super hero?

Then, take my hand and make me smile!

Tomorrow

B U M M E R
U                E
M               M
M               M
E                U
R U M M E B

Hour 24

Honest

Open

Passionate

Exiting

To Hecate

To Hecate

 

My goddess of the liminal space

the greeter of cross roads.

I am in awe of your guidance

for clearing the way to my path.

 

You showed me what could be

and what is to be

with a forked road ahead.

I felt your energy carefully push me,

a motherly tap to say:

I am here if you need me.

I am here as your torch,

call if you need to sever ties

and I will be there,

 

Words alone cannot thank you enough,

Mother Hecate.

Thank you for being patient with me.

 

 

Hour 24 – Finally Done

Finally Done (Acrostic)

 

Finally

I’m

Now

Interned,

Sleeping 

Heavily

Prompt for Hour Twenty-Four

Text Prompt

Write a poem about hope.

Image Prompt

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem by Wonderlane