The Poetry Marathon

Prompt

“This too shall pass,” 

Time moves on, as
it is a matter of time-
movement makes changes
in weather growth and body
life was slow life was less
life became fast life was more

Man left Paradise
life was ease
life was at peace
but man;s nature
made the change
it all passed from plain to pain
that time passed when homes were caves
man was wild, men were slaves

that time passed and people grew
old died and up came new
this too shall pass-
life will begin afresh pure, peaceful
as the Almighty  is Gracious and Merciful

Mini-me trying hard.

I need this love.

Creator of this unique being of the world.

I know you and you know me.

Be you in all your glory.

how we talk to the stars

live in the memories of our cells

what will they think of the eyes watching

when they want to join us?

r. l. elke

So, my twins live in this nice big tank
here in the kitchen.
Johnny and Suzi.
This is where everythin
that’s anythin happens.

They’re happiest
right here in the kitchen
in their tank.

When we brought ’em home
after they’s born
all they did was cry and cry
and scream and cry

except for bathtime.

They’d scoot their little heads
under the water’n
blow bubbles’n giggle giggles
so we thought
why not put’em in the tank?

They come up for cuddles and loves
and food and singing songs’n such.

S’bout it.

They sure are sweethearts now
ain’t they?

I am content 

To parallel play 

With you 

As we wind words 

The same way 

We once made mud pies

I am content 

To see what 

The mind

So much like mine 

And so much your own

Makes of the same material 

I am content 

To find your voice 

Echoed in my poems 

And

Mine mirrored in yours

I am content 

With any life 

Where I get to write 

Poetry 

With 

You 

–For Lily 

Her Poker Face

Dyer-Bolique drags the pickled remains to the alter,
And carves the marinaded meat,
Without hesitation, without consideration,
Frozen in the realms of a psychopath.

Observing, an internal alarm creeps over my mind,
Tarnished by his researched request,
So alike in thought and deed that he anticipated my every move,
And forced the Blackjack into my shaking palm.

Tender slices fall from nostalgia’s thundery storm,
Bagged and stored in ice, as the remains catch fire,
Fuel and food, such hollow words from my own being.
Dyer-Bolique in name, diabolique in nature.

Our abode heats up furiously, fueled by his anhedonia,
Trapped like a rabbit forced between the headlights,
I acquiesce in deed, though my mind cries from its depths.
The call is made, my brother comes.

Jon, the younger cherub, in youth under my protection,
Unable to envisage any harm upon him, his big sister.
I see the child engaging me through adult eyes, pleased.
Small talk persists as HE looks on, growing ever impatient.

At length, caught in my own trap, I lead him into the abyss,
The sickle awaits, lurching on the shelves, just as Dyer-Bolique planned.

Mind’s eye opens to the image of his demise,
A slit to the throat, gaping wound,
His head tips back, cries stifled,
Blood pours relentlessly,
Guilt enshrouds.

Mind’s eye opens to the image of his demise,
The child, not the man, adoring,
Unable to comprehend,
Unaware of my ego,
Guilt enshrouds.

Dyer-Bolique redirects my dear brother, quick decoy,
And surreptitiously forces the sickle in my hand.
Dyer-Bolique smirks with utmost cruelty,
Aroused by owning the winning hand.

Ice flows through my veins, and steams,
Conflict causes a quivering,
Sickle drops,
He wins.

Looking at the pine tree

Its fragrance spicy and fresh

Wafting its aroma

Of a freshly chopped tree

The Gulmohar

With broad evergreen leaves

Flowers a bright red

Of blood leaking from it’s veins

The Banyan, wise and proud

With roots cutting and melding

Through soil and stone and rain

Now a bare stump of wriggling snakes

Those forests, rich and vibrant

Flowers of every smell and taste

Leaves all sweet and dewy

Now wasting like decay and slit lives

You ask What is War and Why do we have it?

Some will say for Honor, Glory, Duty, Loyalty, Integrity.

But I will say for boots, uniforms, glasses, helmets, food, tents, computers, software, jeeps, trucks, ships, planes, bullets, guns, bombs, and drones.

War is Big Business and Big Money and always ends with someone saying, “Thank you for your service.”

But where is the Honor, Glory, Duty, Loyalty, Integrity in Big Business and Big Money that makes War?

Now you ask me why do we have War?

I say to you just reread what is written above.

Lily 

To be content

At its root

To be contained

And yet

I have never felt more free

And in that freedom I

Am utterly content

I have two happy little boys

Who keep me wild and free

They lead me into forests

For the toadstools to see.

One is thin and grubby

His hair black and slick

The other is all smiles

Though he looks like a stick.

They love the little kittens

They wrap them in their arms

And whisper to me to keep them

Safe from all harm.

They point out the stars

We count them one by one

They climb upon my lap

When my day is done.

So if you find me chattering

For all the world to see

Know that I’m not going bonkers

My boys are playing with me!