The Poetry Marathon

SPREAD THY WINGS

SPREAD THY WINGS
Before heaven spread thy tiny wings,
In the end like a warrior you may sing.
Spread them widely in the breeze,
get them set to fly with ease
They are made for that purpose and not for decoration,
So spread them what awaits you is celebration.

Spread thy tiny wings for one day they shall grow,
In your flight greatness await you tomorrow.
They wings shall grow bigger like a plant rooted by the river side
for you have God as your guide.

The young shall grow never be scared of the wind but be brave like a lion,
Surely you will triumph.
Fly! fly!! fly!!!
High!high!! high!!!
Spread those tiny wings for the sky is the starting place
You will surely win your race.
Spread thy wings the wind is ready to welcome you in his hands,
By God’s grace you will reach thy promise land.

Hour 1 – Casper the Ghost

I had a toy when I was young
of Casper of the Ghost
He smiled in his tray
until it was sheathed away
The tray would come back empty
and for years
I didn’t know where he went.

I open the door to our apartment
and am met with
silence.

Not the silence of waiting
of bags and coats left on chairs
from when you picked your outfit
just before rushing out the door
a risky game
to catch the bus on time
of dishes left on the table
all to be cleaned
when you return.

This is a stagnant silence
it rests heavy
living room and kitchen empty
except for my dishes
which are piling in the sink
my spoken words drop
unanswered to the floor.

I lock the door when I get home
because I know
no one will follow me in
even hours too late
loud happy affectionate drunk
to tie my shoes and
say “I love you.”

The trick to Friendly Casper
was a second compartment
hidden in the tray
where he would get pushed
if sheathed just right
I figured it out
holding the plastic up to light
to see his silhouette
framed in orange amber
He was trapped away
in an uncomfortable home
but would always return
smiling still
when the tray was flipped.

Your shoes still clutter
our muddy shoe tray.

Deep

How deep is deep?

can you really go deep?

Is deep more than

surface and skin?

 

I want to look deep

deeper than I’ve ever looked before.

I am not sure

what I expect to see.

I wonder

if what I am looking for

is the real me.

 

Debra A. K. Thompson

Keep Scrolling

It seems to go on forever,
a mass of life tempting eternity
with words and radiation.
Opinions churning in front of a billion faces
with the persistence of a plastic sea.
Typing like the fangs still have venom
comments invent new fantasies of war,
and in the confusion truth becomes honest
as anecdote becomes signal and data the noise.

This is the world now,
perpetual motion
of waste,
addiction and need,
substance and text.
Take the hit and move on to the next and the next and the next.

In the water

Cool, crisp waves shock the inner rage.
Suspended weight, I float and the chains disintegrate.
Moving in directions that were before impossible.
Under the surface no sounds can carry
And burn my ears with unrest.
Pursuers are slowed by my protection and blinded in the light
Angered by my freedom and joy of floating.
They reach out and wail
But I am gone.

The night

Washtub

She pulled an old washtub

into the back yard.

Filled it with water.

Dressed me in a swimsuit.

Set me in the shade

Hot August day.

No swimming pool.

No A.C.

Too hot to nap.

Too hot to play.

But Mom made do.

She pulled an old washtub

into the back yard.

Scared

Helpless

drowned and cold.

Air escaping

Slipping in when fishing.

Hour One: The Day After the Bomb Went Off

The morning, silent and still,
betrayed the overwhelming
fact that a bomb
had gone off,
leaving those who planned

for this ominous event, for
years, and those who were
caught, after years
of complacency
and self-denial, to marvel
at its occurrence and to plot

the contours of the shadow
that the plume of this
destruction
would have
on future years.

As a dinosaur must have said
whilst viewing the meteor
hurtling to
an innocent earth:
“How the hell will this work out?”

How in the hell indeed.

Prompt 1: Watered Down

My muse drowned.

 

I thought she was water-proof,

So I mixed her into my cup of ice

and let her sit,

Chilling,

Thrilling at the thought

of gulping her down

in one swift shot,

All effervescent

and bubbly,

Bumping,

Pumping through my veins

My brain,

My synapses,

Electric with the magic

Of word and sensory spark,

To illumine all imaginings,

Like glitter thrown to inky glue.

 

Sej2022