The Poetry Marathon

Mood Swings

Often based on worries

Unrelenting mind thinkers

Refusing sleep and laughter

Even liquor can’t cure

Miserably increasing

It’s normal to be in that mood

Yet affecting others is cruel

I don’t feel like talking

I don’t want to be disturbed

Silent mode activated

No calls allowed

No replies given

I am begging:

Let me be lonely

but not invisible

What do you want anyway

But depression visits

It leads with traces

If not addressed

Then it comes in swings

You know like a rollercoaster

Moving back and forth

Producing silent sounds

And empty promises

I repeat

Don’t get depressed.

 

Hour 17 – Diseased

The flame
which cauterizes
is poisoned

The water
which cleanses
is haunted

The air
which soothes
is bloody

The earth
which buries
is rotten.

Salvation isn’t coming.

Hour 17: The Sun

Bright, blinding light
Greeted me as I looked
At him, for the first time
Like he was a miniature sun
Warm, bright, full of smiles.

Drawn to him, I was
Like the moon, cold
But couldn’t help wanting
A part of light
A part of the bright warmth.

And when everything was over
I realised, too late
The sun’s warmth is due to distance
It burns, itself and anything else
That comes close

It’s kindness, born from fire
The warmth, almost cruel in
How unbearable it really is
And like Icarus, it was me falling
Into the ocean of despair.

My World

I drift off to sleep knowing that reading heals, hurts, and puts us in limbo.

From eating a lot to going into the wilds not knowing if you will make it.

Traveling from one location to another knowing them sometimes better or worst than people.

Good or bad there is something told although you need to see it from different perspectives.

Remember to create your voice so people can go to your world.

Dream it in a way that others can visit instead of keeping it locked from no eyes.

Jumping Off Point

It isn’t my favorite prompt of all time;

some dubious quotes about life on the line,

paired with a shot of a desolate bridge;

 

Good thing we’re

too tired,

too worn,

fighting asleep,

to climb, jump, or dive.

into something that deep.

“I am begging: Let me be lonely but not invisible.”

whisps of smoke
circle from the pocket behind her lips
rising in loneliness
the stench not new
relegated outdoors
away from the revelry
a socially acceptable isolation
of her own choosing
the boozing
brazen in its dedication
to keep her separate
but seen
secluded
but noticed
for her crushing impact
but denial of accountability
the consequences concentrated
in second-hand smoke
alone

[Hour Seventeen]latecomer

There was a crash–

a fire, a deadly cat on the loose,

power outage, rabid dog,

locusts, a hurricane,

My heart, oh god!

Why? Why what?

I am so late, why

did I agree

on waking up 

at an unholy hour

for this natural disaster

that we call this life?

 

Beneath The Cherry Tree

She found and sold her soul
in Osaka while watching the
Geisha obi tied tight
Miles of fabric
Draping the ground
Beneath the cherry tree
Just a short distance from
The tea house
Pouring heat into the hearts
Of men
With dashing eyes
flitting from breast to neck
noting the jasmine of her hair
gathered in Tsuyoshi Shimada
A flirt of a smile, a gift
In return.
He whispers to her over
a steaming cup
Begging to meet
beneath the cherry tree.
Intellect-a stimulation that
Goes beyond the eyes
And lingers in the mind
pours into the soul
and drinks with lusty fervor.
Quick wit and lofty charm
Pour over leaves
The scent of vanilla and rose
Lingering beneath
Mustached noses
That whisper forever
With bearded lips against
The flesh of neck
Beneath the cherry tree
Where they meet
In secret
And talk of new beginnings
With he as her Dan’na
The man that chooses the wife
Not one chosen for
The sake of duty, name, and fortune.
A perfect match begins in the heart
And for geisha, they aren’t to have one
Separated through the mask of white
Of charcoal lines about the eyes
And red as cupid’s arrow
Shot upon the colored lips-
She falls in a love forbidden
As suitors line her pocket
The okiya brandishes a debt
To clear-nenki
for making her who she’d become
To love geisha is to admire beauty
An artwork in motion
One cannot keep the other true
Forever
despite her new beginning
and his love professed
their lives of duty come first
And sadly, he’d be her last
Beneath the cherry tree.

Dollars No Sense–Hour 17

Bananas grow in Hawaii

in backyards

the tastiest

the freshest

Go to a supermarket in Hawaii

and buy bananas

from Ecuador

Neil Gaiman

“Books were safer than other people anyway.”

I can open a book and peer inside

I can read its meaning

See its dark side

Know what’s in its belly

People are not so anyway