The Poetry Marathon

Hour 22 2023

SILENCIO

For going on twenty-two hours

I’ve been quiet about the state of our country

but I’ll be damned if I’ll write about pizza now

rather than address what needs to happen,

especially with this highly perfect sign appearing

right now, as if to say, like the old hymn,

“Here I am, send me.” And so yes, I want this sign,

SILENCIO, not just silence, but SILENCIO to be in

every courtroom, every corner of that man’s life,

so that everywhere he turns he is reminded, STFU.

We do not want to hear one more peep out of you,

not one word. Then and only then may justice be served.

Oneirataxia

Slipping between
What’s real and what’s a dream
One moment you’re gone from me
The next you’re here
Smiling pleasantly

I know what’s real
Reality is that you’re gone
You’ve been gone so long
I sometimes forget
What you were like when you were here

But then it happens again
I come home and there you are
Making dinner or on the computer
As if nothing has happened
To you at all

I try to tell my friends
Convince my family
I keep sleeping so easily
Between the two it’s getting hard
To remember what’s real

It feels to nice
Seeing you again
I just want to hug you
To talk to you
Tell you how I’ve been

But reality sets in once more
You’re not real, I tell you as much
Tell you, “This is just a dream”
To which you reply, “Yes, it is.
“But you can stay if you want.”

I jolt awake
Heart racing
Mind wondering
What could you have meant
When you said I could “stay”?

It’s been years since then
And some days when reality
Hits too heavy, too hard
I think about your offer
And wonder

Should have taken you up on it?

20 Remember when

Fireflies listen by windows

Swooping bats sneak a peek

Buzzing bugs want a taste

Mouse in the corner waits

 

Embrace summer happenings

Hide n seek with your pals

Games of tag before dark

Gotcha last won’t last

Yet another shade of me 3am

I’m falling swiftly
I don’t know
what to do
how to say that
where to turn or
even why

Every time Someone
asks me
I know the right words
to say-
the ones that won’t
raise suspicions

I’m fine
ok
everything’s good
no problems
nothing’s wrong

anything I can
so they don’t see
just how broken
I really am

asking for help
is not wrong
I know that
but you turned
me this way

Where asking for someone’s
help is like betrayal
We should fight our own problems
and not talk about them
to anyone

You had such a problem
with my talking to him
you hated it- loathed it
Said why did I need him
I had you

Having you is great
It’s one way to cope
but when you are the problem
You need a third party
for a sounding board

Why am I even explaining
myself to you-
You don’t care
Your only concern is
you con’t control me any longer

You can call me anything
bitch
whore
slut
loser
crazy
anything at all
I don’t care

I know the truth
I know that I’m not always there
I may not be the sharpest
tool in the shed
the prettiest crayon
in the box
But I’m me

A mixed bag of
crazy
sweet
quiet
mouthy
loud
sarcastic
and so much more

Pizza Musings – Hour 22, Prompt 22

Lately, I feel

all the fighting, unreal

my toppings should not

cause friendships to stop.

 

There’s pineapple, whew

causes quite a to-do

arguments ensue

with spam, they say eww!

 

But pizza’s like people

no two the same, or equal

toppings they vary

with four cheeses, or nary.

.

Some people are hot

peppers sprinkle a lot

and pepperoni, to boot

keeps a dude at salute.

 

Some, they are tougher

cheesier, meatier

thick crust they do have

like people who’re bad.

 

Sweet ones, they have many

tart apples and berries

with Gouda or cheddar

these girls make it better.

 

In the end, they all rock

like different socks

whatever may thee choose

just do pizza for you.

 

– Sandra Johnson, 9-3-2023

 

 

 

 

23~19

drippy days

hoodies in the dark

vermin thriving

playing in the park

death lives with me

we are not friends

 

luv #4

 

luv iz yellow

a ray  of spring sunshine

luv iz red

a fiery covering igniting

luv iz blue

a cold breeze on an august day

luv iz purple

a royal crown adorning a regal space

luv iz black

a priceless gem

 

Lost Art of Legible Handwriting

At some point in my day-to-day writing, it appears
I lost my cursive muscle.
My handwriting had morphed into
a poor man’s Comic Sans with my own
spin being little “connectors,”
a pretense to cursive, I suppose,
without any real effort to be actual cursive.

My shame was private
until now.

I’m in solitary cursive rehab,
and the results are painful.
To the eye, and to the memory
of my once effortless cursive.

Someone told me – and I hope this person
was wrong – that cursive is no longer
being taught in school.

At the risk of sounding creaky,
penmanship isn’t an old fashioned thing
to be discarded because we can text one another.

It’s a personal expression. To write a lovely letter
in distinctive handwriting is to honor the art of correspondence,
and, hopefully, the person with whom we’re corresponding.

And, where would the study of graphology be without
handwriting? What do I want my handwriting to say about me?
That I’m resilient, and, if I keep practicing, elegant in my scrawl.

HR-10

Writers block is hell
This sounded great a minute ago
Let me just take this out
Put this line here
Maybe that line there

No, no, no wrong
It’s all wrong
Crumble it up
Throw it out

Let’s begin this again
You got this, its all gravy
If I can put this together just right

Writers block is hell
Hey this sounds alright now
Let me just put this in
Put that line there
And this line here

Yes, yes, yes alright now
It’s all better
Straighten it up
Put it away

Enough.

I’ve collected enough scars
to feed the guilt that’s feeding on me.
I’ve spent enough tears
on pitying for myself.
Enough smiles I’ve wasted
thinking it was fine.
Enough fears I’ve felt
of growing too fast.