The Poetry Marathon

Late Night Victory Lap

Hour 12, Prompt 20, Year 2021

As I plod through my last poem of the year
I’m thinking a lot about what comes after
A quiet cheer as my love and I leave our easy chairs
The desire to move around, finally in reach
It’s a cool, breezy night out here
The kind that prompts a midnight victory lap
Out into the night, we will step
Walking the length of our backyard
Taking in the fresh air, healing our headaches
Hand in hand, watching the stars
Then slowly, as we sketch out the Dipper
We’ll begin to discuss what we wrote
Light and heavy poetry alike
How we felt, where we faltered, where we grew
Grateful for the ability to write, to imagine
To be human
Then we’ll come back to a warm mug of tea and a shower
Maybe some dark chocolate if we feel indulgent
And as we slowly fade away under our covers
We’ll already be dreaming about the year to come

Let’s Call It a Career–Hour 20

cats follow me

as I walk the nightshift

they know the crinkling sound

of treat packet in pocket

I indulge them

and they leave messages on my pantlegs

for Duke the whiskered king of castle home

I’m a long distance matchmaker

always said i wanted to work outdoors

be at one with animals

okay, I concede

let’s call it a career

 

Darkest of nights | Surya T | Poetry Marathon Poem 20

The street light keeps blinking
on the verge of its end
The apartment is still further away
and the lights are getting dimmer

“I need to leave soon” I told boss
“You aren’t leaving until I say so”, boss replied
What was supposed to be a journey before nightfall
became one during the darkness

Multiple complaints to the corporator
Nothing yielded any results
Only the phone’s flashlight is the source
for safety, or sanity

Darkness craves company, it seems
In the shadows lurked, from dogs to robbers
“I have to leave, my neighborhood isn’t really safe” I pleaded
“Defend yourself, you’re a man” my boss replied

I looked around, in the darkness
my earphones tucked in my pocket
money distributed across all pockets
and my laptop bag clutched safely in my hands

I held the phone tightly in one hand
Flashlight on and the other hand clutching the bag
Another 10 minutes of this adventure
I’ll be home, safe and sound

I started praying to an invisible God
to let no visible attack come near me
counting down the seconds to my place
10:00… 09:59… 09:59… 09:57

I sensed someone move beside me
I quickly shone the light to see what it was
It was a steel plate, reflecting my phone’s light
I was startled by my own reflection

I stepped on a twig and it broke under my weight
The snap was audibly loud
This is the moment when something will attack me
I thought to myself and stood still in my tracks

As long as I am not moving, I won’t be attacked
But the longer I stand here, the more I’ll be attacked
I took a step, slowly, making sure there’s no twigs
Another few minutes before I reach my apartment

After eternity, and a few more reflection startles
I reached my apartment safely
I breathed a heavy sigh
I’m safe, for today

Tomorrow’s another day
For now, I need some rest – both mind and body
I need to leave before it’s dark here
The stress in this area is not easily managed

–Surya T

Fetch Her the Star

(for hour 20—this is a blend! I wanted to do the 3-repeating-lines prompt from hour 3, so it’s mixed with the “walking at night” AND image prompts of hour 20…because typing poetry at this hour makes one giddy like that.)

 

Fetch Her the Star

 

Bianca requested of Bill merely one, still-bright star

Small enough to fit on the curio cabinet’s bottom shelf

(where light was needed most because Bill had bought a cabinet without LEDs)

Yet with enough mass to attract the Ladies Club members’ eyes

when they’d gather Tuesday evening to complete protest signs

 

She asked so little of him after 28 months of marriage

 

With all the time she saved Bill employing a local DBE to tend the lawn and pool, could he not take an hour for an errand?

Why did her simple petition require an argument,

tears to mar her facial and eye art,

and a snide remark about Gil-Estel?

(his references to fantasy films too often confused her to frustration)

 

She asked so little of him after 28 months of marriage

 

While Bianca strode to her private spa off the master bedroom where she could repair her eyes,

Bill collected his 32-month-old son’s favorite toy, and walked into a moonlit night

He pointed at the stars, asking, “which one do you think Mother would like?”

The child giggled; he understood more than the vapid woman they left behind

 

She asked too much of him after 112 weeks of marriage

 

 

 

Be like the Sun

Be like the Sun

“The sun doesn’t care what color you are.” Unknown 

The sun burns us all the same

tan comes later for some.

The sun doesn’t know black, white, tan, or red.

The largest star shines no matter who’s around.

The sun won’t judge our size, family history, or gender.

It won’t care the crimes, lies, or offender.

The sun doesn’t measure us in height, creed, or age.

Won’t judge us on our happiness, sadness, or rage.

The sun is always in the sky.

If we looked up and never looked down.

What a different person, one might be.

Positivity shines all around me.

Be like the sun,

even when it sets it’s still there.

Look up at the moon’s glowing light they share.

Poem VIII: Beast of a Heart

My heartbeat is not a metronome.
It beats erratically
threatening to turn
my ribcage into dust.
My sternum fends itself with
a sorry sword hanging off
of the end of it,
for the xiphoid process can
only pierce what is within
and I am only broken dreams.
I suppose God is trying to
exhume the
grief out of my chest.
but it bleeds into my vessels,
fills the cartridges of my metacarpals
and no matter how much I
drain this ink
it still stains the melanin with sin.
I am not a saint but the pain
within will drive me insane.

 

More poetry via instagram @anjaanography

Whispers – Hour 18

When I am no longer here

Just be still

And listen.

You will hear my voice

Whispering in the wind.

What has been

Will always be.

Trust me.

Just be still

And listen.

 

Buds- Hour 16

A tinge of sweet

Like the citrus burst from a lemonade

But not quite as sweet as sweet as overwhelming

Overwhelmingly sour

The type to make your eyes twitch for a bit

But I craved the sweetness

So I took another sip

But it must have been tooo much

Because there was no taste

Hidden Intentions

It’s clear to me with your clenched fist or open hand, that I can see.

But what do I call you, friend or foe?

When you come with a smile,

how do I know?

Music Therapy

After crying loudly

in a pillow

and watching

my Leonard Cohen CDs

refuse to flush

I pray to my favourite cult

The one that keeps me from ever being

wrong.

Philip V. Coombs 4-5pm