The Poetry Marathon

after Bob Ross

little Prussian blue sky
striped with clouds descending
a woods coming to life on the canvas
reflected in the water, trees
forest floor where the crawlers dwell
there is serenity in the midnight black
of the water and I wonder, when will
the cabin appear? It always does.

after Robert Frost

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
With branches arching across the divide
In the road like spandrels of a cathedral
Their tips touching in a loving embrace.

Who is to know where this one leads?
Down the trodden path I do regard
My luck in finding such peace of mind
In which I can define myself in time.

You are something I am learning to remember,

my body pressed up against yours in a stream,

water gliding over our bare bodies. In your arms,

I am looking up into the canopy of hemlock

and white pine, the whinny of the woodpecker

nearby. With you, there is room to grow into

something that I am learning to remember,

the current washing over us into the unknown.

Hello everyone! My name is Beck Anson (he/they) and I am excited to be sharing in this spectacular event with you all. 😊