The Poetry Marathon

Nibling Niblets- hour 14

From my niblings came littles

nephew and nieces, I mean

the babies are my niblets

they’re unseen,

but they sing.

 

Niblets make me happy

they look like my niblings

and sometimes

they hug me

just like my siblings.

 

Even though I never had

a child of my own

I imagine niblings’ niblets

have a bed in my home.

 

Don’t get me wrong

I’m not craving a child

I’m too old, the world is cold

niblets make you worry naught

all the day long.

 

But if I ever need

a little one for which to care

the soft patter of niblets’ feet,

a Cheshire smile

will always be right there.

 

– Sandra Johnson, 6/26/21

Invitation

Dark street at night, a circle of light,
An arch like nothing I’d seen before,
Was it a portal, a wormhole door
Leading to somewhere else in the cosmos?
I froze.

I did not think to run away
I was seized in the grip of awe:
My mind trying to make sense of
What my dazzled eyes now saw.

A science experiment gone wrong?
ET’s in my mundane town?
Wondering, guessing,I waited,
For my pulses to calm down.

I stood transfixed in wonder
Till a whiff of ozone, a clap of thunder,
Caused the apparition to vanish.
How I still regret and wish

That I had never paused to guess
How I wish I’d answered “Yes! ”
To that inviting, open door.

Mondo Rocking Late Night (Mondo Q&A)

Why does music sound
far better when it’s louder
than if the song is just good?

I have closed my eyes
to the deafening level
of guitar/amp and not cared.

Crossroads

I am at a crossroads
The dark cloud looms over me
The clock that never fallible;
Says 12:00
Is it noon?
Is it midnight?

I am not a stranger to the dark
But the darkness seems infinite
I am at a crossroads
Should I succumb
Or
Is there a light behind the cloud?

Poem IV: LilyPad

Green orbs stare back at me
where lily pads used to be
ask me what the sacrifice was for.
Ask, how long before the lotus
is allowed to rip through the riverbed
and reincarnate.
Ask, if the morning has passed,
if dusk has arrived.
Ask, if now the time is right.

The season for blossom has long turned into autumn but the permafrost refuses to thaw from this heart frozen in the winter of partition.

More poetry via instagram @anjaanography

“Oh, Sweet Death”

“Oh, Sweet Death”

Watching, waiting

In the dark, we’re staying

You’re kind and gentle

And often misunderstood.

You‘re feared and not always fair,

so it feels.

Your hands are icy cold

with a strong iron-cast grip.

Once you grab, you don’t let go.

Your eyes are piercing

seeing into my very soul

already knowing where I’m going.

Please hold my hand

as you suck my last breathe of life away.

Beginnings

Hr. 3 Prompt 15
Picture Image: Sergey Mikheev

Standing on the other side
Behind me is beautiful and lush
Bright stars light the way

I am a stranger in this place
Everything is ugly and barren
Darkness ahead of me
Cold and lonely
Maybe it can flourish again

Standing on this side
All I see are possibilities

A stranger no more
Sparks of light are dawning
The warmth will eventually come
Life here deserves a chance
It is worth saving

DHARMA DUMBSAINT – Hour Fifteen (2021)

DHARMA DUMBSAINT

 

present in reverent witness to the opportunities of life

where I have said no, I have no regrets

my visceral intuition another language I learned in the dark

 

so where there were paths, I explored them

so where doorways appeared, I ventured through

 

the YES of my sacred surrender pulling my forward

(when the Irish bless your back with wind, this is what they mean)

 

not a knowing but an unknowing from the very root

where bliss becomes the space between who knows and show me

where faith is the space between your pain and what you do with it

 

so do you too hear that song which opens every rusted lock?

when you feel your own chains falling away will that be enough?

Hour 15 Poem 15 Tanka Poem

Cherishing your gift,

I value your sentiments,

As long as it’s true,

Meaningful and from the heart,

Treasuring it forever.

A Paint of Lights

To the trees
The human speed
Upon the road
Was a million moments
Fragmented and rebound.

All the cars,
A paint of lights
Upon the air
In flickering nights
And clinging trails of oils.