The Poetry Marathon

He is every spoken word and every belief that he said he was against. A monster consumed with what can be bought, consumed with what shines in the light and is unseen and unheard of in the dark. He is everything I’ve loved and everything I now despise. No recollection of responsibility or meaning or means other than self-indulgence runs through his veins. He is cold, he is here and he is my biggest fear and regret, my purpose and my need all at the same time. He will never know what my words mean, how I cry out of fear of walking away to live happily without him. He will never know what it means, what anything meant. He will never know how I felt, how I feel, why I fight, why I cry…. He will never know because it can’t be bought. There is no price on my thoughts, no bartering on my heart and no trade on my feelings. He will never know whether I am here or I am gone.

Could you give a moment, lend a hand, offer your ear or be a friend

Would you dare to try, talk and cry, sit and laugh, be a reason why

Should you leave it alone, give it a home, push it aside, find a reason to condone

How do you find purpose, make someone feel they don’t deserve this, help them not feel worthless, help one live and succeed

How do you know it’s not he, she or me?

“Do you want to go outside?” A whimper I get.

His eyes are wondering, he is starting to fret.

We leap to the door to explore what’s outside,

he is lifting his leg marking with pride.

He runs right bedside me,

this friend of mine.

In his heart I’m his and in my heart he’s mine.

How tamed she was

to find the beauty in her struggle

She is fierce. An idol of memoirs that only few will truly understand

I hit a wall…

Blocked

Persuaded

Jaded

My words are faded my and my thoughts are cloudy

This salad is pretty good

It is a sunny day and my son doesn’t want to play

A nice day to ride on two wheels or escape

Is karma real?

What’s my fate?

The T.V. is really loud

I see lots of bees buzzing around

I am anxious and I am bored

I want something more than the life I have

I’m not sure what to wear tonight

Was my timing right? There goes my thoughts wandering where they shouldn’t be

I love him and he loves me.

I miss my sisters and brothers and I wish we liked each other

What does that bird have in his mouth?

Has the butterfly cocooned?

This chair is now uncomfortable and I need to move

I have a bad habit that I need to quit

I’ve given up more than I’ve had so that you had it too

Man! I hated being broke

This is my poem, this is my mind, try  not to stumble

until next time….

We need to stop placing the blame, it is all right to be ashamed; it creates change.
We need to accept what has happened, it has already occurred and you can do nothing more.
We need to be who we are and not what we see, it differentiates us between them, him, her and me.

We need to ask questions and continue to grow, if you stop needing how would you learn what you don’t know

We need much more than we know that we do so keep searching, keep trying. After all, someone needs something from you.

She walks slowly anticipating the breeze. As she approaches the sand she bends over anxiously and pulls off her sandals… Ah, there it is! The wind catches her hair and twirls it toward her face. She uses the small open spots between her twirling hair to watch where she is going as she digs her feet into the sand. Her feet burn at first touch but as she digs deep enough when she walks she feels the cool sand glide between her toes; the part of the earth that doesn’t touch the sun much but is always there for comfort. All of the good spots are taken so she puts her hand against her forehead as to salute the sky and she watches the seagulls flock in a circle, squawking and dipping toward the water and again to the sky. The bag she is carrying begins to make its way down her shoulder toward her forearm as if to say “This spot is fine” so there she posts. She pulls out the towel and lets it ruffle in the wind before settling it on to the golden sand. She sits on her aged but favorite beach towel. Listening to the waves as she closes her eyes and lets the rumbling water take her to her daydreams. Hair still twirling, towel still ruffling in spots unoccupied, she is happy.

Waiting … we are always waiting, watching and tracking the time

The time is passing and we are steady, unsure of what’s next until the time comes or until we find our day in our thoughts and within our desires

Until we find a reason not to watch the time… we are still

Wasting time, waiting for the right time, wishing for the right time but time does not care … Tick, Tock

We are older now … time will be the same tomorrow but we will change with every choice we make today

Time has not answer, reason or rhythm but it is always there reminding us what we have wasted, what we have spent and what we have left

It took her awhile…

She could now enjoy the solemn draped dew, the time spent with you and appreciate the birds chirping askew

She can catch the sun rise and watch as they rub their rested, still sleepy eyes

She is awake and sober instead of feeling worthless and hung-over

I watch her as she sits in the morning and I know… it took her awhile

She burned like a candle
he watched her flicker a bit as she lit the way
and he decided
he would rather stumble in the dark without her
than need her
so he blew her out and she faded