The Poetry Marathon

“Mumble”

 

 

Speaking mumble yet still maintaining a will,

The quietness of the early night saying hello.

Things are not quite right around,

I’m acting like on a drug but just a drop of coffee running on my blood.

I’m good, I guess I still am.

 

Pillows below but flying above,

My books on shelves are running back down.

Foods looks like on a mess which I can’t reach,

Am I on a beach?

Nope, I’m in a room full of fool,

And I’m one of those.

 

Text prompt

Write a poem describing your surroundings as inarticulately as possible but maintaining just a tiny bit of the truth.

 

#POETRYMARATHON2023 #HOUR19 #24HRSCATEGORY

Prompt 21

Running

through my impoverished

historical neighborhood as children during play

transitioned to the battlefield as adults

in the midst of being poor

as kids we never had to look to one another for safety

As adults corners had a unlimited range that

once contained an invisible boundary that you knew you would get into trouble if you crossed

now we tailor our lives away from the ignited rage of poverty where gunshots keep you running

THE UNKNOWN

The levels rise,
One by one.
Move fast to keep up,
One small misstep drops you into the unknown.
With each level,
Comes new faces,
New situations.
Think quick,
Or get left behind.

Hour Twenty-Three: A different world

i breathe and dive
into my body
my feet are flippers
as i plumb the depths
with ease
where am i headed?
ah, there it is, the sacral
region, and at once,
i see the cords, black
and stretching
as infinity

i tug
but nothing gives
just then a whisper
from the heart, “try
me, try me.”

i float to where the heart is
smiling at her eagerness to help
she shows me her little light and
tells me what to do

soon i have a highway
of light particles
heading towards
those massive cords

the light sent from her, my
heart works her magic
one cord at a time, releasing,
suturing, healing, cleansing
protecting, rejuvenating

the sacral cells stretch
vibrating at a higher frequency now
grateful for the freedom to create

i circle around inside
one last time
all is well
i breathe
and ground myself

Hour 23, Poem 29

Once there was a crow
That wanted to touch the sun
To fly higher and higher
To where there was no one
And so he tried day in day out
To fly with all he had
But in the end he was still here
Away from sun and very sad
One day the wind and the cloud
Seeing his tireless aim
Asked him about it and
“I will touch the sun” Was his claim
Impressed with the tiny crow
And his dare to dream
They offered to help him
To atleast reach the sunbeam
And as the cloud carried the crow
And wind pushed them ahead
They finally reached near sun
Where the sky was red
Bidding farewell to his friends
The crow hailed a sunbeam and took it to ride
Towards the sun with all his might and
Finally touched it with his wings and his eyes were bright.
The crow got his heartfelt wish
And you could too
With friends, effort and hard work
Nothing is impossible to do.

Hour11

A new start… Autumn is here!

And I enjoy George Enescu festival’s

music while drinking a hot coffee.

I’ve got everything…except you, my love!

Hour 18 – Toys in the Attic

In the attic there is a door
old and wooden
with cracks and gaps
leave alone cautioned the woman

But curious minds need to explore
wondering what thing must be avoided
listening with ear to the door
screams and scratches could be heard

Bolting away from that place
mind wandering about the things
that may be murdering in that space
quickly departing down the stairs

Days went by and waiting no more
returned to the attic
with the old wooden door
trembling hands upon the handle

With door opened just a sliver
screams and scratches and flashing lights
the curious child started to shiver
words of the woman resounded

A year passed and the child grew older
remembered the attic with the old wooden door
returned to that space now he was bolder
and threw open the door with bat in hand

Covered in dust he found the culprit
an old wooden chair rocking against a child’s toy
blown by breeze flying through the attic
disturbing the treasures saved for the boy

23~22

what can be said

about pizza

that hasn’t been

said before?

i have to fight

my cats

if I want some

else they dump it

on my floor

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1am. Poem 23 New World (a senrua)

1am. Poem 23

 

New World (a senrua)

A world safe and free
where kids don’t get killed at school.
A world with no guns.