The Poetry Marathon

Walking the Fine Line (Hour 15, A Hall of Mirrors Hay(na)ku)

Balance

eludes me,

much like rest.

Just when I

feel it

within

reach

of my

tiny T-Rex arms,

my Sasquatchian feet

slip then

slide,

carrying

me one

giant leap further

away from my

unattainable goal:

moderation.

Impossible

to achieve

for a passionate,

all or nothing

lunatic like

myself.

Gray

doesn’t exist

within my box

of crayons, only

black and

white.

 

(A hay(na)ku is a three-line poem where the first line is one word long, the second line two words, and the final line has three words. A reverse hay(na)ku consists of three lines written in the opposite manner, where the first line is three words, the second two, and the last line one word long. In 2019, I created the Mirror Hay(na)ku, which combines one hay(na)ku and a reverse hay(na)ku into a single poem. The 2020 Poetry Marathon spawned the Hall of Mirrors hay(na)ku, which is composed of a series of five Mirror hay(na)ku stanzas.)

Hour 18: … just be still and listen

But I cannot

Just be still and listen

Because my world is burning

Away before me

And I must put out the fire;

Because I have something to say,

Something you need to hear,

And I don’t want to be silenced.

 

I’d never ask you to

Just be still and listen

What if you have something urgent to do?

What if you have something vital to tell?

Your silence does not always serve.

 

Get up if you need to,

Look around if you want to.

You don’t need to keep your eyes on mine;

My people find that disrespectful.

 

Go ahead and talk when I talk;

I can still hear your words.

My people learned long ago how to

Listen and talk simultaneously.

 

I don’t hear anger or hate

In loud voices.

Sometimes my people just have to shout,

To voice the sacred in the words,

The miracles on the tongue;

Sometimes we just want to hear the church say,

“Amen!”

doppelganger – 18 of 24

i may have shared my sylvia
but i will keep her in the divorce
you can have jumanji
and all my lightbulbs
as long as you keep them
in your mouth
45 watts behind your teeth
anything is better than me!

i played body double
for another woman, i
must’ve reminded you
that i am me
when i undressed for you
when i was just
a voice on the phone
i was her, your damned girl,
and when i failed
to arrive at your apartment
dressed as her,
you couldn’t have loved me less

Dreams

Just be still, and listen.
You might hear the creeping dreams.
The laughter of a restaurant,
The singing of moonbeams.
The beating of some great white wings
The lapping of the sea,
The dancing feet of festivals
The voice of you or me.

The whispering of fairies,
The wisdom of a bee
Returned from some great traveling
A honeyed odyssey.
The creak of wood
From boats bound out
To an orchard isle
The rain that should
Fall on your hood
If you were not to smile.

Listen for the sunset,
It has a distant roar
Or better yet the sunrise –
More like a gentle snore.
Listen for the cloud-borne host
As they weave their storms
Or listen to the softling sounds
Of the duvet, as it warms
The air around your drowsy
ears, and lets your dreams perform.

Salmon

More than a fish, I’m an idea, a dream,
You think I’m a salmon swimming upstream.
I’ve swallowed the bait of your gauzy flies,
A mesh surrounds me: all your false lies.

You’ve woven this net, but you cannot kill
My memories of the Gulf Stream, deep seas and krill,
Of leaping the rapids, to return to spawn
In the highland pool where my race goes on.

I’ll just move on, my colours, my breath,
Will fade to the rigid grey ghost of death.
But, just be still and listen, and you may hear
The song of the salmon, distant and clear,

A sussuration of fins, new eggs hatching
To journey to the ocean, to hear the waves sing.

(Hour 4 of 24) “Truce”

“Come, let us take a drink and go to bed.” *

Must we fight till we are dead?

No recrimination, nor bitter tears,

Or prejudices over the years,

This illogical sum of all our fears

The day is done, and so must we.

 

Tomorrow is another day,

New opportunities to find our way,

There are no easy answers.

But let us not miss those chances,

To tear down our fences,

And find resolutions, difficult they may be.

 

© 2021 S Phua

 

*(Final line from ‘The Hand of Glory’, in ‘The Complete Tales of Jules de Grandin, Volume Three – The Dark Angel’ by Seabury Quinn; Night Shade Books; 2018.)

“Burrito”

“Burrito”

I’m so cold.

Wrap me like a burrito?

Add more blankets, please?

Until I’m barely visible.

Can you come and lay on me?

Oh! Just one more thing!

 

Little, silly moments like these are my favourites.

They’re the small gestures to show your affection.

It’s how you help me mend a scar made long before you were apart of my life.

Seemingly small, nothing things that mean the world to me.

I love you, you adorkable man.

Thank you. ❤️

Hour 18: Morte e Rinascita

In this Universe, there exists but one

truth, though it does come in different forms.

Death and Rebirth- what is created, must

be destroyed. To make way for the new and

yet, a trace of true self exists within

the false self. A part of the old moulds the

new, and finds a new form, new life within.

Death comes, inevitably, for the one

who is born. New life taking shape from the

ashes left behind. The new replaces

the old and yet a part of old exists

in the new. Death and Rebirth are both true.

(Note: the Title apparently means ‘Death and Rebirth’ in Italian… That’s what I read.

The line “And yet a trace of true self exists within the old self” is something I read on Tumblr as well. I don’t know its origin, but it sounded cool.)

BUT DON’T CALL IT MASKING TAPE – Hour Eighteen (2021)

CONTENT WARING: mental health, incarceration

 

 

BUT DON’T CALL IT MASKING TAPE

 

right up front for the brutal truth

there’s only one difference between prison

and the psych ward

and it’s the cafeteria offerings

the slunking whispers are the same

the blank bright hallways and gleaming fixtures

dinginess and long hallway flickering lights

just enough to gaslight an average man

so she said there’s a strict no cuddling policy

and I said honey I get it I’m crazy not stupid

 

here we are for your horrified amusement

the black-eyed children of the new millennia

we’ll consume your crime scene tape

wailing another older kind of siren

where instead of either soulless cell

I imagine that brightness is the seaside

where I’ll wake up next to you

on another cloud deeper in double digits

where I want to hear every passing thought

behind your eyes and your reserving smirk

 

so I pretend with the rain that I’m hearing sand and waves

imagine you wrap your arms around me and the color returns

and I’m left with no desire for anything

except to be here, to just be still, and listen

Listen to understand, not to answer | Surya T | Poetry Marathon Poem 18

Is it too much to ask from you?
When I say just listen?
I have something to say
and it’s important for you to listen

Is it too much to ask from you?
When I say just listen?
Your sarcastic replies to a simple request
is too annoying to hear as an answer

I get you’re witty and sarcastic
I get you’re smart and have varied opinions
But you’re not the only one, dude
We also do have opinions

Before you interrupt a statement
to pitch in your answer
Think for a moment as to what is being said
and if the response is accurate

Many opinions are not black and white
but myriad shades of gray
You always misunderstand me, your idiocy
and one day, you will go too far

I may not be interested in confrontation
but there might be one who is
and when you interrupt them like an idiot that you are
you shall put yourself in an early grave

So, when I say just shut the frick up
and listen to what is being said
it is in your best interest
to listen and implement what’s just been said

-Surya T