A Sense of Breath

Prompts Hour Sixteen

Text Prompt

I lost the ability to smell years ago.

I miss the smell of strawberries.

like I miss my Grandma Emily.

I miss the smell of freshly baked bread

like I miss my childhood.

I miss the smell of Roses

like I miss how roses were once made for the eyes and the nose.

I miss the smell of dirt after a rain

like I miss growing up on a farm.

 

I need to take in a different breath in life.

I need to relearn to breathe.

I have learned with my eyes that I need to breathe only through my nose.

I have noticed that my sense of smell is returning

in just a little time I have started to be more mindful of how I breathe.

I never thought that breathing is a sense too.

I never thought that there is a right and wrong way to breathe.

Is there a more correct way to see, to hear, to touch, to taste, to move, to smell, to listen, to be?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Write a poem focusing on an experience through a sense other than vision – or a sense you don’t often use or ignore.

Contributed by Janette Rosebrook.

Image Prompt

Social Niceties

Tea and cookies on an ornate plate
wait for young ladies to sit down
and hear the old tales from old
men who know nothing of
secrets that they keep
and lies they tell
and promis-
es that
die

Mid-morning snack | Surya T | Poetry Marathon Poem 16

A piece of toast, a biscuit
and a cup of coffee
could there be a better snack?

Woke up too late to make breakfast
running to the office before it’s late
rats running through my stomach

Immediate meetings as I enter the office
No time to even get a bite
Have to be hungry for longer

My focus is diluted and I couldn’t listen
I’ll check the minutes later, I tell myself
Counting down to when the meeting will be done

“Thank you” my ears are alerted to the word
the meeting has come to an end
and it’s time to get something to eat

A piece of toast, a biscuit
and a cup of coffee
could there be a better snack?

My stomach is now full
my task list is too
Gotta get to work now and finish it soon!

-Surya T

Cemeteries of London

You still go back sometimes to visit your grave,

think about all you took and gave.

It’s surreal seeing your own name on a headstone

leaving in the dust the only existence you’ve ever known

 

but now your new one has just begun

giving you one last moment in the sun.

You still don’t know why you’ve been subjected to this strife

but you’re ready to discover what it means to truly live life.

Hour 16 – The Diet (image prompt)

Cw: this poem contains mentions of unhealthy eating habits that may trigger readers who have eating disorders or have suffered from eating disorders. If you struggle with eating disorders or suspect you might have an unhealthy relationship with food, please contact a nutritional health care professional.

I feel empty

Finally

As though I am not full

A pang of hunger stirs me

And twisted pride burns like coal.

I need to eat something

To keep from passing out

But as long as I drink water

I’ll keep the calories out

And finally be thin enough

Thin enough at last.

This is enough for 3 days

If I pace it out

I couldn’t stop the monster

It rose up again.

It ate both of the fruit in whole

My count is in the hole

Finger down the gullet

Because now I just want

Cake

Feeling empty sucks

But it’s better than reality

Than being fat and ugly

I just wish I could escape

The monster who makes me binge.

I told my doctor what the monster did

And she hugged me

She brought me a granola

And wrapped me in a blanket,

Dialing a number to

Hunt the monster down

She didn’t let me leave

Until I choked it down.

And asked me to tell her

How food made me feel.

I cried for hours after

I felt so much safer.

The monster is still there

Waiting in the mirror

But my doctor helped me

Learn how to lock it down.

Harmony

Harmony

An orange, a pear
lying on a wooden tray
in harmony with
yellow achilleas
spreading luck all over

Hour 16

@varenyas

RETINAL SCAN GALAXY – Hour Sixteen (2021)

RETINAL SCAN GALAXY

 

an entire life lived in reverse might include a detail like finding your sight

                                    before you even knew you were missing it

oddly enough no one knows their world’s not fuzzy til they see its edges

I remember gasping in wonder at the individuated leaves on autumn trees

I remember pointing with delight at an ordinary sparrow on a branch

an entire world had just unfolded so far away from my fingertips

where only physicists and astronomers could grasp the complexity of my joy

stars and atoms receding into an infinite mandala of mess and meaning

like the fruit or flowers which had just been impressions of color 

                                                                                                                    on a far-away tabletop

monet and lilies for an ordinary suburbia through my nearsighted eyes

so sometimes in the dark or while driving I still practice with my hands

the sight that only my fingertips and palms can understand

how each object holds its edges a certain way, with a certain firmness

or softness, how the pieces of a lighter fit together and the metal is smoother

how a lighter feels nothing like mascara, how mascara feels nothing like a pen

which feels nothing like lipgloss, in spite of being only an assortment of plastic tubes

how each of these are known first to the hand without the eye’s mediation

how our eyes teach us an arbitrary sensation for every object we hold

how a pack of cigarettes is never mistaken for a wallet or vice versa

one delight devoid of color folded in the firmament of the body’s baggage

 

a sphere alone to ten thousand uses

overlooked in a tragically literal sense

Everglow

The darkness descends on the unsuspecting

populace just waiting to make its move.

Suddenly, it gets you when you least suspect it

and no amount of running can quell it.

 

But when the petrichor sets in and the clouds

retreat to fight another day,

the everglow emerges from its slumber

and lights up the world.

Because that’s all it knows

and we always soak it in wherever and whenever it glows.

Gentle Flower of Aggresion

Touching her was magic
To my finger tips
Her soft supple lips
The quencher
To my thirsty drip
Her sensual kiss
As soft as a petals bliss
Never ending love
I always miss.
I wish she was the one
That understood
The place I’m in
Her gentle love
The one that’s always
Hit or miss.
It’s sad it’s come to this
But now I know
It is what it is.

Rebelí

Hour 16: Dropping Logic

I gave up on reason during my 20s

it had not served me well

The formal logic I’d used

to deduce my next steps

had me caught beneath the weight

of a glaring fallacy

believing that the nature

of the universe is solely logical

 

This now clearly strikes me as BS – 

if the universe contains all

then it contains the holy 

irrational, Irreverent and divine 

alongside your, so called “logic”

 

Give me a prismatic perspective

through which I can honor 

the hard-fought multiplicities

that I have come to hold

on the behalf of my infinite selves, 

as well as yours.

 

Convincing?