The Poetry Marathon

Poetry Marathon Hour 7:

Okay, it only took like forever, but I think I’ve hit my stride! How great is that? Alrighty, so hour 7 “my foolproof recipe for mending a broken heart” From the teal blue Burn after Reading prompt journal. Which is great because I was super excited to play around with formed poetry today – and this is the greatest opportunity I could ever dream of for a recipe poem – some of my favorite formed poems out there. So excited to see where this goes!

 

Poem 7: A recipe poem

To mend a broken heart,

there is only one foolproof recipe:

 

Gather up a large bowl full of

all the great memories you shared

and a crack 5 medium eggs filled

with the laughter and tears of joy

and you can’t forget the extract

of authenticity when you were at

your strongest together. You know,

 

some relationships fade apart and

others get dropped, cracked right

down the middle, taken from you

without any warning at all. And it’s

 

the difference between the two that

reminds me – this is the ultimate recipe

for healing. Once you have the wet

ingredients – mixed into each other well

start to weigh out the dry ingredients:

 

you need a pinch of the salt from

the arguments that shouldn’t have been

any real thing, but clearly were. Add in

a cup and a half of sugar refined from

all the moments that brought you closer

than you ever imagined at “hello”.

 

Bake in the sun alongside the chalk

drawings left behind by the kids next door

and remember that healing takes time,

it comes in all shapes and sizes too.

 

-M. Rene’

SincerelyBlueJay Poetry

 

Remembering Dad

Looking for a role model,

choose a Great Depression Dad

for strength and honor.

He had a soft heart,

forged by hardship and war,

and a gentle touch.

With a little humor,

he gave much well-earned praise,

while home by dinner.

Hour 7: Primus

I went to see

a bizarre, fierce thunder

framed by

cinematic flashes of

monkeypeople on bikes

and strobing mushrooms

followed by thumping chuck chucks

and the squelching growls

of tightly coiled wires

bleating out

the rawness

just beneath my skin

wriggling

uncomfortably

at my own strangeness

eager to break

and lay itself open

 

I have been the monkeypeople

attempting to fit in,

ritually tipping my hat

in polite greeting

to disinterested passerbys

and failing to avoid

oncoming traffic

 

I am still a diver suspended

in midair

always waiting

for the water

to rise over my head

and drown me

in my own weird sounds

 

I am in good company

 

Hour 7- When Psych said Sike!

If I’d known what I was saying yes to,

On the day I chose this fork of the road.

I would have said yes as soon as I could.

Yes now and a million more times.

I found in all six of you not just friends,

But I found the warm comfort of family,

Of being able to be completely myself,

And still be accepted for who I really am.

The feeling of free falling but not the fear,

Of gravity vanishing as I reach the darkest of depths.

Pulling out of the shroud, things I didn’t know,

All the while knowing you’d still hold on to me.

Being able to cry on your shoulders,

Oh, your strong shoulders that can hold the earth,

Being able to laugh and hear yours harmonising,

Knowing my smile is mirrored on all of your faces.

Where I am happy not just for me but all of you,

Because y’all make me so happy, every day,

Forcing me to fight for just another minute,

Trusting I can get through whatever is getting to me.

So thank you for being my kin through ‘kin selection’,

I swear, it’s not just through ‘mere exposure’ because of ‘proximity’.

If I had everyone to choose from for this journey,

I know I would still choose each and every one of you.

Not just helping me battle the demons I’ve been fighting,

But for helping me grow and change and be better because of you.

Oh, my babies,

‘The sky could be falling, as long as you’re next to me,

I got everything, everything, everything, everything.’

---

Note: This poem is for my dear friends I met in college and I’m so insanely grateful for and who I love so very much and would do anything for <3

Another Note: I did my degree in psychology and sike is slang term for “psych”, which is short for “psyched out”. The prompt was to choose a picture from my gallery.

Letter from Parker – Hour 6 Prompt

HEY GOAT ROPER

When are you going to get your ass up here and go camping??? Mr. Bigtime Hollywood is too fancy to get drunk with rednecks? I found a spot further up that logging road where we tore the bumper off, lets get Jason and Joe and go grill! I want to put a new shell on the ranger and insulate it so we can go up in the winter. Remember when we hit the ice and I told you to bail out, and you slid under the truck? That shit still cracks me up. GET YOUR ASS UP HERE!
I know your really busy, im proud of you man. I didnt want to see you go, but im happy your doing what you love. That took a lot of balls to pack up and go. I didnt get what you did until I helped you on that shoot, that was really cool seeing you work. Tell Brad Pitt to FUCK OFF and lets go CAMPING! I miss you man.

Love you Brother.
-Ryan

The Sneaky Librarian

There is a librarian

down in 7th street

in a tiny town library

with gigantic feet.

 

I’ve seen them you know

those gigantic feet

in the tiny town library

down on 7th street.

 

I peeked through the window

in the library door

She took her shoes off

and danced over the floor.

 

I laughed and I giggled

to watch those feet

in the tiny town library

down on 7th street.

 

The librarian looked up

I knew it was time

to run for the hills

or the next dance was mine.

A First Birthday

I remember so well
Those big blue eyes
In a bright yellow dress
Not knowing the whys
The cake and presents
Disturbed you a bunch
Why was everyone fussing
And gathered for lunch
I had to save you
From the noise and bustle
You had to be held
In a quiet place to snuggle.

Bright College Years (Hour 7)

They file into an auditorium, a sea of black
Chattering lightly, but not too much
A solemn excitement in the air

School insignia adorns the walls
On the stage, many of their mentors stand
Teachers of yesterday; today, just here to celebrate

The orchestra begins, a tune they’ve heard
Several times since they first entered these doors
The tune is the same, but so much else has changed

Standing at the threshold of child and adult
They look forward with nervousness and anxiety
But then they look back, and smile at how far they have come

As they take their diplomas, their handshakes are firm
It’s the end of an era, but the beginning of summer
Of several more summers, new phases of life

They changed once, they will change again
Growing stronger, standing taller, with each turn

Contrast

Dried roses and baby’s breath sit atop of each other

In a vase of transparent glass

They seem so comfortable and well suited

Glass and dried flowers beautifully matched in a transitional phase

A reflection of the full budded roses

That filled the vase several weeks ago

Rich, vibrant and radiant

In their youth and freshness

With the promise and potential

Of a full blown bouquet

Weeks later the arrangement is alive

but now, red roses sits with red and purple black petals

Preserved by drying and oil

Still beautiful in their dying

But no vibrancy

Seeing this causes one to ponder life

The contrast of youthful years

And the not so youthful ones

There’s death in life

Young and vibrant today,

Gone tomorrow

 

 

Harvest Time, Hour Seven

Six years in the desert of southwest Texas
gave me a new appreciation for seasonal change,
anchoring my soul and body to time and place
in a manner missing for those half dozen years.

Three years since my return, and my gardens
and knowledge are growing apace with one another,
layer by yearly layer.
Fruit trees that were mere twigs are now bearing
for my family, providing present and future sustenance.

I am rooted within the rich soil, rejoicing
in each rainfall in its time, each snowfall
while the gardens slumber.
Every year brings new projects, new experimental
beds and plants, cultivating harmonious growth.

The world at large may be chaotic still,
but here in this secret garden I am at peace.