The Poetry Marathon

A touch speaks volumes
more than words
but what if words
are all you have
for they can travel
the distant spaces
between the people
connected

A glance
a blink
a twinkle
in the eye
the soul –
in perfect nudity

Yet hiding
from the sight
of cameras
yet all you have
are frames

The breathing on the line
the mystery of voice
unheard
As letters on the screen
they do not vibrate
yet they can speak
volumes from the heart

I am the air
the wind
the freedom

You cannot hold me
contain me
predict me

You are the earth
steadying, supporting
they’d say grounding
firmly on your feet

I have bits of earth
in me. Resonating
with yours

Just as my breath
rekindles bits
of fire in you

Invisible to others
in our stillness
the waters run deep

This year my marathonning will be complicated by life, but then again, what creative activity ever isn’t?

I’ve become a cliché, a writer who pays the bills with bartending job. That means weekends are most usually all work and no writing. In addition to that, my Saturday shift (a. k. a. the first day of the marathon) falls on my boyfriend’s and mine 5th anniversary. Just before he’s about to move to another country to study.

For the start of the marathon I will be at work, and join in a bit later, afterwards, while simultaneously having celebratory drinks, and continue on the Sunday while having leaving drinks on his going away party. I signed up for the half, but I’m aiming for the full, and even if I fail… I don’t think anyone really fails this, even if I write only 5 poems, I will have succeeded.

And I hope this will give me the kick I need into starting to juggle my life much better than I’m doing it now. Wish me luck.

My year in books
is not yet full
or even close
to a completion

But I have had
a fair share
of different worlds

The moon shone bright
in Metro 2033
and creatures howled
above the ground

A lake of emotions
stirred in me
when reading Tūla
by an author I
have never known before

I didn’t panic
while hitchhiking
through the galaxy,
though that book did not
live up to all its glory
in my eyes

But my ultimate best
this year (so far)
has made me most sad
knowing the author of Nod
cannot write any more
while I am sure
he has talent to spare

The moon shines
through your window
and you know
that today there’s no glory
for your team

You spare a thought
for solo athletes
who also haven’t had
the best of days

But it’s no time
to shed a lake of tears
there is still time
and other rounds

So panic not,
pick up a pen,
and write a poem,
send them luck

This week it’s London.
Something about those old-fashioned buildings,
soothes and calms me down, and I need some relaxation.
I don’t relax much in all those beachy areas
that others find so popular.
No, let me get lost in the city any day.
But it’s the style of the city that really matters.
And this week, it’s old style.
I had New York for a while, but
there’s only so much of it one can take.
I mean, isn’t that the whole point
of this city-a-week upgrade
I bought for my personal VR environment.
I was never the sit-still kind of a guy.
Change is good for the soul.
Wait, why am I telling you this?

You’re amazing!
I know I don’t tell you that often,
if at all, but really, you are!

I don’t do you justice, and I’m sorry.

I tire you out
and not let you rest,
but you just keep going,
and keep me going.

I don’t tend to you on time,
and sometimes I forget to feed you.
But you just wait patiently
for the next meal
and rarely complain.

I don’t give you enough credit,
but you’re strong
in that own unique way.
You’re complex,
and that makes you beautiful.

Every now and again
you impress me.

Thank you, body,
For taking such good care of me.

we live in glass buildings
or so we try to appear
getting naked for the public
not so much physically
but baring our souls
out on facebook and blogs
on tv shows and advice columns
painting our lives
in the colours we choose
but what happens
behind the closed curtain
when viewers are shut out
but the show goes on
as it surely must, yet in private
we pretend that we live
in glass buildings – all windows
but don’t we know
how easily they shatter

Note: between basketball and other sports I didn’t really have time to do this properly, so I just winged it. Looking forward to revisiting the form when I do have the time!

Most importantly, breathe in and out.
Don’t panic, write down a few words,
that’s how you write a poem.
One line, two lines, almost a full stanza.

Don’t panic! Write down a few more words.
Your poem doesn’t have to rhyme.
One line, two lines, you have another stanza!
Repeat.

It really doesn’t have to rhyme.
Important, don’t forget: breathe in and out.
Repeat.
That’s how you write a poem!

She reads a lot.
In buses and in trains,
in bed and on the couch,
while eating and even walking,
at all the times of day and night.

Another – writes, restlessly,
especially at night.
Both prose and poetry, in all their forms.
Prefers the pen, but clicks away
on keyboard, if scribbled notes before.

She cooks.
With pleasure and with skill,
precision and experimentation,
forever looking to improve
on taste and visual perception.

Another – eats,
enjoying every bite,
yet rating it. Expecting nothing
less than perfect of the chef.

She cries,
though not at happy endings,
but at uncertainties, injustices,
at loss of beauty
in the world.

Another – laughs,
at silly little things,
at great achievements
(no, no, out of pleasure!
out of shared happiness)
and at herself.

They’re different,
and there’s so many more
that I dare not all list at once.
Make no mistake,
I know them all,
too well, yet none at all.

They’re all together,
not alone,
within myself,
for they’re all me.