The Poetry Marathon

Before darkness was known…
There was only light!
Yet darkness was shown;
As to illuminate the night.

Before darkness was dark…
It made all creatures blind.
They heard the singing of a lark;
And heard only words of the kind.

Before darkness was named;
It was just the absence of light.
It was not sin, nor shame;
There just was no insight.

Before light was born;
There was just the whole;
The darkness we did not mourn;
We were the light within the soul!

>> Not sure it makes sense, yet, I am enjoying doing two poems an hour. One my own, the other based on the prompt. <<

You see my mouth …
Funny little smiles,
Between each word.
My friendly nature …
Or hiding the fear,
The sadness.

I look into your eyes…
Dark brown;
Skin light brown.
You find beauty…
In my white skin,
Like fresh snow.
You tell me in a note…
You find it beautiful.
I remember only a bit;
Of signs for you…
Years ago,
Studying how to speak;
To those who cannot hear.
A talker…
And a deaf man;
So much in common;
So little to in common!
Yet, you hear my eyes…
You read my soul,
Like no other who say they hear.
Deafness is not only for those…
Whose ears do not vibrate.
Many a man or woman;
Do not choose to hear.
You hear so much more;
Then they ever have.
Without words…
And when you speak;
The hands of an Artist;
The hands of words;
We communicate,
This talker hears more…
Within your eyes . . .
Your hands  . .
Your quiet ways.

To you, Fredy: He and I dated for six years. Afterwards, we decided being best friends works better. Two different or four different cultures. He is from Guatemala, I’m American; I am hearing, he is deaf.

We never really touched…
Yet, we know it was love.
Together only in moments;
Absence makes us fonder.

We were together in mind…
Yet, we are better away;
Togetherness can breed contempt,
Absence was our friend.

Now, I wish I was there…
You have not invited me.
No, I am there, each breathe;
For our souls are entwined.

And here I always sit…
No longer on the road.
Come to me, please…
We will touch and be complete.

Dedicated to my 30-year admiration of Tim Curry which began at the tender age of 18, and continues today (aged 52).

Awake . . . 
My eye are open
My mind is still sleeping;
In a way.
I want to go back to sleep;
Still I am here…
Creating…
Not very well . .
I’d venture, right now.
This is not my time . . .
Of day.
Noon . . .
It is better for me;
My time of day.
Aw, to be young again.
Nap . . .
What a beautiful word!
We dreaded as children;
We cling to as adults.
Sleep . . .
It is so wonderful;
When it is good.
We often have to seek it;
To force it . . .
Even when we are tired.
Eluding . . .
For too many of us.
The world has been anxious;
Steals our calm . . .
Affects our sleep.
Dis-ease . . .
Because we are not . . .
At ease, at all.
We are afraid;
We cannot rest or relax.
Sleep…

How do we get there?
How do we relax, again?

I hear the change . . . 

it’s in her voice . . .

in her way.

Mom is getting old;

I don’t want to accept . . .

she will one day leave.

Leave me here;

Alone.

The world she protected me within;

And taught me to thrive . . .

at least, to survive.

It’s the end of the stronger side;

of Mom.

Survivor of a Great Depression;

Fighter of every schoolyard bully . . .

for me.

She remembers an assassination . . .

of a great man;

or is it more?

I do not.

Mom was politically assertive;

she is still her . . .

just lesser in vim . . .

Vigor still stands, though.

I am her in her 50s…

will my boldness wane?

Like Mom at 84?

I will miss the bolder side;

and embrace the elder side;

I hope for years to come.

The end of my younger Mom.

The beginning of my middle-age

and Mom’s last stage(s) . . .

but not the end of her!

Wake up . . .

Reset iPhone alarm;

What’s ten more minutes?

Snuggle in . . .

Can’t sleep!

Of course…

What’s new?

Take another pill.

Middle-age  . .

Reach for the pill box;

Safely by the bed.

Morning, noon, evening and bed;

One or two each time;

Seven days equals . . .

Seven pills a day.

Take another pill.

One for depleting Vitamin D . .

Aw, to be a menopausal woman!

Take another pill.

The one for the reflux, of course.

Was that with food or after?

Take another pill.

There is the blood pressure…

Must always be aware;

Do not miss a day . . .

You can stroke out . . .

or heart will attack.

Take another pill.

Anxiety in these changing times;

Take another pill . . .

To calm you . . .

To ease the panic,

lying inside your adrenals;

or is it serotonin?

No, wait . . .

that’s a different pill!

Take another pill.

Important pills . .

never miss . . .

or take more.

Now, what to do about the aches?

Take another pill!

This is my test, which I thought I had done!

My mind is full of music…

Poetry…

And pain!

There is joy here too!

And hope…

And imagination!

I am not usual…

I am not the “normal”;

I am just me!

Hello from NYC…Writer, Actress/Singer, Spiritual Counselor/Life Coach, Psychic/Medium & sometimes Photographer.