The Poetry Marathon

Untitled

Begging doesn’t work with me

so tell your eyes to shut up

and your feet!

singing their frustration

stomp

stomp

stomp

Stop!

Listening to tears screaming

down your cheeks

is exhausting

How am I to know

how your feel

if you won’t tell me?

Troubled Sleep

Wind, blowing strong and pure

a tale of strength told in swaying trees

rooted deep in the earth

that never moved, but did slip

through my fingers

promising fertility and sustenance

as if the fire burning within

wouldn’t devour every promise

meant to kept

Submerged my arms flail about

I am deprived of breath

deprivation is familiar enough

but my eyes bulge and arms still

I am left gasping

gasping

Then air floods and fills lung again

and I wake glad to be alive

Hi, y’all! I’m Angel from Oklahoma, and this is my second year doing the full marathon. Those last few hours were a struggle, so here’s hoping they are a bit easier this year. Good luck to everyone! May the muses inspire your journey.

Dan the fireman
told me he was made
for three things:
to play baseball,
put out fires,
and fuck.
But he left
ball and bat
at home
and there is no smoke
in this bar.

I once met a man with fifteen cats.
My policy is even one deems
a man untrustworthy.
So, I told him all my secrets,
he didn’t tell a single one.

I met a woman with a serpent’s tongue.
Her truth sounded like lies,
and mothers guarded children
even as she swung from garden noose.

I met a gypsy with the third eye.
Carnival coins and half truths
her speciality
–and birthright.
Abandoned by caravan, old and blind,
her milky eyes had seen too much.

I met a pimp brokering love.
Street corners and every flavor
his calling card. Self-proclaimed
lifetime bachelor, kept a wife
and three kids two states over.

Thread, long and red,
tied these people together.
And I, one hand on string,
one feeling its way in front,
felt the string pull from seam,
so we all wandered the space
where time has no dominion
and names have no meaning.

Like most things,
you’ve lost your charm,
but keep smiling
and I’ll go home
with you anyway.
Or at least to your
car where we’ll
fog the windows
and smoke
your last cigarette.

Dear 1986 Self,
I was once told I had a bright future,
But I never bought the shades
or learned to read the map,
so losing my way has been the least of my worries.
Though your effort noble,
the dissipation of faith
in (of all things) humanity renders
it useless. Hope abandoned me, and I am left to face the wolves alone. A fitting end to modern
struggles. May you find solace
in my status as a lost cause,
keeping guilt at bay
and your purpose true.

Love,
Me

Cunning fox, lithe red form
and brave, black bear
lead the girl over sidewalk
through concrete jungle
decorated with a spray can
among leftover flora.
Or maybe,
she leads them.

Memories are nasty things
Kicking up dust
Settling into corners
Sometimes, yesterday
Weighs so heavy
I cannot get out of bed
My therapist says I live
In the past, forget today
He lacks credibility, though right
It’s his talk of religion
I mistrust, foul concept
But his services are free
It’s easy to remember
It will never be tomorrow
When I see yesterday so clearly

Was the spider’s parlor
draped with webs
when the fly entered?

Stupid fly.
Even the idiot Tuffet
had sense to run.