The Poetry Marathon

The tapping sound of unknown feet,
Gives me a heavy feeling.

I have the art of knowing,
That they’re not from here.

It gets louder and louder,
Weirder and weirder as it gets near.

The visions of their faces seen on the shadow,
They are the meaning of tomorrow.

A knock of three was heard so clear,
I know, They are here.
.
.
.
Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour17, Image Prompt17

Hey! Thanks for meeting me
I know that you only have
a few moments before she calls
asking where you are-

I have something to tell you
and I really don’t know just
how to say it without hurting or
upsetting you.

I’ve tried to hide it
and deny it
tell myself that you
belong to someone else

I’m in love with you
I know that comes as
a shock to you but I can’t help it
I’m in love with you

My cards are all out
for everyone to see
there’s nothing that
I can do to hide from you

I know that it can’t go
anywhere at all
you’re married and
you’ve told me that
you want to leave her
but the fact is

You keep putting it off
and even though I love you
I can’t keep waiting for you
it’s something that keeps
having “soon” attached

sshh- It’s ok
I understand that we were
playing with a potential fire
and I know that if I say anymore
others will find out

What are you so afraid of
I know you aren’t going to
leave her and I know that you
were only fucking with my emotions
That’s ok- I was a distraction

But now? I’m no longer your distraction
It’s because I love you so much
that I can let you go now
I just had to see you one last time
To make you see that you don’t have to
feely guilty.

Goodbye my love

Sssnake!

Hissing, spitting, rearing his hoods,
The five-headed snake held sway
Over the Yamuna River long ago
So the legends of Krishna say.

Poisoning the waters, killing all
Who chanced to come that way,
Making life a misery for
The cowherds who had long lived there.

Krishna, the young boy, climbed up a tree
Whose branches stretched over the water
And, avoiding the forked tongues,
on that snake’s head,
He jumped, shouting with laughter.

The people watched aghast as he danced
First on one head, then another.
The snake had by then, used up his venom in vain,
And to the river ran Krishna’s mother.

The diluted poison was carried downstream
And the snake fled away to the sea.
When his friends asked why Krishna
Had let the monster go free,

He replied, “Well, he didn’t mean any harm
He was just following his destiny.
If he’d been deliberately vicious,
It’d have been another story.”

Men lived much closer to nature then
And all life was highly valued,
Now we’re focussed only on our goals
About interdependent life, we’ve no clue!

The world depends on symbiosis
All earthly life is interlinked
The disappearance of a single species
Could lead to a domino effect…
And all life become extinct!

How I wish I could tell you
That the days of slammed doors
Harsh words
Broken picture frames
And lost opportunities
Would be traded
For tender touches
Youthful joy
And unconditional Love

They came

The day the world drowned
And all was dark
Reality masked by hues of blue and green
Obscured from view
Untold nightmares awaited
Creatures from other dimensions
Custodians of our fate
Bathed our battered souls
Gathered our broken bodies
And soothed our damaged minds
Eager to learn they observed
Probed
Calculated
No others had survived
We were now all there was
Three to power of many
Our future uncertain
Our lives no longer our own

In the garden
I am new
Unburdened of the world’s issues
Nurturing nature the way I was intended to
Returned back to my roots
Life’s simple if you choose

In the garden
I am old
Reminisce of days past
Caring for that which lasts
Worry not of being outcast
Trying not to live too fast

1 Part of the workings of the universe,

2 Truly just a cog in the machine.

3 Perhaps it’s not so though,

4 Uniqueness trumping uniformity,

5 Revolutions having followed this cause.

6 A fight between obedience and,

7 Resistance to the laws of the world,

8 Either way, the question remains,

9 Do we have free will?

Note: The answer to the question asked in the last line is the title (Decode the number with the line number)

The baby sleeps in

the soft arms of his mother.

She is his comfort.

 

The world would grind on
when you lose your breath;
when, like a log, what’s left
of you is heaved into the earth,
shovelfuls of dirt hitting
your resting box hewn from
any tree of the carpenter’s fancy –
udara, melina, iroko, oak, mahogany –
who really cares?

Mourners would wipe dry eyes
And get on a feasting match –
God bless the dead
whose death
has brought us this bread.

Family would war to death
if you were of mega means;
some tear to shreds
even for meagre means.

A memorial a year if they cohere,
and, maybe, a reluctant visit to your
resting place, with paparazzi in tow,
just for the show.

Then, in time, everyone forgets
even your fondest jokes.
Now you’re but a distant
thought, a faint memory,
for even those who remember
near their inevitable end.

It’s not for want of love
or empathy; life burdens each
with not just a cross that even
the living forget the living
in this forsaken hellhole.

On warm rocks, basking
Tail in sea water, swishing
Combing long red hair

Leaving clothes behind
Run freely, earth under paws
Bright white moon looms low

Rainbows shimmering
Cobbled shoes in pots of gold
Here, please hold my beer

(Prompt: “Write a poem that involves a mythical monster in some capacity, whether it’s as a side character, a prop, a villain or even the protagonist.” – contributed by Bhasha Dwivedi.)