The Poetry Marathon

Hour 13- A Dog’s Intervention – Image Prompt

Human, I have some words
Some words I know are tough to say
So I’ll go slow

You are my human after all
And regardless I love you.

I just think it’s unfair
That you leave me at home
That you go out for ages
With no signs or notes
I smell the steak upon your clothes
The dogs you cheat on me with.
Then there’s the pointy small ones
You call them cats I think?
I understand you get lonely while you’re gone forever
But those things say I stink!
Dear human, while I love you
Please reconsider leaving
And while we’re being honest
Pink is more my color
I don’t feel cute in this black sweater.

12 FOMO

Sometimes, I have FOMO
until I’m out and about
and miss my solitude

Sometimes, I get lost
within myself and
my dark thoughts swirl

I think I’m alone
have nothing to contribute
no adventurous tales to tell
no travels to speak of
then a friend calls
and I’m full of wit and humor
and find stories I’d forgotten

Sometimes, I have FOMO
until I see myself in others

I like my solitude
I like my friends
I just need a reminder now and then

Hour 13: Lucky

When I was five and our parents divorced I never cared to know why and

You might think that was really bad

When I was six and our mother left us at our father’s door in his rooming house because we were cramping her style

You might think that was really bad

 

But none of that felt really bad – then

And now

All of it was

Really really good

 

Because my mother hated school

And never cared if we went

Because my mother wanted to buy and buy and accumulate cheap trashy expensive things

And I wanted to learn and learn and clutter my space with books and art

Because my mother loved to party and didn’t — or couldn’t? — read

And I loved to read and didn’t party

Because my father and I read the news every day

and talked politics together at the breakfast table

And my grandmother collected books and smiled as we read them and bought more

 

I wish I could write my mother’s true story for her

but all she left me is regret and imagination

and one sure truth:

If we had not cramped our mother’s style

I would not be telling this story

I would not be writing this poem

I would not be me

The Fireflies’ Promise – Hour Thirteen

I put on my boots to the laughter of young children
I stroll outside with my lantern to search for the fireflies
The sky is clear and the evening appears perfect
There is a light breeze tapping the ferns and beech trees
In the distance, notes from a piano sound beautifully
It is nearly dark, nearly showtime
I shudder with excitement over the wonder soon to appear
I remember catching a firefly once in my palm, as a child
But mostly, I have simply admired them from afar
This night, I yearn only to relive a piece of my youth
And to ask them a favor
Now that my time is nearing its end, I may not ever see this sight again
The cancer is becoming too intense, too great a mountain for me to scale
As nightfall comes, I’m aware of my own looming near
As I gaze to the West, the setting sun falls beneath the horizon
I sit alone with my thoughts – a lifetime before my eyes – and I wait
In some ways, I long to wait all night, drinking in each moment, as moments are now so precious
But before long, the lightshow begins
The fireflies must have known as I waiting
They come in full force, embracing me in their light and warmth
As if to bless my requested promise and to say goodbye, all at once
I was grateful

From here within Heaven, looking down towards earth
I wonder if the fireflies remember me as fondly as I do them
Whether they do or they don’t really does not matter
For as long as they continue to shine their light on my children
Letting them know – through their warmth – that I’m always with them
After all, a promise is a promise

2022 Poem Five

CW: Dysphoria

Dysphoria is my Neighbor

 

I no longer want to live in this neighborhood.

My neighbor posts all day on NextDoor to spread lies about me.

She complains about me;

What I do, how I look, anything she can find to complain about.

I don’t know which neighbors believe her
And I care too much about finding out.

Then she has the audacity to steal my wifi.

She eats up all my bandwidth with her conspiracy theories.

I can’t leave my trash bins out too long
or she’ll report me to make herself feel better.

I’ve been told she has lived here as long as I

but I don’t remember her moving in.

I pray for her to move out before I do

and that her dog will stop shitting on my lawn.
All I ask is a warning before she sends off fireworks.

Asking and asking until my face turns blue with no luck.

Dysphoria is my neighbor and

she only lives here to make me miserable.

Shadow Work Poem 11/Hour 11

Shadow Work
By: LuvMiFreely 

Everybody always screams self love
But never teach the real meaning
It isn’t just about loving the parts you deem good
But it’s doing the shadow work to understand your demons
We all have flaws
And have done things we aren’t proud of
Choosing not to acknowledge those faults
Denies acceptance and self growth
To be authentic
Means to have all of you present
Every bit of your mind, body, and spirit
Standing in your truth
Fully healing
As you stare at your own reflection
Remember to love on the parts of you that’s damaged
Remind yourself that all parts of you deserve love
The world is already hard enough
Learn to be more gentle with yourself

Hour 13 (2022)- Lumpy Pup

 

Lying there with your puppy dog eyes
Understanding on your tiny face
Mighty little furball pooch
Perhaps you will give chase.
Your miniature little sweater
Protects you from the cold
Utilize your adorable looks
Play with a feistiness so bold.

Hour Thirteen – potion

potion

in the night, in forest deep
a pile of yew wood in a heap
a spark, a flame, a fire hot
lay upon your brewing pot
filled with water from the well
for to cast your wicked spell
add such mushrooms as you find
half of a muskmelon rind
the entrails of a dozen newts
seven oleander roots
scrapes of rust from an old door hinge
moldy loaf, both green and orange
stinging nettle, autumn crocus
whisper quiet: hocus-pocus!
stir it with a leaden pipe
let it boil half the night
sprinkle the brew here and there
toss some high into the air
what will the magic potion do?
it keeps the flies away from you!

“Where You are Today” a Gigan

Where you are today

is NOT where you have to stay

 

The freedom of choice

Is still ours to make

Sister’s raise your voice

 

Burnt to ash

The phenix rises

 

We have the power

We’ve been led astray

 

Start exactly

Where you are today

 

Burnt to ash

The world crumbles

In mother’s womb~ rejoice

 

Where will tomorrow lead

If freedom does not ring

I still have time

For this. I still have time
for a song,
Don’t cry out loud.
That angry spittle and spite and spilled beer
truly her tragedy. When she crashed
in, eyes blazing, hands ready
to wreck my peace. She upended my particle
board dresser, my bookcase, my sleep.
My broken fairy now sits
on my mantle. Her fingers have been lost
to time. Maybe my mother
took them with my voice and trust.
$2 on the counter. I’ve said it before
and I’ll say it again—- always take the money.