The Poetry Marathon

Tax Day

once a year

their taxes are due

they come to me

receipts all askew

forms galore

they’re not sure

can I claim this

how about that

no sir, you cannot claim

your cat

aren’t’ my crumb crunchers

worth a bit more

please, help me tax lady

I’m paycheck poor

the path

the path

she ponders

glimmering before her

she must step through the shadows

of doubt

clutching her fear

glimpsing, on what

could be

words on poetry

Hope ~ an Acrostic 

what a lovely 

four letter word

Heavenly sounding

Oaths, from above

Prayers, going up

Extracurricular activity

“Spacey Stanzas”

I’m not of this place

I haul from different times

shifting, dimensional space

where we all use rhymes

in a word race

In a world 

all our own

we poets of the night

sharing stories, secrets

community through verse

That’s Amore ~ a Dean Martin Devotional

the song~ plays in my head

when my marathon mother

prompted pizza pie

a big ol’ slice

right in the eye

cheesy, right?

I think of her

grateful for her light

Me, her selenophile

sat and sang with her tonight

now longing, to rest

my word weary head

Night of Ninettes

run

these words

pages filled

in her journal

another night, up

engrossed in words

forming still

three more

run

Night of Ninettes II

hours

once many

obstacles

tending time, we

Poets of the night

as we write

over

hours

Rituals

I count my days ~

free from one

of lifes

worst addictions

documenting each day lived

through pictures and words

handmade

I will always 

be an addict

I just choose

other outlets

I count my steps

as my consistency

reminds me of how far

I’ve come

I count my words

prompting, planting

propagating, and perpetuating

making them multiply

“Tall Tales”

burning light

from crystal skulls

the Poetess, picks up

her quill

words, trickle

from muses

cards chosen

through messages

clarities revealed

compliments given

her eyes well

talent they claim

beautifully interesting

“Don’t You Know Me”

what will  remembered

of me

will there be moments

where my spirit 

will be called

a generation, maybe two

living

the rest is ancestry

our souls, when they return

will they still choose

to know me

my words, will they

live for eternity?

Kaleidoscope of Feelings

My mood

turns

new edges

shapes and colors

suddenly appear

twist me ~ again

patterns fill up

more space

wind me ~ up some more

are you willing

to explore

a full gyration

pieces fall back

into place