The Poetry Marathon

Whispered to the winds

I whispered to the winds about you
Tales so heavy they couldn’t carry too
Of crumbling hopes and unheard wishes
Sighs that swept away molten mirths

I whispered to the winds about you
All those musings pinned on you
Sullen queries and bitten out lies
Hesitance that seeped into our ties

I whispered to the winds about you
Things I never dared to tell you
How lovely that face still feels
How precious that touch still is

I whispered to the winds about you
About my shameful, clumsy ways too
Selfishly greedy for every tiny bit
Of your warmth, I could steal and keep

I whispered to the winds about you
Hopelessly pining for my love true
Of the fallacy of dreams and forever
When reality seems so far from tender

I whispered to the winds of missing you
All those sweet nothings I’d tell you

Take me home (Hour 19)

Its been a while,
I have walked miles,
the road ahead is long,
and you are still gone,
I am all alone,
no one to call,
no one to hold,
where to see,
what to know,
you may have come,
are my dreams still true,
can it happen,
or its undone,
don’t burn this bridge,
it may take us somewhere,
that is unknown,
a place far away,
where no one stays,
we will be alone,
now take me home.

HR-6

The house on Monroe is insane
Haven’t you heard the noises
Growls, screeches, and even whispers
The pictures keep getting moved as well

Things banging in the night
Getting cold out of the blue
Oh yes its time to go
This Monroe house is quite insane

My mother’s ‘Sambar’

Hour 7

Extra Terrestrial life is irrelevant

Water on Moon, insignificant

Time travel is immaterial

The biggest mystery of my life is how to make ‘Sambar’ like Mom

 

No matter how hard I tried

No matter how I copy the ingredients

No matter how I perfect the timings

Just can’t make ‘Sambar’ like her

 

I think my own Mom is bluffing me

Not telling me the exact measures

Or maybe the exact ingredients

Perhaps she has altogether skipped some spices

 

Enough is enough It’s time to confront her

Get that recipe out of her

“Mom, just give it already” I said

“It’s the only thing that you connect with me” she said

 

Rashmi S Kurup

 

Weekly Result

Congratulations

on completing your fifty second Parkrun

and your first at Falkirk

you were the eightieth female

in a field of two hundred and eight

and sixth in your age category.

Your time was

thirty nine minutes and eighteen seconds

You achieved an age score

of forty nine point three six per cent.

Your NENDY is Knowsley.

Dopamine is addictive,

and so is joy.

Is this your personal best?

 

Author: ©️Jane Eckford

3rd September 2023

OPTIONS (hour xvi)

Gates and casements
confront us eternally
Choice is yours alone

*Inspired by the image prompt

Hour 19 – Yellow Sand

It’s an eerie chromatic primary land

where trees are red and yellow is sand

Black Diamonds !

Within the depths of darkness, they strive to live to tell a story,
Coal miners dwellers, in which they are shadows on that mine
They warfare the earth, its secrets and techniques they delve,
in search of black diamonds, their memories they notify it

Their courage and electricity, a beacon of light,
As they toil in silence, through day and through nighttime.
Underneath rocks, they’re carving their beautiful dreams
in the heart of the mine, in which they are gleam diamonds

Every day faces complication, with every passing hours
But their spirit endures, they believe their labor
Even in the depths of the earth, where existence’s so intense,
Coal miners, unsung heroes, never step back like a soldier

With every swing of the pickaxe, each bead of sweat shed,
They combat to stay alive,, to earn day by day bread.
Within the heart of the mine, their turmoil no one can understand
Coal miners persist, of their will to survive.

Sometimes the mine swallows their breaths with their dreams
Even though, they never frighten with incidents,
they brawl in, they become roaring voices to lit other’s future.

 

Prompt -19       

Hour-19

                        

Hour 19 text prompt- the room

Made of glass and metal

Hazard in every tube

Wood and fabric monsters

M&Ms and juice

Eaten by the fistful

Empty trash remain

A wild dino dinner

Plated on a plane

Plateau of terracotta

Cubonic and yet flat

And past trees pressed carefully

In page in high demand

Micro

Looking at my forearm under the desk lamp,
I see an indention previously unnoticed.
Can I now have a fortuneteller read my arm
for signs of my destiny?

It may have been the trick of the light,
inducing me to think my vein had become
a roadmap to palm readers.

Looking again, I wonder what
I think I saw.

Will this stubborn awareness
coupled with sudden self-diagnosing
become more pronounced
as I age?