The Poetry Marathon

Foot puddles

Hands in beads

The tiny tufts at the back

Of my brothers relieved hair cut needs

Chickadees

Learning to cope at a young age

Gives fuel for freedom now

Then it felt like waiting

Did not know I was preparing or how

These simple pleasures

Would grow to being who I am

Writing 24 poems in three hours

Someone hit un-pause on me

Praise God for restoration

For diligence and peace

And for the fruits of the Spirit

Which now law appears to be

Little chickadees

Morning coffee

Biking into the sunrise

Blank blink blinded bent

Compared controls compassion can’t

Determine direction dire days

Entrances exits envelope ends

Firing focus final find

God gives good

However held

And anyway, arranges all

She was a horrible driver

Taking her cues only from the other cars

A clear street

She drove 80 and if there was a car

She would slow to about four below

The speed limit

If there was a lot of traffic she would pull to the side of the road

And just wait patiently for the other cars to flow

Past her going to their places

She would wait and call them

Distract them from their driving

Nobody ever told her she needed to get home

No it wasn’t the reason for her driving

She hadn’t been really given a reason for her driving

Or she had, and just hadn’t known

Making way for other drivers is the worst way to get from point A

To point B

Her driving and her direction are her own responsibility

And making up for lost time by pounding the wheel and laying on the gas

Was horrible for her interior and transmission

Driving with precision begins in choosing the destination

Pulling over is necessary for detailing and engine checking

You don’t need to call your friends when you are free to leave the car

Free to leave the car

Free to leave the car

Cream and black star bag: check

She handed it to me and then just left

A sweet sister who knows the freedom of living

Very easy to not take into account how full every moment is
While also taking into account how little you need to do

Wait upon the Lord and He will renew Your strength

Is not a handicapping

It is a call to patience

Something in the western world of instant gratification

Is mind boggling

We do everything faster as an improvement

Faster does not always equate an improvement

Brevity does, perhaps the timing of a moment

But the moment in the timing deserves to be still

Peace – I use this cream and black star bag now for everything

Peace settles early

A true blanket which covers everything

Even after vividly dreaming

Why always the dreaming

In color and with full body purpose

My heart and my mind go to sleep from this place

And I wake up in my dreams

Crossing over in my waking life are their memories

I have access to two different realities

The same input data but a much different take

On who and what my role is in this place

A habit I imagine formed from childhood

Funny how God shapes you

Into something no one else can be

Taking that which would have taken you out

And turning it into the answer to “consecrate me”

How, at so young

Who gave me the desire for perfection

Not the veneer

The real desire to exist with the Holy

I failed year after year after year

And these memories, the waking life just twisted

Is another pattern to follow

Expressing hidden emotions

And so, my subconscious forms new memories

I have access to in my waking life

No where to run and no where to hide

I feel all my filth

And know I feel all my hope

And I know I am not alone

And I know peace settles early

God is gracious

And His mercies are new every morning

It exists only in a shop in West Texas

(I changed the location to protect the innocent)

(I won’t change much else)

Knowing the item for purchase would bring little value to my life

As I stand in the gift shop

With some girl whose family I feel closer to

Than her

Even then, an understanding that belonging does not mean becoming

My hand catches an hourglass

Beautiful sand poured

Multiple colors racing towards

A tiny juncture

Which aligns the grains

No holes in this glass

And what of the sand

How can you count on something if you do not know the number

Pouring constantly, pouring without any doubt

The sand will always be there

Nobody panics inside of an hourglass

(Nobody lives inside of an hourglass)

Best to just settle and then pour out

Constantly flipping

Constantly flipped

Over to keep track of someone else’s existence

I came because I was invited

By the family

I stand here holding, knowing,

I can’t really buy anything

This is not my home

I do not really know these people

And so I will continue

Racing toward the tiny juncture

Finding and settling in rest when it is time

Pouring and pouring

They bought me a gift

Smells like rubber

And sweat

Barely able to lift my head

I did this to myself

Deep breathings again

Knowing I am sent

And it is much easier when the house has burned down

Smells like fresh grass

And tea

Not a memory

Someplace outside of myself

Nose breathing

Knowing I am sent

And the burning house is far from now

Smells like hope

And the freedom

Both internal

Fueling myself

Whole body breathing

Going only fulfills being sent

The burning house now a forest playground

“Excuse me Ma’am may I get you a drink”

Her face young or was it the same, as mine?

Where were we?

Trapped in a metal box seeming to go somewhere

Clouds and land the size of pins

We’re flying

“Ma’am?”

“Coffee, please – and black” I jumble out

Taking in my surroundings

Coffee helps

No one else on this plane

How long have I been out?

I do not remember purchasing this flight.

Coffee helps

And the lady seemed to look just like me, twenty?

I do not remember much of anything

There was not much really to remember

What belongings did I bring?

Did I pack anything?

Surely I must have left some of the memories alone

To be dead and destructive for, no one else’s home

Perhaps it is I, no belongings, only carrying me

But then again waking up to reality

At thirty I can surely say I wasn’t driving this ship

Flying this plane

I’ve truly no idea how I got to this place

A miracle would be too hard to reach

Mentally, for some people

But it itself is an explanation when the first thought I have

After waking up in the middle of being here

At least, somewhere on this Earth

Is having an answer prepared for anyone who should ask

Old habits die hard it is best to simply repurpose the intent of them

I know coffee helps.  I know i’m alive and well, God is good and must be piloting.

I slept – pulled into a deep embrace of my own making

Pulled into the warmth of the cove of recycling

Air for another day.

Recovery from all the womb

Thought it had to offer

And yet, I still hope in waking

Higher than being and yet still sober

Complete peace in the face of insanity

A living dichotomy

Wrapped inside the mystery of a double edged sword

Who holds the keys to darkness if they are holding the keys

The keys, holding them, and a sense of neutrality has them seized

No, death and death are not capable of owning each other

And believing in myself to rise above myself

Is a logic puzzle of a whole other

Please.  As if I was truly capable of anything

When since the day I was born I was breast-feeding

Not even capable of choosing my own food

Please.  Believe in myself.  Ridiculous

Because it is the brains who are full of non self which achieve the most

Nothing metaphysical just a practical arrangement of space

Just as absence of feeling is the opposite of love

Not paying attention to self is not self destruction

Or a lack of self care

There are those who rightfully choose

To not, believe in themselves, but rather in the power of God

And the weaknesses I have do not drum themselves up

For they can’t, just as metaphors are never made in and out of themselves

I make them to make the poetry make sense

Obviously. But I don’t believe in myself.  No, I believe in Jesus- in God and know that is the only reason I can sing

Sing 15 poems and jump into a marathon already running.

Even evolutionists can recognize that evolutionary advances only adapted over time based on external conditions

Survival of the fittest

And yet when faced with the external conditions of eternity, human depravity, and the inadequacy of savings oneself – very rare to find a fit

Humanity actually thinks it is surviving.