The Poetry Marathon

Tired

So, I’m tired! I didn’t

plan my booster well.
my arm hurts like hell!
I’m only on hour

twelve, I, apparently, like to
sabotage myself on a daily basis.

too much to do. Yeah, I’ve got the

time, but I don’t use it very well.
I read. I eat. I sleep. I drink coffee.

but I don’t read. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep.
I always have coffee. That’s how my

life goes. I want to read. I want to eat.
I want to sleep. I always have coffee.
for reasons unknown, I often fail at my attempts to make my routine stick.
but I always have coffee. I always feel tired.
When I should be reading,

I get distracted and don’t.
when my tummy growls,

I should eat, but I don’t.
when my eyelids get heavy,

I should sleep, but I don’t.
when I want coffee, I get it.
but yet, I’m always tired.
I go walking when I should be writing.
not little walks, hours long.
cursing and yelling that

I really need to stop and focus!
then I stop and get coffee.
I go home after my walk. Lie

down in my bed, because I feel

tired. But I don’t sleep. I toss and turn.
seven a.m. rolls around. I’m still wide

awake. Then I see ten a.m., and I’m still awake. So I get up and go get coffee.
but I feel so tired.
finally, it’s four in the evening, and I fall asleep.
I wake up at one a.m., and can’t go

back to sleep. I head to the library.
but I’M STILL TIRED!

Hour Twelve – A Biafran Prayer Mary Pecaut

Hour Twelve –   Beyond Biafran War    Mary Pecaut

 

In a circle they gather

on the banks of the Qua Iboe River

sandaled feet firm upon Akwa Ibom soil.

Swaddled in colorful cloth, the Paramount 

Chief pours libations inviting ancestors and all that is

sacred to soften the ground 

of each being, carve out a space within 

where a Holy presence may abide.

 

Yoruba, Hausa, Fulani, Ijaw, Igbo,

Tiv, Kanuri, Efik, Ebibio

 

Like fishing nets hand-knotted

not handled with proper care 

an entanglement of one’s own making.

 

Unravel the ropes of destiny

that bind. Repair the net. Mend the ties. Release 

the snarl of past mistakes.

 

All that is gathered is made whole again.

 

POST SCRIPT:

The Nigerian Civil War (6 July 1967 – 15 January 1970; also known as the Nigerian-Biafran War or the Biafran War) was a civil war  fought between the government of Nigeria and the Republic of Biafra, a secessionist state which had declared its independence from Nigeria in 1967.

Hour 12- Can we choose?

Can we choose

to surrender the preconceived

assumptions, notions, suggestions

to find meaning beyond the shores of language,

to break the chain of absolutes,

to make words breathe freely

from the trapped monotonous semantic and textual worlds

to make them spin

perch delicately?

 

Can I choose to redefine

rediscover myself

relearn beyond the boundaries of symbolism –

a Jane Eyre always in contest with a Bertha Mason

beyond the usual markers of 30, teacher, professional and female?

 

Can I choose to retreat

to a writer’s room

without the usual burdens

of productivity and utility?

 

Can it this time be merely

fluidity of words, names and identities?

…

 

 

Congratulations Half Marathoners

Congratulations Half Marathoners! I am so happy that you have completed 12 poems in 12 hours! That is wonderful. Thank you for joining us in this madness.

In the past I have personally verified that everyone who applied for a certificate was eligible and then I would make a certificate. That is not possible this year and so we will be operating on the honor system.

If you completed the Poetry Half Marathon please consider the following certificate yours, to update with your name, to print if you choose to do so. If you need any help altering the certificate please email me at poets@thepoetrymarathon.com

Click on the link below, and save the PowerPoint file to your computer, add a text box. Type in your name, then save as a JPEG.

Congratulations again on your completion of The Half Marathon.

Click on the link below, and save the PowerPoint file to your computer, add a text box. Type in your name, then save as a JPEG.

Download the Powerpoint for editing.

(Note, for optimal formatting, you may want to add the fonts Nixie One, La Belle Aurore, and Cedarville Cursive to your computer.)

The visual example of what the certificate will look like is right below this text.

 

Also this year we will be putting together a 2022 Poetry Marathon Anthology.

Submissions will open July 6th and stay open till the 22nd.

Full anthology submissions details will be available on the 6th. All submissions must be written during the 2022 Poetry Marathon.

