The Poetry Marathon

The Silver Metal Lover, Hour Twenty-Three

The Silver Metal Lover*

He is the ultimate lover,
never tires, never complains,
knows your preferences, and
flawlessly performs them every time.

He never hungers,
nor does he thirst,
but for your comfort
he will simulate both.

Your desires
are his desires
manifested, made real,
and prioritized above all else.

Should you need a shoulder
to cry on,
you can soak his shirt
and he won’t complain.

He is perfection personified,
and therefore, a threat.
A human lover could never compete,
and so he must go.

He will be ripped apart,
his supple silver skin slashed,
gears and wheels laid bare,
and melted down for scrap.

This world cannot willingly abide
something as beautiful as he.

*The Silver Metal Lover, by Tanith Lee

 

Hour 23: The arrival

A package arrives what could it be?

We know, yet the package has taken the place of the letter.

Its happiness in a wrapped box or soft mailer. It’s wrapped up anticipation or something new, useful, an indulgence  that has become  new way for some magic not your or mine, unless se are hones to and follow that the ease of the luxuries blues of summer, a wish in to linger. I dream of a Jeanie the Jetsons, or the the Clampits who stuck it rich.

Its our new method clinging with first world lilies unless we are out working or cultivating hobby other than shopping for that rain day.in a world full of connect around the world on the wall on every street corner.

Wwger er forge the dateando instead anticipate the comfort of home no lchllent to be met unless gains ourself we tech  see a new face.

 

( I can no longer read my own writing.) Will have to nap and wake to finish.

At the Diner – Hour Twenty-Three

At the diner, memories return
Far too many there to name
From childhood antics to new love
To orders staking claim
In some ways ’tis full circle
My life here with the food
Both then and now with toddlers
Just learning to be good

When I was young, slow service
Meant you beat forks on the table
And now my daughter emulates
The best that she is able
While screaming for her order
Of burger, fries and milk
She then says “please” so sweetly
Her soft words as smooth as silk

To take it even further
In my diner reverie
I once quizzed my love on artists
Met with heart-pained tragedy
And in that time, we bonded
As our history has shown
There are so many memories
Some the best I’ve ever known

Sometimes, it’s not about the food
But time spent with loved ones near
That makes the diner special
For everyone, year after year
The memories made last far beyond
Whate’er was served that day
The time spent there, forever fond
Surpassing each entree

Words I Wish I Wrote

The prompts,

they did not want to play.

Felt like my muses ran away

Had trouble figuring out just what I wanted to say

challenging to come up with 24 poems in just a day

Sleep deprived, intensified all of my dismay

My post I would never betray

Even when my brain goes astray

Just wish I could have wrote the words I wanted to convey.

 

The Moon Bridge

The first time that I read you, I was 7.

I thought it was just a book about two friends

because I didn’t know what racism was.

I want to go back to that feeling.

Not because I want to forget that racism

Is real…

 

But because it should not still exist today.

Poem 23. Green Mansions (a senrua)

The train is coming
please pack only what you need.
Sisters and Mothers
bring your children to the yard.
We’re heading North to freedom…

Descent (Hour 21, A Four Square Poem)

 

Descent

Addicted

Obsessed

Compulsive

Possessed

 

Despairing

Deceiving

Despondent

Disbelieving

 

Terrified

Traumatized

Irrational

Immobilized

 

 

Panicked

Paralyzed

Imprisoned

Institutionalized

 

****A four square poem consists of four verses comprised of four lines, where each line is expressed with just one word.****

 

The Stand (hour 23)

The stand, but not upright, uptight

letting fatigue drag me where it may

leaning against structures at night

spewing words, streaming plays

off the page, it makes no sense

over cobblestones, under a fence

how could I let them get away?

demand them return,

but stubborn, they stay

too exhausted to will them back

they frolic and tease me, slip in cracks

confusion blocks my only stand

my body buckling with sleep’s frond

waves will away, like a wand

but then, I cry, ‘please do return

so you may help my poem burn!’

listening then, my words now stand

back on the paper

clutched firm in my hand.

 

– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022

 

 

 

Gathered for massacre

Prompt 12

(Write about a gathering with others.)

 

The harvest was ripe and gold

What a gathering behold

The sky was gay, and colors merry

A romantic pink, a scarlet cherry

 

All gathered to celebrate

Sweat of toil but fickle fate

Had something else in store

Shrieks of pain, cries of gore

 

Rain had showered them with grain

Bullets fired shooting pain

Groups of innocents huddled in fear

To jump in wells or swallow a tear

Children sobbed and clung to breasts

Mother’s stricken, men were prest

But Dyer had kept on firing

His selfish heart, ne’er tiring

 

Like a bloodbath to pour

Silence resounding ever more

Rivers of shame, of ghastly pain

Would not claim such unjust gain

Blooming blood of innocents slain

Booming guns, horrific refrain

No matter what time, what the place

This hardened brutal truth I face

’twas nothing but a glaring preface

Of a bloody

heartless

massacre

 

***The refrence here is to the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre of 13th April, 1919

Hour 23

I hear the water rushing as I approach the trail,

Not long of a walk before you match the sight to the sounds,

It looks as pretty as it sounds,

Listen closely, you can hear the water hit the rocks on the riverbanks,

Chirping birds, rustling trees,

From the slight winds breeze,

What a serene sight to see!