The Poetry Marathon

A monochrome view lies before me
of the month I most dread

Memories attack around every corner, and
I am forced to relive those
most treacherous pains

every year.
Every June.

As I force my way forward, I
try
to allow room for light.

I try to remind myself that there
is joy to be found, even
alongside the sorrow.

I reach out a hand
hoping to grab hold of some
inkling of hope,

to grip one moment
who might combat the pain
which I brace myself against.

Slowly,

infinitely slowly

I am starting to see light

But
in June
the black only hovers at a charcoal grey.

*In memory of David Tipton — June 13,2020

He stands tall above the other…

houseplants…?

Dracaena

A dragon tree, crowned and elegant,
loosing fronds in every direction,
three headed and authoritative.

The tinge of red among the strobe of green growth
catches my eye,
earns my admiration,
directs my contemplation.

I try to reign in that elegance, learn a lesson
from this life I oversee

I have the same power within me,
we all do,
don’t we?

But the same tree I admire,
that which I strive to emulate
is not without his own weaknesses.

A particularly bright day,
or
an extra day gone by without a drink of water,
or
a gnat come to rest in his roots,

and my beautiful tree shows his weaknesses.
A vibrant frond begins to crinkle,
maybe even fall,
and I am reminded—

We have his power,
we share his weakness,
we are all endlessly altering.

I wonder which iteration will show through tomorrow.

Awash in a sense of eerie comfort, I choose not to leave my bed
I’m warm, I’m safe, I have a window of time carved out just for me

I don’t have any responsibilities dragging me into the daylight,
not today

It’s like a safe, dark forest
trees made of blankets,
pleasant breeze born of doggie breath
from my mutt lounging nearby

I am surrounded by only what I know and love
with this moment I could do so much
but productivity isn’t my priority this time

I don’t have big plans, I don’t even have little ones
I just want to rest,
think,
cocoon myself in the covers and refuse to arise

To look in one might think I am broken
Hurt
Lonely

But no,
I relish this moment of peace

Only when society reasserts itself

When I am forced to return to those institutions
which demand my time, will I
be forced to say to myself

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep…”

* Excerpt from Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

When I was 7 years old, my parents took me for swimming lessons.

They were too expensive…

Now water is rising everywhere and I realize,
I’ve floated through life, avoiding the whirlpool—
that unforgiving force of the world around me
the thoughts, actions, utterings of people divided—
because I know I will sink

I’ve hidden for so long, yet
today, the rising tide can’t be avoided anymore
I’m being submerged against my will in
a barrage of hate and division
thrashing in this sea as
the force around me tightens

With every breaking story I feel myself sinking deeper and deeper
into an abyss of political creation

I take one stroke towards freedom,
I think I’m improving, making a difference,
but the current picks up and I see that
I don’t have the power
to fake my way through
an ocean of hate

I’m drowning
and the world around me looks on
too busy spitting into the water to notice
the bubbles rising to the surface

O
O
o
o
.
.

Don’t stop believin’

I did, once
I stopped, I let myself sink
not into a lull, not a momentary lapse
but a period of complete
nothingness
I settled into a life of
long work hours and few excitements
and empty-headed melancholy

I lived in mediocrity for years,
exploring nothing outside of
work, sleep, repeat

until

I was inspired,
rejuvenated, energized once again
I remembered who I once dreamed of being
and
finally
made a plan
to make that ethereal person into a reality

It’s slow, and the fear in the pit of my stomach
is ever-present
some days I don’t think I’ll ever
reach that far off destiny

I shove my way past limitations
because that is the only way I will ever
make a place for myself
doing something I love.

All I have to do
is change my reality
Change myself.

I have already begun,
and I’m nowhere close to finished.

Everything was simpler
when worries consisted of who to
play four square with on the playground

Life was easier, when nights were
spent watching Yugioh in bed, while
munching on fruit snacks

The most complex part of fourth grade
was creating a new dance with
a fleeting “best friend”

Now, I still play games, only electronically
I still watch anime, less frequently
and I only dance with my headphones on
in an otherwise empty room

But life is full.
It’s packed to the brim with responsibilities
and appointments, rarely a moment to spare

but it is also full of
purpose
emotion
potential
and I reach higher every day

What is coming along?
I catch myself thinking that the man
can stop my wonder
I was wrong, but
not confident in my sort

Most of the want
just belongs to money.

I know money.
Once in, you can
swirl the crowd of people,
eyes rapidly searching
for the perfect

I think talent
don’t get far
until you are allowed
luxury

Book: Girl in Pieces by Kathleen Glasgow

A young girl, age seven
maybe eight
ran jovially through rain
splashing in every puddle as she moved

Her mom, trailing behind
smiles for her child, but her eyes betray her.
She is listless.

The world has a way of robbing us
of even the smallest moments.
Stress builds, we find ourselves trapped
underneath the mound, no longer
strong enough to free ourselves,
we succumb, not to the weight of the world,
but the weight of our own worlds
with all of their problems and “little” urgencies.

We are struggling to free ourselves internally,
but our external forms must continue to move
and we go through the motions,
always pretending nothing is wrong
because it is shameful to let someone see us
as weak.

We bury ourselves within and
put on a social mask for our friends,
families, people we love but can’t let in.

And we slowly sink deeper and deeper
drowning in our own charade.

Sleeping next to you
not only feels like home, it feels like
taking my bra off at the end of a long day.

Like starting to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer
for the fourth time.

Like walking back into high school,
almost like I never left.

You feel like stopping back at Grandpa’s house
for a hug from him, and an unwilling one
from his cat, Fritz.

You are my pillow, when I just can’t keep my eyes open,
a step stool, when I can’t reach the top shelf,
a driver, when I don’t want to or can’t

You have been my home for so long that
even memories from before we met
are synonymous with the comfort you bring me

Dear Future Michael,

Starla is trying

Please don’t begrudge her the long hours,
or the overflowing emotions. Those
are why you fell for her in the first place.
A “colorful” girl with a crazy perspective,
no truer partner could she have found,
than you.

She knows you’re tired. She’s tired too.
The pair of you built a life together
pulled straight from the ashes of
your social lives and your time to sleep.
Keep working together. There’s nothing
you do better.

She loves you. As much as the day you met.
Much more, in fact, because
that love grows each day. Every time you
hold her, kiss her, cheer her up
after a bad day,
she remembers what it felt like
to be seventeen and head over heels for
you and only you.

You are an amazing man. You have made her
a happy woman, something she thought
she would never be.
You are loved.
You are SO appreciated.
You are the man of her dreams.

Thank you Mike.