The Poetry Marathon

I have succeeded
in changing my thoughts, but not
in changing my mind.

(13 August 2016)

I hate all the thoughts that keep me awake
because my mind refuses to relax
taking my body along for the ride
long after I have closed my eyes

Because my mind refuses to relax
I toss and turn and worry and fret
and strain at the yoke
Is it morning yet?

I toss and turn and worry and fret
over more and more of the same
Is it morning yet?
I’m so tired…

Over more and more of the same
lands a layer of dreams that make no sense
I’m so tired…
Can’t they tell me something I can understand?

Layers of dreams that make no sense
build and build until I’m afraid of sleep
Can’t they tell me something I can understand?
2 a.m. is no time to be solving puzzles

that build and build until I’m afraid of sleep
I hate all the thoughts that keep me awake
2 a.m. is no time to be solving puzzles
because my mind refuses to relax

(13 August 2016)

A sign of hope for a fresh start

An indication of just how far
I’ve fallen

A little suggestion
intended to be helpful

The bottom of the barrel
well and truly scraped

A sidewalk discovery
outside the café

A small investment
in an uncertain future

A reminder
that I need more

(13 August 2016)

Bringing in this one at the last minute…

The illegible text
tricks those who aren’t paying attention
distracting them from the secret messages
hidden in plain sight
on the other side of the spread
where truths burst forth from the page
disguised as poetry

Those fixated on the decoration
know who they are

They do not know
they are missing something

(13 August 2016)

The green fields I see out the window
always remind me of earlier travels
It doesn’t matter that I have not seen them before
I think the color is enough to spark the memory

Farmlands punctuated by electrical towers
always let me know where I am on the journey
The buildings all look the same
it is the spaces between that matter

I see a small truck going the opposite way on the side road
and wonder where the driver is going
The train probably doesn’t even register in his thoughts
he’s got places to be

It’s that last familiar landmark
that always reminds me I’m almost there
I can breathe easier now
but with that slight twinge of anticipation

I think about who will meet me when I arrive
seems it’s always been too long since I was last there
It will be too soon that I have to leave
I remind myself that I can always go back

(13 August 2016)

For hour four, I applied the prompt to a poem I had already started a few minutes before. First, the finished poem:

The dream is always the same

Who told bigger lies?
I know, it wasn’t a contest
but I’m always looking for that edge
You may have been better at it
but I made up the difference with sheer quantity
Our self-delusions reached deep into the core
planting the seeds that churned up the earth
as they grew into the monster that devoured us
and left us for dead
We pretended to be the walking wounded
but the truth had other ideas
We buried the corpses and moved on

Here is the poem with all twenty lines, with strikethrough applied to the lines I removed.

Who told bigger lies?
I know, it wasn’t a contest
but I’m always looking for that edge
I think it was a toss-up
You lied to yourself
I lied to myself
You may have been better at it
but I made up the difference with sheer quantity
Our self-delusions reached deep into the core
planting the seeds that churned up the earth
as they grew into the monster that devoured us
eating far too quickly, ignoring its mother’s warnings
threw us up
just like mother said it would
(always listen to your mother)
and left us for dead
We pretended to be the walking wounded
hoping someone would take pity on us
but the truth had other ideas
We buried the corpses and moved on

(13 August 2016)

There is no profound
in a three-minute pop song
unless it is playing when everything goes wrong

Nothing makes memories
quite like emotion
the music is but illustration
it’s just that the words hit you in the same place
as your feelings

The catalogue may build over time
but how can you carry all that around?

Eventually, you have to let go
let the songs fade away
leave the room

The reminders will still be there
but they’ll come back
only when you want them to

(13 August 2016)

Nostalgia can be such a beautiful waste of time
when you think back on the small, unimportant things

Past glories fade
into nothingness

Past defeats still sting
though perhaps not as much

The ritual of buying a can of coffee
from the vending machine
on the walk to the train station
is a memory that will never leave

If anything
the coffee will taste even better
as time goes on

(13 August 2016)

You will step out onto the platform
into the humid embrace
of the summer afternoon

You will melt
as you melt into the crowd
of which you are a part

but from which you are completely apart

The streets of Shibuya
will suck you out of the station
and into the open air

Tokyo will scream at you
right to your face

You will smile
though you know she does not love you
she is always there for you

(13 August 2016)

Greetings and Salutations! I have signed up for the insanity that is The Poetry Marathon (okay, half the insanity, since I’m planning to do the 12-hour version); this is my introduction.
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