The Poetry Marathon

The Celestial Kiss

planets collide

hearts

yours and mine

There’s a million ways to say goodbye

A belt buckle embossed with a flower and vines,

large at the center, spindling out into nothingness

M&Ms with our faces stamped on them, colors

brightened by our smiles and doting wide eyes

A diamond cross necklace shining bright in the light,

another with engraved hearts glowing as one

A luggage tag that says With Love From Chicago,

paired with hope that reaches down to Nashville

A Slice of Life

A knock on my door: Pizza Boy.

Handing me a cheese, he looked down,

Nice jacket. I winked and scrawled

my number on his hand, he held

it to his heart, smiled. I’ll see you

around. I closed the door, not wanting

another tug at my heart. But

it was too late. I let him inside

even when I didn’t want to.

Belt Buckle

Shine and see your reflection in the bronze,

flower swirling across your nose as you blink

away the grime in you. Christmas is here.

Valentines alone, but you promised you’d stay.

Words left to linger on empty air, waves

float unheard in your ears: I’ll always love you.

Hope

Two lines faint and pink

Butterfly kick in the womb

A rush of water

The Wood Worker

Blue model car, wheels greased and sides shaved

Triangle peg board, one peg missing so they can hop

Napkin holder with flag on top, unpainted

Rose, petals delicate and round, bright red

Ball inside a square, holes in sides to see, no finish

Outdoor bench, splintering with years and rain

Little gnome family, all kept in the garden, even after you left

creativity

embryo waiting,

writing: a life to be born,

who is the jury?

Old Fashioned

I’m still here, I’m just listening.

To what?

To you.

Why?

Because I like to. I’m writing down what you say.

In a notebook or typing it out?

Typing.

I’m just not going to say anything.

Why not?

If you were writing in a notebook I would.

Keep talking.

Running

Running seems the thing to do

if there’s ever a wrong. Tag,

you’re it! Run away. Honey,

we’re out of milk. Run to store.

Pop fly! Run around the bases

before you’re caught. Feeling

sluggish? Go for a run. The water’s

cold! Run the tap a few minutes.

I missed the bus! Running late.

Don’t legs get tired of running?

The Burning Bush

But what good is God is He stays away, hidden

under words and signs, unperceived. Shouldn’t He be

right at our nose, holding our hand, walking beside?

Not a whisper in the willows, a light on a hill,

ice melting before our eyes. How can you capture

nothing? That’s when we fall. Unable to hear, we

go away. We wait for things to change, to know

before we leap. But we can only stop so long

until we must move. And we do, right or wrong. Feet

step down their path, hoping. We follow our voice.

How different life would be if He wasn’t fire in a tree.