Araneae (Hour 9)

You move like a typing hand
that’s been removed from its appendage.
Each crafting leg steps
with the delicate dexterity of walking fingertips.
I imagine you along my spine,
cresting upon my distracted shoulder;
and without looking to find her,
I could mistake you for my lover’s touch,
for I am easily deceived by the webs you spin.

It is your predaceous composure that I admire most.
Laying traps that serve you well,
you do not mind the wait.
Patience suits you.

Connections are drawn by your filaments spun,
And throughout the treetops your tapestries are strung,
Collecting dewdrops that capture the sun,
Nature’s mandalas waiting for the insects to come.*

*Apologies for not resisting the rhyme 🙂

With Banners of Black and Red (Hour 8)

The original line of inspiration is “Fire! Revenge! Death to Kings! Life to the new world of the heart’s dreaming!” from On the North Sea Part II, by Edward Abbey.

Atop the hills they stood like beacons warning of an approaching fire,
All across the battlefield the hopeless youth sung songs of revenge:

“To victory, for glory, for honor, to make suffer the oppressors, we do not fear death!
We charge thy guiding hand with irreparable avarice and sentence you to
the abysmal history of impotent Kings.”

Come sing the songs of a dawning generation refusing to surrender its right to life!
Join hands with the martyrs of revolutionary definition, and make a stand with the righteous to
declare this enduring resistance as the
End of old world antiquity, set to kill impossible delusions of golden age fantasy with new
hearts and blood and dreams upcoming, with worth and passion to reshape our world
by our design, for our time, for the imperishable longing of
our chance to seize the day, for our chance to lead the
future by tomorrow’s heart’s
bleeding! Revolting! Triumphant and dreaming!

With the Inside Where the Outside Should Be (Hour 7)

Dissolve your heart’s intentions with the cruel ramblings of brave love.
No one else will know its glory, but everyone will fall in its wake.

Standing bold enough to erase the face of a watching god,
I declare a black out upon the Sun!
For I am the fleeing nightmare of the fields on fire,
And I’ve come to bring a message from the dead.

Grave destinations immersed in emotions,
bleed the life from your aching soul,
hide beneath the penance of hunger,
a name for this torment, is yet to be spoke.

Behold a hollow monument of all my failing inventions.
I am a cemetery of ill-fated dreams.
Where love had dared to know my sin.

I rest my weary thoughts upon her cold breast,
and the life I seek has been drained of all its energy
The greatest confusion of all is staring right back into me,
still trying to hold onto a moment that has already passed me.

Upon the moment of recognition,
when I was realizing the value of my own worth,
I began to buckle under the weight of who I had been.

Break down the door to misery inviting,
further into the fall of mankind’s dormant city life,
I have come to know these empty ruins well,
I have found a way back into the light.

An Arthropod’s Frame of Reference (Hour 6)

Taking a chance at knowing the world through a blanketing reassurance.
Searching for the moment when I can honestly believe I have succeeded.

Sweet insect crawling across the windows pane,
Bursting steps upon a transparent world.
Too small to recognize your own reflection,
Too miniscule to appreciate the view captured through this frame.
Cold, glass surface, continues.

To understand the intricate parts of this living portrait,
Each factor an accomplishment
set out to be known by the years of attempts that came before.
Smiling eyed little wonders,
Fair faced beauty with a gentle hand.
Verdant landscapes outside every window,
A room for every person,
And a table for us to share.

This is the view I am too small to see.
For every pity filled whimper locks my eyes
into the view of the few feet of ground lying in front of me.

Hemophiliac (Hour 5)

Many a meditation spent in contemplation upon your palm.
Returning year after year, grown a little older, a little wiser, a little stronger.
Bringing back to you new triumphs, experiments with danger,
And permanent sorrows of the heart.

All the while my formative mind yearning for answers,
brimming with a curiosity about the future,
still believing in naïve ideas of destiny,
and trying to foresee any untold plans you had for me.

And the breeze from the lake would whisper through the cedar trees,
The cold familiar aroma of earth would collect upon my tongue,
And I would add its strength to my heart, to forever carry into the unknown.

It wasn’t until I grew much older that I realized no one was watching.
In all these years it had only been me listening, only me speaking.
Only me driving my fears and worries deep into the stone upon which I rested,
Bleeding my want for purpose into pools at my feet
And leaving it to soak into the soil beneath me.

To Reopen a Wound (Hour 4)

So often does he never mean to play the fool,
But he can only build what will come from such simple hands.
And his failure is found often, and too often found cruel,
For it is only in this pattern that he finally understands.

