The Poetry Marathon

Jack Rabbit

Jack Rabbit swept up in my snare!
Who knew they spoke
and reasoned with such flair?

In ancient British words he said
“Dear lady, can we not be friends?
We eat only a bit of the cabbage head.”

“Oh, my gosh! I hear you speak!”
“Why, yes, of course, m’sweet.
We kiglioffum are just meek.

We wander twixt the mage phinkepit lore,”
Struggling to escape my net,
his weeping eyes met mine as to implore.

“Please let me go, I eat not much,
we leave a bit for you to munch upon.”
Too late, my garden razed four-flush.

“I’ll take you to my magic place,
remove this web! Remove it please!”
It turned to gauze, and did erase.

“Be gone, you fool! I’m done with you.
Take you to the Gugenmaze, I will!”
And with that word, away we flew

where heat began the day in crowded halls.
Where am I now, oh Jack of Rabbits?
“Asleep between the tiniest of walls.”

The Beauty of the Feast

Hour Fifteen – Write a poem about someone or something you have lust for.

 

The Beauty of the Feast

 

In the wee small hours, past midnight

Here in the north where dark meets light

I wander into a room by chance

Where letters float wherever I glance.

Like one possessed I grab at them

Greedy greedy, snatch a gem

Letters unjumble, and form a string

Of words with a shape, a size, a ring.

At one I know where I’ve gone

The wondrous place where poems are born.

They line up, then, poems all

‘Follow me,’ a chorus call.

As I pass, the haiku bows

The ballad serenades with wedding vows

High-brow free verse looks and sneers

While the raunchy couplet winks and leers

Sonnets stand tall and proud

With an Ode who glistens white in a shroud.

But on I go, because now I know

It’s that Musical note I must follow

The strains of a waltz defy all time

And there at last I see my rhyme.

A happy chappy, this rhyme of mine

I savour the joy of this final line.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hour 15- Ghosted Plant – Image Prompt

What do I see in these ghostly leave
Portents of the future?
Or perhaps the echoes of the past
Or a mysterious allure.

I see their structure clear as day
See the way they work
Their delicate lace pattern
Revealing nature’s secrets
And how it’s all connected
To create the perfect home
For plant cells green and rigid
And supports for insects who make them home
Though I suppose it’s now a haunted house
Left to desiccate by time

Let Him Choose His Own Path

Notice the way he walks
and watch how he does not divert
neither to the right hand or to the left
See the rigidity in how he stays on this path
for this is what he was told was wise

Yet he has not considered
if this path of his is the correct one
and if it will get him where he means to go
I wonder the value of his dogmatic adherence
if his destination is not the one he chose

He must be aware of the probability
that though his commitment is firm
it is his initial heading that will fail him
He must reconcile the likelihood
that other paths do exist for a reason

There must come a moment
when he hesitates in taking the next step
and logic dictates he at least examine his options
He will truly be forced to choose
to display discernment or abandon wisdom

Following the path of his ancestors
for no other reason but that they did it too
Is not the decision of Solomon but of a fool
Still if he desires to walk with integrity
let him choose his path for its own merit

Prompt 2 “Promises”

Promises

Was Robert Frost the first one to say,
“But I have promises to keep and
miles to go before I sleep…” ?

Maybe so but he certainly wasn’t the last.

“ Promises to keep…” – could that phrase/concept
– so heavy laden with the potential
to instill guilt and shame
should said promise not be kept –
possibly be a product of the modern age?

Might you lay all or most of mankind‘s
current conundrums/stressors at its feet?
I dare say you could, however it would do you
no good because we are stuck
with our burdens nonetheless.

What we can do though is begin to
slowly unburden ourselves
from the yoke of unmet promises
with one simple act.

Do not make them – not one – ever again –
simply do not make promises. Do not enter into
this potential set-up for failure in the first place.

Life is too unpredictable and it seems
better by far to refuse to make promises
rather than risk burdening ourselves with the
potential of carrying any more
emotional weight than we already have.

This is a lifestyle change that one
can implement fairly easily.

We couch it in love (the truth by the way);
explain to our loved ones that rather
than potentially risk our relationship we have
decided to eliminate promise making
(to be differentiated from commitment)
from our lives.

Try it – you might be surprised.

The Communist Manifesto Pt. 2

I LUST FOR EMOTIONAL FREEDOM AND PLEASURE WITHOUT SHAME
I LUST FOR BELONGING
I LUST FOR SIMPLE JOYS
I LUST FOR SINCERITY WITHOUT FEAR
AND LOTS OF FUCKIN!!

I WANT TO BOTH GIVE AND TAKE
NO LONGER ONE TO THE EXCLUSION OF THE OTHER

 

I lust for things to improve.

(From the Greek: οὐ (“not”) and τόπος (“place”))

Into the night

In quiet concentration

No longer satisfied

With the redundancy

 

In regard to my favor

Do not deprive me of words

Complete your poetry

 

Overcoming the overwhelm

As the predicted trouble intensified.

 

Lost in her words

Into the night

Prompt 8th Hour

I don’t want to perform love, happiness and grief, its too showtime

Its too cut and paste

Its easier to get started changing things around, to connect

Anger is kept reinforced in its secret hiding place

covered in dandelions and baby’s breath like a coffin

it is crying to be let go of instead of trapped tying my brain in knots

knowing that one day, my strength will run out

for now, I’m internally stingy, realizing now it never really matters how pretty you are

When you are younger everything is Me, Me, Me

Some choose you to pour all of their crazy into

Tainting your capabilities to grow up right

To please themselves and leave so

I don’t want to perform love, happiness and grief, its too showtime

Crying to be let go of instead of trapped, tying my brain in knots

Poem 15. Mine (a lust prompt poem)

…beltingly bleed you spilling out for Me burning that soft flesh near your wanting to please Me over your quivering let it go give it to Me offer it up from your fours wet shower floors fours ins and outs for only Me to watch you and the theys of your blushings and resistings for the ties and the under waters and the absolute trust in Me hanging you in closets dropping you in bathtubs strapping you to arm hairs stuffing you with coats of coats of coats of your own stuffing you with all My colors overflowing on the beating kitchen floor of your pleasurable begging you have always been Mine. Mine. Mine…

Mother Ocean

Mother Ocean

 

I visit Mother Ocean,

one of her children,

created from her salty water.

Leave windows open at night

to hear her whispers.

Whoosh…Whoosh…

Wish you understood…We are the same.

Admire her glistening smile

as she playfully laps at us,

lying like sea lions

basking on rocks she ground

with her fearsome churning.

We expect her gifts,

disrespect her parenting,

abuse her riches.

Perhaps she gleams,

knowing she will soon

reclaim the coast, the cities,

for others capable of more respect.