The Poetry Marathon

Hour 18 prompt

 

LET’S APPRECIATE BEAUTIFUL YET DIFFERENT CREATIONS OF GOD

In the hallways of your school,
You may see a child who seems different
She may be the girl who always sits alone
Or the boy who never talks to anyone
Or a child who just cannot stop laughing or crying

They look different from you-
They are a little bit different than you
They are just referred as Children with special needs

They are the ones who are never allowed to play
They are the ones who are never chosen first
They are the ones who are often stopped by a stranger in the street and asked
“What’s wrong with you?”
They are the ones who get told they are not normal and should stop disturbing others

They have parents who love them, but are constantly worried
About how their kids will survive after they grow old
These kids must deal with bullies at school
These kids must bear nasty words of some of their relatives

They go through so much of pain, but they still expect the best from all of us
They are quick to smile and slow to judge
They have no malice or politics to play against each other
You, special children are beautiful beings to teach us something new
Even if the world laughs at you and blind to your talents
You are often misunderstood, underestimated, and ridiculed
One day the world will realise, what they lost when they pushed you aside

BY

SHREYA SURAJ,

INCUBATION (hour xiv)

Back against the world
Facing a towering wall
Resurgence alive

*Inspired by the image prompt

Meeting

We saw each other.

Warm feelings.

Hobbied excitement.

Going places.

Hang out with plans that never happen.

Enjoying each other with the presence.

Mortar and Pestle

Hour Eighteen 3993

Sun-stroked gardens
season stained carpets
of variegated color-
the clean scent of greenery
and herbs a pleasant arousal
to the senses.
The Chickweeds gather in droves
clucking away with banter
cleaving to the Cleavers
until Evening Primrose.
Goats Rue the interruption
while nursing their young
as Honeysuckles at their teat.
Jack the preacher In The Pulpit
wears a Scullcap complimenting
an Old Man’s Beard and
bearing Solomon’s Seal
from St. John’s Wort
chastising the Lyre Leaf Sage
for the Sassafras to their Motherwort
who then threatens to wash
their mouths with Soapwort,
a custom in Sweet Ciscily.
The Trillium trinity
a blessed purity
and Speedwell
the ailments to healing.

Her Dad is a Diesel Mechanic, or Annoying My Girlfriend and Her Mom (19)

He sewed his thumb back on in the woods

with some fishing line

I have broken my arm twice

and each time I sucked in a lot of air and teared up

waiting in a clean hospital ER for a bed

going like this:

oooh-ahhhh-ooooh-ahhhh

and been a bitch otherwise my entire life

when he tells me about them boys at work

running the machines into the ground

I go along with him

and say, you can’t find anybody worth a durn

and he agrees with a grunt

then tells me about being shot at by union men

that wanted the job he and his father took

because it was their state

and his father almost ran them over with a truck

and he tells me that he once went

to a martial arts gym and the black belt instructor

couldn’t do anything to keep him down

one time a guy picked him up in the air

with a lift and shook it so he might fall

much to the laughs of the other men

and he put vice grips around this man’s chest

and squeezed on them until ribs were broken

after he finally let him down

and I nodded and grunted and yessir’d my way

up until my girlfriend’s mom asked me

what tool he’s referring to when he talks about

fixing this thing on the cherry pickers they broke

I stutter for a second and then turn to look at her

now joined by my girlfriend

grinning like hungry wolves.

 

Kaleidoscope (Poem 17)

One view

Many perspectives

The Kaleidoscope besides its beauty

Also teaches us

That looking in one direction

Not only offers different perspectives to different people

But also provides varied views

To a single person

 

 

 

 

Text prompt number 16: Write a poem either titled or centred around a ‘Kaleidoscope’.

3 am hour/prompt #19

3am
light rain descends as night moves toward morning’s light.
poetry’s passion sits on my chest reminding me, like Robert Frost’s little horse,
I still have hours to go before I sleep. Sweet sleeping hounds keep me company,
poetry family check’s in on by email and marathon comrades keep posting.

the night is very still, while loud and irritating electric hissing sounds fill the air. I chose
this journey and revel in its labyrinth of complexity as the clock ticks. the hour that seemed not long enough to complete the task at hand, now stretches languidly onward. I beseech
the next prompt, the next hour, please claim me before sleep over-rides the body!

poetic justice, recompense for my confident commitment to word and time
O’ foolish poet, like mystics and seekers throughout millennium, I drink the elixir
of intoxicating phrases seeking solace in their rhyme and comfort from their mystery.
I close my eyes, a brief respite, to begin the journey again into it’s final hours.

My Surroundings

I had a condensed fear

when the wind howled

at night in my surroundings.

Every soul would be dearly missed.

The Death has loved us since

we were still alive.

A pain in the chest touched my heart

in agony, for the four foes

that begged for my absence in my present. If the night loses its lamp,

the day will surely reach its day.

Poem 19

Playful predator begs for attention.

Whiny and responsive, he demands

for his creature comforts. Like a fly 

begging for escape through that damn 

window. He demands for any kind of 

stimulation he can get.

 

The thinker indulges the predator’s impulses,

Leading with a great red frown. His finger

Guides him atop wood tables for writing and 

amongst teal plush for lovers to be loving.

 

Appeased, the predator lays beside me,

breathing his slow fiery breaths. 

Recuperating with eyes so bright and 

focused. That the thinker rushes to

Take time to think once more.

Before the predator begs for attention

again.

Perspective

She’s always talking to people,

strangers in the street,

in the shops,

or at the station,

on her runs.

 

She meets them with a smile

and says good morning – every damn time.

A lovely day!

Good day!

Hello!

 

Who does she think she is?