April 19, 2011 Poetry Challenge

Today’s prompt is “it grew and then it attacked.”

Bill Riley:

Ninth grade was magic.

“It Grew and Then It Attacked”
loomed above us
like a trial balloon.

That’s what she said.
Yuck yuck yuck.
Freddy was always good for a dick joke.

Maybe it means your ego.
Brad was always in a bad mood.
Dark, cynical, nice shoes.

It implies the death of language.
Jett was the poet of the group.
Sensitive, an A student, all that.

The sidewalk teemed with tee shirts and shins.
It was still hot, late September.

Maybe it means the movie is about to start.
Let’s go in.
I was the bored one.
Pre-grown, empty,
and the weakest one
in the bunch.

Seth Brown:

“Mental Illness”

Is something wrong
with your brain?
Do you find yourself
unable to focus?
Are you always thinking
about the same thing?
Did it start as fleeting thoughts
that you could mostly brush aside?
Has it become
all-consuming?
Should it be easier to get over it
but you just can’t seem to do so?
You may be suffering
from depression
or love.

matt mcfadden:

Ego

In the beginning you had to be strong for both of us.
I never could have kept pushing this boulder up the hill without you,
such a violence of ignorance, the disappointments.
You helped me believe in myself,
my intuition and vision, the quiet power of my love.
You know even better than I what lies at the end of the way,
yet always manage to convince me that the trip is worth taking,
that I am making a difference.
So I get out of bed every day,
ramble toward the cross.

Chris Funkhouser:

A Twinged Knitter Attached

Emily Pulfer-Terino:

Creation Myth

First it was nothing;
soon, though, there was nothing else.

Never was it small; it grew, and then
it attacked. And then there we were,

hurting; so much that we admired it.
We praised the growth and onslaught,

the living, the sudden and enormous pain.

Shappy Seasholtz:

BOG DAMN!

Damn, I love a bog!
Not quite a lake
Note quite a swamp
It’s just right in between
And dangerous as all get out!
I’ve heard tale they’ve dragged entire horse skeletons out of bogs.
Entire Quaker families out of bogs.
Once they discovered an entire museum devoted to bogs inside a bog!

Bogs don’t have to take shit from nobody.
Since the beginning of time the bog has feared no living thing.
Bogs take what they want with no apology.
Bogs have endless appetites.
Bogs live to hear the shrieks of those unfortunate to step inside their soupy
parlor.

Bogs have no desire to become solid, to stand their ground.
Bogs don’t need to hear from other bogs.
Their lives suck as they suck lives.

Bogs are bad ass.