Pursued by a desperate, predatory ache,
He seeks escape in the adventure of countless foreign lands.
Running from a truth he is too afraid to forsake,
For it is only in this pattern that he finally understands.

Denied any rest by the imprints of his memory,
His tired mind struggles to carry out his plans.
And in his most desperate hour she hears his soliloquy,
For it is only in this pattern that he finally understands.

Like a voice from the past, come calling does Death,
Holding a clock that’s ceased ticking and speaking hollow commands.
And so he succumbs to the Void his last breath,
For it is only in this pattern that he finally understands.

Dancing Shadow (Hour 3)

The silhouette of my soul is a dancing shadow,
A bestial revelry in the last hours of day,
I beckon the advancing throat of night.

I celebrate the freedom of my spirit
with swaying arms that could embrace the entire horizon.
I expel the filing system of tail lights retreating,
A marching pestilence receding from my being,
and shed the masked perspective of singularity.

I reject the notion of being made to feel small
And enlarge myself beyond what fixated fears will have me see.
I unleash the multitudes of my infinity
To serenade the rats with my seductive song
And welcome the hordes of the hopeless
To follow me to the end of the world.

The Wordless Lament (Hour 2)

Nameless wonders speak volumes in my unwritten heart.
Called to taste the moment their beauty can be shared
and forever trembling behind my unspoken hand.

Come forth wordless desire
eternally escaping my call for definition.
If not by words then
find sound and understanding in a chord or broken rhythm,
find comprehension in a touch, or stroke of hair, or waltzing precision.

Do not let yourself die in the quiet fire of my longings!

Birth yourself from me in colors splashed on canvas,
in caressing hands upon clay, delicate fingers placed upon strings.

If not by words then
make thyself known by contracting muscle, by tides of blood,
by sex and sweat and tears upon pillows.

It is you who inspires all forms of expression.
It is your authorship signed on every overlooked simplicity, every unappreciated complexity.
Do not orphan the magnitude of your gravity.
Give it voice, give it flavor, give it scent and color! Give it texture!

If not by words,
then by utter silence, in total darkness.
Removed from the need to name you.
Your beckoning emptiness is satiated
in the still surrender of my tongue.

Petrichor (Hour 1)

The turning of a leaf speaks in deep rhythms to ring,
as the wind gently whispers through thick boughs of green fingers
anxiously awaiting the oncoming rain.

Even the soil seems loosened from under my feet, respiring,
giving way to make room for moisture to create new,
longing for the return of water.

The sounds of the sky draw near,
suffocated with heavy clouds,
purples drowning in grey.

As the heavens growl in preparation to weep,
the smoke’s pattern dances upon an alien wind.
Firelight sways bright, from within the circle of rocks near my feet,
flecks of heated kisses singe the hairs on my body.

The combustion of dry earth returns its resonance to the winds,
purified through fire and violently ascending into the celestial expanse,
to be welcomed in saturation,
to the gaseous culminations of the churning firmament,
and swell within the thunderous reservoirs of empyrean waters.

I, the Earth, the stars, my breath, all captured in awe, awaiting the falling of the rain.


Introductory Post

Hello Everyone!

I’m excited to participate in this year’s Poetry Marathon. I’m a first timer and am looking to finish a half marathon this time around.

I’m 34, married, and have two young sons. I live in Warrensburg, Missouri USA on a small farm, though I lived in Kansas City until I was 27. I am a high school English teacher and a middle school wrestling coach. I enjoy studying chess, practicing martial arts, and writing poetry. I live my life heavily influenced my samurai ethos. I believe in the mutual cultivation of mind, body, and spirit/heart as a way to develop the complete individual. A scholar, a warrior, an artist. Through these paths all beauty is revealed. I like to live close to the earth, simply, and in service to others.

Poetry was the first form of writing I fell in love with, and is still my choice format. I lean heavy on free verse and believe the best poems come from raw, spontaneous purging. I cannot prepare you for what you may read in my poetry. While I do go back through and edit what I have written, I try to keep what I put on the page as unfiltered as what passes through my mind daily. I’m not promising any literary gems, or even that much talent, just random, poetic, ramblings that are a complicated way of saying very little. The works I create during the marathon may or may not inspire introspection in others. No guarantees. If anything, my poems will serve as a window for others to peer into my very probable insanity. I think like this, and I have a desire to write like this, so I am. I feel the Marathon will suit my style of poetry very well. Looking forward to what surfaces throughout this creative endeavor.

Best wishes to all.

1 3 4 5