The Poetry Marathon

soft undergrowth pads the forest floor

sunlight, blocked by trees dapples my skin

warming a few inches at a time

an old house sits empty

untouched by human hands

vines creep up and through decaying walls

I have come home

land of freedom

land of opportunity

land of democracy

land of violence

land of oppression

land of authority

he climbs

no destination in mind

the journey, his freedom, his peace

he climbs further still

above the clouds

’til I am dust and he is sky

aching feet, freezing bones

the end of your journey

but the beginning of another’s

Battered walls and empty promises

We told them we’d done all we could

The trials we gave the world

Were nothing compared to

Our lies said smiling

Of protection

Keep us safe

Our lives

safe

sweet corn in the summer

I never liked it much

thought it was too hot on warm night

the canned stuff too wet and bland

but the cobs too hard to eat as a kid

but years later I understand

family sitting around the table eating cob after cob

enjoying the moment and the company

a summer tradition

Ah now, that same old song and dance

wrapping yourself up in the mess of choices and emotions

You can feel them struggling can’t you

Blurring together until nothing is left

until your heart is empty

and your stomach is tied up in so many knots you can’t tell if it’s from the food

or the hitch in your voice during last week’s phone call

A few deep breaths may help

detangle

sort them into neat boxes

that can be pulled from at a moment’s notice

until next time

Steel and glass tower over rising seas

Battered glass shakes with each crashing wave

Wave upon wave threatened to break through the transparent barrier

A fish, barely the size of a blade of grass, rides the current, closer and closer to the final pane

All too calmly the glass cracked, then shattered into shards, invisible in the water

The little fish continues on its way, making its new home within the steel tower

Young boy untold power

A good man, mentor, liar

Inspire in kindness

It was my own hubris.

I preferred to be alone,

introverted, awkward,

But it’s a pitfall.

A year, two years?

Its hard to keep count

when every day feels the same.

When I reminisce, will I remember my prior self?

The self that was empty and broken, so focused on the past

Maybe after all this, it’s for the best to forget

and look forward to the me that still is