Digital copies will be made available for free to any contributor. Print copies will be available for a reasonable price and any money that is made from them will go towards covering the cost of the marathon.

Want to know what the 2021 Poetry Marathon Anthology was like? Pick up your copy here.

(Hour 12) 09.30-10.30am. BOTH PROMPTS: a gathering + photo of several drums

drumming circle 

another group of those : half humans : burnt by the Pulse : possibly made mad : by the pain : have surrounded our camp : i’m angry at myself : i didn’t even know we were being followed : perhaps the winery itself: had been a trap : & we’d blundered in : blind as bunnies

Stella immediately : moved to protect Rueben : who wriggled away : someone needed to acknowledge : her baby bro : was growing up

Milky growled : the boy looked : like he’d turned to stone : it was the girl who suddenly : took the initiative : dashing into one of the smaller rooms : emerging quickly : with a couple of big white plastic buckets : the type bulk food for restaurants like mayonnaise : use : obviously something goes into the wine : anyway : it doesn’t matter : she started drumming on the base of one : tossed the other to the boy : who caught it : & quickly did the same 

the Pulsers stopped : confused perhaps : Rueben understanding quicker than us : broke free & ran into the same room : returning with 3 more buckets & 3 empty wine bottles : to use as drumsticks : for extra bangability 

soon we had : a wild rhythm : going : including wild roars : hollers : screams : & yelps : as well as a canine chorus : from Milky : delighted he could join in : the chaos 

by the time we realised : they’d all fled : we were having : a crazy rumpus : of a war dance crossed : with wild animals fighting

before we met you : when we were : when it was : just : the two of : us : we discovered : they didn’t seem to like noise 

i’m Priya : this is Ben 

Stella & i grinned at each other : then at the little ones

i think this calls for a feast 

Hour 12- Date. Time. Area 51.

One of the only times the world came together,

To accomplish tasks they couldn’t otherwise,

Was not in the name of humanity but laughter.

It wasn’t to call the names of Gods to invoke them,

Not the times they came together to save each other from peril,

But when they decided to prove a point.

The dusty road leading to the middle of a desert,

Looked over and protected by the Gods in the skies,

A vast open place shrouded in mysteries and absurd claims.

But, alas! A call and an awakening of the simple people,

To join the cause of the a few unread populace,

They can’t stop all of us now, can they?

A modern myth that travelled faster than any before,

Even sending the post to those addressed under rocks,

A punchline that was coming for quite a few years now.

Conspiracy lore was the only thing that breached the army base,

Though a few managed to get to the gates of the ET home,

The world watched on as we tried to raid Area 51…

Prompts for Hour Thirteen

Text Prompts

Write a poem about a time when something really bad happened…that later turned out to be a good thing. – a prompt by Harvey Schwartz

Image Prompts

Submitted by Catherine Dickson, a photo of her dog Lumpy.

Hour 12 – Gatherings

Hour 12 – Gatherings

 

Its normally takes place on a Saturday

usually bright and early,

A skirl of the pipe chanter,

the hum of the drones,

the crisp sound of the drums.

If you look around you’ll find

a sea of different tartan kilts.

friendly familiar faces over the years,

pipers and drummers together

a special gathering.

Gathering Peace (hour 12)

Gathering again mouths muted,

no sound but music here

to balance the cruel violence

the ugly world does bear.

 

Smiles and hugs replace words,

gestures of love and peace

replace the earthly hate and war

in outsiders’ collective face.

 

No masks they wear,

covers cause unease and loathing

this is opposite the point

of gathering without binding

breathing truths, not undermining.

 

– Sandra Johnson, June 25, 2022

 

 

Hour 11

People can perceive a smile
from 300 feet away.
Your eyes light up,
though that I cannot see,
and unknowingly, my mouth corners tug
at my lips.

Faces are made to mimic one another,
so even when I have the capability
of five thousand other, different, expressions,
my smile will copy yours.

And it is not purely biology
for you will find that my fondness of you
will widen my smile.

I was at the airport,
scared I forgot what you look like,
but I will never ever forget the glee
on your face when our eyes crossed paths.

I was getting off the train,
didn’t know where you were.
My actions wild and frightened, I twist and turn
in all directions, but then I find the calm
of finding you right beside me.

I was sleeping,
woke up next to you.
And if that wasn’t the most fantastical thing in the world,
then I don’t know what it could be.