Wake Up Call – hour 22

Alarms, bells, shouting, mower loudly goes

this is the stuff that wakes me up

grows, bellows, down ears to toes

thunder, lightning – fright’ning

blood shot eyes – bright’ning

screech owl screaming

my dreaming

waking

now.

 

– Sandra Johnson, 6/27/21

 

Tasking The Paranoiac-Critical Mind

Prompt for Hour Twenty-Two

Salvidor Dali

where is your paranoiac-critical mind

I need your method more than ever.

that state between sleep and consciences.

where abstractions grow like Van Gogh’s poplar trees.

Let me slip into your sleep-walking journey.

where reality fails to solidify.

and dreaming finds dimension.

just a few more hours of mental babbling on.

I am nearing the end of this daydreamer’s trail.

a road, never taken, to end well

and stretching, stretching beautifully,

In a grove of poet-trees.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted on June 27, 2021 6:00am EDT by The Poetry Marathon

Hour 16

Fruits on a plate,

flowers in a vase-

what a pleasant smell

to enjoy and remember!

DON’T GET LOST IN STORY FOREST (OR, IF YOU MUST, BRING GOOD GALOSHES) – Hour Twenty-Two (2021)

DON’T GET LOST IN STORY FOREST (OR, IF YOU MUST, BRING GOOD GALOSHES)

 

that damn puffy vest was cool for five minutes in the 90’s

when bulma broke up with yamcha on toonami

let’s face it folx aliens are always hotter to a supposed sapiosexual 

human makeup is unevolved if you ask danhausen or gwarsenio hall

I’m so sorry officer, was I making spaghetti too loudly? 

(that damn shapiro snitching again you can bet your desert panties)

 

dawn in a frozen forest and you’re like wait, this morning isn’t fanfiction

I did remember shoes when I left the house, very nice, very good

that was always a pet peeve when it came to kids in adventures like

really little dude you didn’t think to change out your pajamas? 

or were you just not planning on becoming a protagonist?

(hate to break it to you but it rarely is a choice even retrospect)

 

mist revealing freeza or bigger dragon balls on another planet

like when we find out the gods get upgrades too

or how when I really thought about my depression

I remembered saiyans get stronger every time they almost die

shifting the fireside story with the zeal of the zeitgeist

faeries becoming demons becoming aliens and no one bats an eye

maybe we were always down a drone or two for the true view of the forest

(knowing neither our roots nor our grey halo before a crown of satellites)

Bliss

Bliss

 

During the midnight hour,

After the world has gone to sleep,

Just be still and listen.

Listen to your heart.

Let your mind run.

Pick up that pencil.

Let it chase the paper.

Savor each word written.

Feel the euphoria.

One poem finished.

Another begins.

The Still of the Morning

POEM 22

It’s five am and the birds have started to tweet and call.

Sing softer little Red bird; the sun is still enroute and I am still sleepless.

I succumbed to a moment of stillness dropping my glasses and my phone.

Ahh but the end is drawing nigh! This has been a test of time.

I won’t claim the victory yet, though I can see its crowned head.

I can feel that certain rhythm taking shape as I go.

My thoughts had become slow but are now picking up the pace.

My keyboard is suddenly foreign under my touch but I venture on.

Zukey is snoring on the bed behind me and it is music.

Every snort and hiccup I envy that sweet pup.

Let us make plans to dance and join the Cardinal’s song.

With the sunrise still burning its way up the Eastern edge of the sky.

Let us claim victory for the day, for conquering the night.

 

 

When the Neighbors (villanelle)

All the birds wake and I have not slept.
What will this day yield
when the neighbors start fighting again?

Listening to their fights makes me feel inept
like my mood’s a soup on the counter, congealed.
All the birds wake and I have not slept.

To my ears, their decibels have never crept
lower than a jet engine, cacophony and steel,
when the neighbors start fighting again.

So our quiet is, every day, usurped
and I want to hide as the yelling builds.
All the birds wake and I have not slept.

No one more than me is perturbed
that each day begins with another fighting reel
when the neighbors start fighting again.

Each night by nine I’ve leapt,
with water glass, to my melatonin fields.
All the birds wake and I have not slept
when the neighbors start fighting again.

Wake up

Sunrise in the sky

Announces a unique day

Wake up to rejoice

@Maritza – Hour Twenty-two

Even in Paradise, I remember

A Nearly Perfect Day

A stretch,
And a yaaaaaaaaaaaawn.
And bright sunlight streaming through windows.
I sit up.
Alone.
It’s a perfect day for walking.
And that feels sad.