The Poetry Marathon

Hour 15 prompt

WOMAN
A woman is an angel on earth
Shamefully only a very few know her worth
Every woman is a combination of beauty and brains
She can bravely walk through any pain

Every woman is unique in her skills
And she can master any work if she wills
A woman can perfectly balance both office and home
At times she is even more knowledgeable than Google Chrome

A woman can even take up arms
If someone ever tries to harm
She is always trying to protect
Her kith and kin from every problem or insect.

A woman is more valuable than silver and gold,
She is priceless even if she is a century old
A woman is more colourful than a rainbow,
She can light up any house with her glow

BY
SHREYA SURAJ

Hour Nineteen – Of Scottish Summers

Hour Nineteen – Text prompt

Write a poem describing your surroundings as inarticulately as possible but maintaining just a tiny bit of the truth.

 

Of Scottish Summers

If you live in Glasgow

and look out of the window,

You’d see all that is to be,

Shouting out from every tree.

Lush grass from last night’s rain

in contrast to the leaf’s refrain.

Apples ripened, begin to fall,

past their prime, harvested all.

Hedges are already thinning somewhat.

Still bushy and green but not a lot.

Cherry trees that once were pink

have turned to green, they make you think

of the colour splash splendour of Fall.

yellow, orange, red, pink and all.

Imagine the Scottish Gods get drunk

with paintbrushes, they goes all punk

Unreal colours, as far as eyes travel

Neon reds cling to branches, then unravel.

Gentle late summer days are nearing the end,

But hey,

there’s awesome autumn around the bend.

Redaction

I don’t know what I am (redacted word)

some comic (redacted word) this is

Playing with words for some (redacted word)

Unbidden, unseen, unknown.

I am (redacted word).

“Spiked Color Wheel”

Hour Nineteen: Ekphrastic photo response

Ruddy russet and golden field

School colors somewhere

Sky blued to match dolphin’s birthplace.

Can a sky escape from clouds?

Can one come down this single road and leave?

Not till nightfall

and even then, the colors

will vibrate.

9pm. Poem 19. Gramma’s Bedroom (an haiku)

9pm. Poem 19.

Gramma’s Bedroom (an haiku)

Stripes, flowers, stuffed toys
memories of everything
in Gramma’s bedroom.

 

Winter Walk

My boots are thick
But I can still feel
The crunch of frozen water
Snow packing beneath my feet

The cold bites at my nose
Tries to seep into my gloves
My breath a smokey array
Of frozen moisture

White specks begin to fall
Quietly from the sky
Sticking to the ground
Sticking to me

All around me
There is a kind of quiet
One you only find
In the dead of winter

With the silence
Comes a strange kind of peace
Anticipation
For the coming Spring

Chronic

The worst part of all the fuss

is never knowing when the circus comes to play.

The whirling carousel vertigo and warped fun-mirror migraines

post no schedule and schedule no warning

and leave no room for proper function in the ring,

despite the ever-increasing demand for perfect attention.

If I faint before the audience, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

(Hour 19)

I’m a writer

Writing is like a building,

with a roof made up of love

a wall of hatred.

I’m a writer,

I might pinch or punch your ceilings,

Do not describe my words as your feelings,

I have the word you have the feelings.

Not yet old, but still a young lad.

Needn’t praise yet or a windfall,

The Lord hath sent the lofty rainfall.

I was taught how to read not write.

Now that I do both, I own a light

Retrograde

Hour 14 prompt

TIME

A stitch in time, saves nine
Alas time can never be a slave of mine
A low battery can pretend to slow down time
But, even the theorems of Einstein can never stop time.

Make sure to spend time with your friend,
You never know when your friendship might end
Make sure to spend time in your house
Create beautiful memories with your kids and spouse

Spend a lot of time nurturing your hobby,
Before you become old and just idle in the lobby
Utilise every moment of time like a boss
If we waste time, it will only be our loss.

BY
SHREYA SURAJ