The Poetry Marathon

The Englishmen would always mistake Gurasa for pizza.

The Englishmen  would always mistake Gurasa for pizza.

 

In a train station in Sarkin pawa

Darkness strikes and covers

The roads, all the vehicles on

The road parked beside the highway

To watch the apocalypse finish.

My sister, body of  English for accent

Finally opens her mouth to cravings.

In the meantime, Sarkin pawa had

Not seen power for over six months,

All the people with freezers have grown

To never need useless things, all the

Restaurants with ovens have closed to

Respect my country’s low standards.

My sister orders a pizza on her phone,

Minutes later she cannot connect to her

Internet to confirm purchase, we sit in

Despair, she sits in regrets, a sales boy

With gurasa passes our car, I purchase

Gurasa for all of us, the train station

Might never open again, my sister would

Only crave in silence, till her English

Is enough to call pizza with a new name—gurasa.

Rachnoc Haiku 22 Hour 22

Coral and weed spread,
Choking the sinner’s resolve.
Rachnoc shades the wall.

Slowed by sea’s template,
He clambers stair after stair,
Tentacles surround.

Apex light roars, shoves,
Fugitive arrived alone,
Blade quiets the ex.

Falls in light contrast,
Rock’s womb shatters spinal cord,
Spews him to the sea.

Still lurking around (Hour 22)

A house on the road,
calls my name,
whenever I stop,
it calls me again,
shows me the past,
promises me future,
calls me again,
never to let me go,
illusion I thought,
delusion I feel,
not sure what is real,
or what has been stole,
my memories are gone,
everything is unknown,
my loved ones think I am gone,
but I am lurking alone.

23~20

scared eyes

in the darkness

so bright

catch mine

dancing

21 Underground

Have no doubt

You will have to go

Unless there’s something

I don’t know

 

As we say

All days above ground

Offer us all

Another go round

 

Sure it’s tough

And sometimes hard

We all have problems

With fewer cards

 

Piss and moan

All you want

About those folks

You’ll get to haunt

 

Bury Me in Georgia

Now my favorite song

Though not a country gal

I could belong

 

Beneath peach trees

Lay me to rest

As I sing alone

That I did my best

Silence is a wise language

 

Calmness, a tranquil for concentration
It’s a meditation to some souls
It’s a frustration to some souls
Where thoughts, inner feelings
Breaks out the quietness

Silence is a peace point
For healthy living of time
Of stillness, build strength

Silence remembers as
A white paper without words
of quiet knowledge,
silence stands as guiding light

if silence covers your heart
You are in your dream world

Silence is sleeping pill
Silence is the sweetest chill

 

Silence, a death tax

For every human’s breath

Prompt -22

Hour – 22

Poem for Hour Twenty-Two (22/24)

Heron standing

steward overseeing

beckons me near with ancient eyes

great and blue

like his name supplies

the recognizable shapes of someone long laboring over thought

 

I came to him with joy and the weight of questions from years past

the hope of every birder to speak with this beast

prehistoric and wise

but i did not get to ask

it was his turn to speak

“Do you know why the land chokes?

Why smokestacks billow and coral reefs die?”

Taken aback, my gaze shattered like falling glass

down his immovable spine

He stabbed into the water and came up with

Debris

And set it down at my feet

Not blaming me but

Filled with decades of sorrow

 

I felt obliterated

for I love the ground which supports him and the

sky which holds him aloft,

but he asked of me still

impossibly hard things

he mourned

“Why are the seas overfished?

Why is enough never enough?

Do you know why the ceaseless wheels of progress

bowl over the unfortunate?”

 

I stood mouth agape

Head shaking like I could erase the truth

I asked through tears

“What can be done?” but his long beak like deep nights stayed persistent in its slumber

and I had no choice but to ask

“Why does this happen?” I pleaded

and the heron turned to me

amber orbs unchanging

“Humans think they’re better.”

Hour9

How would you define love?

What do you seek? Could I be

the answer to your prayers?

Could I be the apple of your eye?

A Friendly Reminder

A Friendly Reminder

 

Not all Native Americans were headdresses

and live in teepees

smoking peyote

and waiting for a vision.

 

Some live on top of Mesas

in pueblos.

 

Not all Indigenous people

speak the same language.

Just like not all Asians

have the same language.

 

We are the Indigenous people

of this land,

with different tribes

and our own set governments.

 

Here’s a friendly reminder.

Don’t dress up as “Native Americans”

for Halloween.

 

It’s all about respect.

 

 

2023 Poem Ten

Untitled

I am the poet laureate of the beach just before dawn.

Of the moon and the tide dancing- lovers destined to never touch.

Each wave that laps at the sand is a cry to hold the moon;

longing to wrap their arms around her.