Debate Rounds (5)
NOTE: ANY COPYRIGHTED POEMS ARE NOT ALLOWED.
Many thanks to my opponent for this debate. I truly love the idea of a poem battle! I accept gladly.
I ran around the neighborhood,
I ran as fast as I could.
The air was quiet, not a sound.
Then I tripped and fell on the ground.
My face suddenly twisted with agony,
But there was no one near, but me.
I staggered all the way to home,
Luckily, there, I was not alone.
Laying on my bed, my mother started to mend,
I finally decided not to run again.
I'm on the road again
with the other cars. We glide down
the lanes with sudden stops,
listening to Morning Edition and slipping
into a news coma for twenty miles
to work. It's sunny out, but we can't tell.
We're shielded by our to-do list,
burning noiselessly like bad wallpaper.
I turn the volume up.
On saturday mornings, I'm the first one up.
I put the kettle on and prepare
a cup, a teaspoon, instant coffee, and sugar.
In a row I set down each item, an assembly line
of breakfast. The toaster is pulled from the shelf
and above my sink, my garden answers my yawn
through the window in round dew drops and stiff petals.
It's early enough that the harmonics
of the boiling pot cut silently through the house.
A red-shouldered hawk's gaze is said to be
five times better than a human's.
Above the highway, she scans
for rats traveling along the cement
gutters once warm and woody rivulets
of Florida pine.
She swoops down for a jitter,
ignoring the conveyor belt of human cargo.
All Around Me
No voices, just the quiet wind
In plain darkness, no happiness
Emotions fill the air
I lift up my arms
Hoping for rescue
A tear slides down my cheek
I put down my arms, hopeless
Then, I feel a power
Power too strong to resist
I jump up and fly
Fly away from the darkness
toes in the sand,
they just don't understand
swimming now, arm over arm
in storm-tossed waves
the silk of the past
etched in the sky were
the clouds looking down
the silent depth of her breath
later that day, looking
through the windowpane
we saw the sound of traffic
on an empty street
the white sky felt
like a voiced breeze
brushing between our toes
exposed on a plastic beach
it was the same, I think
when I saw us together
in a crowd of familiar faces and a war broke out,
homes were destroyed
two nations, staring into blood-filled trenches
which from an aerial view map out into the veins and arteries leading to my heart
only to return
she remembers that she
has forgotten, her words
singing and weeping
all the same
as her mind reclines
Tails flicking nowhere
Bodies drifting with ocean
Head alert for food
You sound like my scribbling.
I want some food too.
Best man win
A lot of facts and details
The voters vote who wins
Everyone is eager to win
I've been dreaming,
dreaming in a high, deep pool
where poetic lines swirl between the spiraling
abyss of existence
caught in mid-flight, I've been dreaming of desires
diving from a land afloat on the fleeting
horizon of blood, sweat, and tears for years to come,
I've been dreaming
of a land far in time, and I'm afraid these
will never reach
as in the beginning when people first began to contemplate
eternity, few felt such a thing was even possible.
I've been dreaming of the footprints
made by time
and the depths of innumerable and unthinkable dreams
of an hourglass trapped for a moment in the hiccups of time,
an unending dream of
but not a clock in sight.
I've been dreaming of awaking
in awe amidst
the sound of drops
encasing my existence in a frozen
But in this prison of ice that
numbs and desensitizes,
without a drop to drink, still
time ticks on.
I've been dreaming
of casting light
on the environment
while performatively pointing
to its limits
dreaming, again, that question:
If time stood still, who would be afraid?
The hunter or his prey?
I've been dreaming of living in the possibilities of language,
where words are keys, sentences locks, paragraphs the hallways that intertwine
forming matrices containing the infinite. But I
stumble around, see no door, no hall. Do I cease
I've been dreaming of social interactions
the Sisyphean "mental
masturbation" of everyday conversations
with friends, a farrago of deconstructive lines
not an infinite deferral but a zero sum game.
I've been dreaming the ebb and flow
of cycles edified by a mirage
of existence, the numerological and astrological movements
of our heavenly spheres
encased in a dome: the dark
sky from which we cannot escape.
caught in a high, mid-flight
where the boundaries of limitless lines sound the end
—dreaming of inverse combinations in verse—the pauses
of a dash burning towards a final
eschatological shock, the end of a climactic caesura. I've dreamed
the dream before. And I'm afraid these words will
never reach it.
1 votes has been placed for this debate.
Vote Placed by 1dustpelt 4 years ago
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Reasons for voting decision: Better poem.
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