The Poetry Marathon

Hour 19 – Cheating – Image Prompt

Penny for my thoughts you say
A  penny ain’t enough
You say you love me for my mind
But now it seems you’re stuck.

See I’ve seen you smoking
Though you swore you quit
And while I don’t mind lying
I just can’t get over this.
Did you think I’d miss you?
As you hid downtown?
I visited my brother there
The weekend that I found
Out about your trysts and secrets
Your unfaithful bliss
Yeah I don’t mind lying
But what secret life shit is this?
I don’t want to hear it.
I don’t want your excuse
Just pack and leave okay?
And take your stupid flute.
Before I break something
That you really need
Or shove that instrument somewhere
That will make you bleed.

The City

The City

Dead? No, a city always seems alive
It throbs with life from eight to five.

Later, it puts on neon glitter
And parties till midnight or later.

It sends long roads snaking out
To lasso fields, make houses sprout.

Its towers stretch their arms up high
And breathe out smog into the sky.

Underground, its arteries transport merchandise,
Men and material and vital supplies.

Often, it flushes its wastes to the sea
Through a river, although recently

It’s woken to responsibility, has grown,
And recycles, reuses, that which was thrown
Away.

The city can never go back to its past
Become again the village that it was.

Ever growing, consuming, evolving,
Maybe in time, cleverly solving

The problem of fitting in the human race
Into a habitat that creates enough space

For the flora and fauna that make the Earth whole
And nourish humanity, its body and soul.

The City (2022 Poem 19)

Millions of strangers hurry to and fro
Working ten hour days
Then race to a broadway show
You can’t see when you’re in the maze

Cars rev past before day break
Sirens wail in dark of night
Subway trains make windows shake
Cops are here to break up a fight

The city is vibrant, it never sleeps
It expands your view of humanity
With poignancy to make you weep
Full of life and creativity

(Prompt: There are so many nature poems out there. Our prompt for this hour of the night is to write a poem for a city, real or imagined.)

Sartorial

My neighbor’s dachshund
bulky hamburger costume;
why not? Dogs’ German

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2022
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Prompt 19

Dens of Iniquity

Narrow cobbled streets lined with commerce
Established and up-coming
Hostelries, fish mongers, slaughterhouses and hardware
Rough bricks and mortar
Roofs thatched and windows latched
Each interchange housed a coaching inn
Bed and board for the night
Reasonable rates … fleas included
Wenches of ill repute extra
Payable in advance
Highway robbery legal and elicit
Take you chances … gamble at your own risk
Crime rife … cut-throat and grizzly
Murder, misery and mayhem
Purgatory personified
Pass on through
Keep going
Don’t spare the horses
Your life may well depend on it

 

 

[Prompt: Write about a city, real or imagined.]

Post-it Note

Place an order for staples

put it on the steering wheel

flaps in the blowing A/C

adjacent lane, car comes to sudden stop

thud and crunch

head is whipped forward

post-it note unmoved.

22~13

The way

She was born

Should have

Killed her…

 

Instead

She stole

Our hearts

A short while…

 

And then

She took

Them

With her…

Shine–Hour 19

I was an actor

I was going places

I stepped up into the shoeshine stand

in the lobby of 30 Rockefeller Center

up high where important people sat

In my youthful hubris

I knew this is where I belonged

I vowed I’d never shine my own shoes again

This was almost true

for a certain period of time

but this oath proved to be premature

An alternate island called to me

No need for shoeshine these days

where I live

no shoes required

I wear slippers

 

Steinway

Steinway

 

Magnificent building!

Such art overshadows, outlives

men’s foolish passing notions.

Steinway chiseled in stone

above the archway enclosing mythological figures.

Above, a gilded balcony

decorated with four stone urns of dancing cherubs.

Pillars holding a higher balcony

with large arched doors

topped by a metal roof and torch.

 

Each night the lights come on,

but no one is home.

Tastefully decorated rooms,

seen from across the street

prompt speculation.

Ghosts of great musicians

meet once a year to play for each other

in the large salon at the top.

Bought by the government,

a refuge in case of emergency

for dignitaries, those in high places.

 

Sign out front says,

“Finely Tuned Residences For Sale.”

It’s all about the money.

Living Large

I read if I should die aloud

Middle of the circle

The pain of which I hoped and prayed

Would not be universal

 

Talking little girl and lilies

Talking please just let me die

Those with happy childhoods

Need never apply

 

And when confronted with the truth

Confronted with the story

Never have I ever felt a high

With so much glory

 

It will forever be a favorite moment

Faced with all the facts

When my mentor heard my poem and

Very nearly shat his slacks