The Poetry Marathon

Ella and Rohne

(for hour 15—from Onweald, an intro for something longer)

 

Ella and Rohne

 

He was the one covered in diamonds

She was the one covered in gold

They were the ones covered in riches

Yet their story has never been told

Unicorn world

 

The unicorn world will be astonished,

And we will be surprised to be in aHeavenly and Jazzy place.

We can lead a gratify hour,

With unexpected wishes and things In the unicorn world.

It is surrounded with sapphire,

This can be everyone’s desire,

But,not to be in a harmful fire.

Wondering to be in a astonished world,

Is not a jest

,It is a great and a heavenly dream.

We cannot surmise these relish into real,

Because,they are considered as dream….

Chores

Oh messy house, I work many days
thinking while earning this living.
At night I want to play games,
and rest my mind from giving.
This house a wreck stays,
without a care,
as I waste
time to
play.

The World Around Me – Hour Fifteen

The scent of lavender fills the air
Made heavy by summertime heat
The carpet feels gritty, like a warm sandy beach
Nestled roughly under my feet
The hallway feels longer at this hour of day
Each step growing tougher to make
My eyes are now weary, my head in the clouds
Trying hard just to stay awake

Beside me, a child far more alert than I
In this late hour of the day
Still blowing her bubbles and sending them high
At the age when life’s all about play
I still hear the music from across the way
A party now deep into night
The moon’s hidden well on this latter June day
As I realize there’s no rest in sight

I reach to grab water, when coffee should do
As the child decides that sleep is best
I bid her goodnight and then get back to work
For there is no time for great rest
Brahm’s Lullaby beckons and yet, I resist
For I must trudge ahead ’til the dawn
An all night affair, my brain shall persist
And so I shall now carry on

Hour Fifteen, Yes Prompt

Sister Act

I love to sing the blues,
but few will ever hear me.

As a senior in high school
I prepared for months
for my school’s annual talent show,
determined I would sing Sister
from The Color Purple.

The day for auditions finally came,
the dress, hair, stage makeup,
voice exercises, music tape,
all ready, prepared,
as prepared as my terrified
heart could be.

I stepped on stage,
cued the music,
and listened, horrified, when
it began too loud.
I sang anyway, sang
as loud as I could.

Halfway through the third line,
the music stopped,
and a voice from the dark said
“I’m sorry, we just can’t hear you,”
and I ran from the stage, mortified.

One judge followed me,
both a teacher and a friend,
and begged me to come back
and try again.

I would not.

I don’t believe anything would have come
from singing for me but the pleasure
of it alone, but
I will forever regret not returning
to that stage,
not trying once again.

 

 

Hour 14: John

My boy is growing up
I asked him to accompany me
He said no

He chooses himself now
Oh I miss the old time
The time I always rant off
The boy was so clingy

The boy always cried
Asked for food
Asked to play

“Mama I am afraid, Hug me,” said 4th year him
I hugged him tight
I miss his young smile

Now, I burst with complicated feeling
Joys is coming, He is almost mature
Pity is emerging, I am alone now,

John, come to mommy, I miss you.

When I wished I had said yes

Goodbye

Hour 7, Prompt 15, Year 2021

It was a dark winter night
The scientist stood in the middle of the woods
Staring at the portal his gun had just created
Beyond, awaited another world
A world just like the one he was in
With towns and cities and McDonalds and sun and rain
But it was not this world where he now stood
Not this world that will soon to turn to nought
Like the many before it
The many before it that he had traveled through
Each world, each civilization, great and grand
Till one day, they were nothing but dust
Dust – natural, nuclear, probably both
He had never turned back to look
But this time, as he walked towards the portal
He made an exception

Back he looked at this world
Which didn’t just have towns and cities and McDonalds and the likes
But had so much more
He saw her again
Not frail like when the cancer had spread
But young, vital, happy
Before the radiation took it all away
And turned her to dust

If he left, he would still exist in another world
But she would not
No, of that he was certain
He looked at the ground, and he saw her in the dust
He was tired
He was sad
He was ready
He stopped

At sunrise, the skies blazed a deep orange
Deeper than he had ever seen
A massive ball of fire moving closer and closer
He had never stayed for this part before
He had never realized how beautiful it was
The last sunrise of this great civilization
And the last thing he would ever see
There was nothing else he wanted or needed
He had been through many worlds
But this one was home

As he closed his eyes, the sadness lifted
As he melted into the ground, he was grateful
He couldn’t have asked for a better end

Marriage

Marriage

 

I wish I said, Yes, knowing it wouldn’t last, just to hold

you longer and keep you close, as the fear of loss

and other girls yanked my heart from yours. Lying

on your chest at night, I’d feel each beat and pulse, blood

racing through your veins same as mine. We’d twist our bodies

in a dance meant just for us, thank God for time

unwasted, while knowing I’m not your only one.

Hour 15 – Door in the Road

The night is cold, snow
dusted sparsely along the berm.
It is the kind of cold which makes
cheeks too numb to feel tears
but not cold enough to freeze
them as they drip… drip…
onto a furry coat collar.

The road is empty, only
a single car parked to the side
mostly sheltered by thick trees.
The nearest town is miles away.
You would have to drive for hours
to reach this quiet, cold land.

There is a person standing
in the middle of the quiet road.
They listen to the crickets, rustling
of a living forest, head tilted up
to bare neck and face to the stars.
They are holding a key.

It is not that kind of key.
The kind of door that exists only
on the median line of unused
country backroads cannot be
opened with that kind of key.
It is a glowing branch, reflecting
off the scattered snow.

The figure raises their wand,
points it as far above as they can reach,
and waits a moment.
Listening, again, for something
that might make them want
to stop. To stay.
Their listening is unanswered.

It is nearly violent, the swing
which paints a wide, luminous circle
before the body, just greater than their
reach, right above the median line.
The wand goes round a second time,
twice to bind the door on both sides.

If the person looks back…
If they wish so hard to see a pursuer…
If their face is numb and wet…
there is no one there to see it
before they climb through the door
and lock it dark behind them.