The Poetry Marathon

It rained today
Knocked the dust right of the sky
Turned it up to ‘HiDef’ digital quality Turkish tile blue
Polished and fluffed the clouds like big feather pillows.

Filtered the air to crisp clean sweet
Like it traveled through fragrant spring meadows
Dancing with crisp white linens
hanging on clotheslines.

I see that my face confuses you
I have politely said ‘no’ to all your insistent, ignorant guesses
Yet you press me further

I am not from whichever exotic land you think I am from
I will not change my answer to make you comfortable
Quizzing me in badly regurgitated bits of random foreign languages
will also not impress me.
No, I do not have a recipe for whatever dish you fell in love with
at that new “ethnic” restaurant.

Drop your handy dandy pre-programmed label maker
Talk to me like I’m a human
Have a real conversation
Not a guessing game, like I’m some sideshow attraction.

My face is my face.
It is the one I was born with.
I look in the mirror and see hints of my mother and some of my cousins.
I see stories of struggles and challenges
imprinting my skin.
They make me who I am and keep me strong.

Keep moving, keep moving the music is playing

But someone took my seat

I can still see it over there

The perfect size the perfect fit

warm and cozy calling me home

Quick, stop the music, I’m almost here

Neighbor’s mischief monster is at it again
Big wet nose on my lap
Muddy paws on my toes
Must move soon or i’ll be trapped

I cannot bear the thought
His breath on my face; so smelly and hot
The drool on my skin
His fur on my clothes
Wet from his romp in an algae filled swamp

Look away!
He knows your weakness for sad eyes and sniffles
Soft brown shades of amber and copper
Filled with the wonders of the universe
Learning your face
Watching your smile
Eagerly waiting

Too late
He has you now

Go get the secret toy you got for him
yesterday

Hey, we need to take the dog for a mani-pedi. He really rocks that purple nail polish.

I’m down for that.

I’ve really thought about this. We need to create edible candles.

I’m down for that.

Oh! We need some garlic flavored jelly beans for a zesty new aioli.

I’m down for that.

It’s times like this when we need gorilla glue and sawdust to put this whole contraption together.

I’m down for that.

Finally, we need a Chia pet.

I’m NOT down for that!

Sunshine steals sweetly

Into my secret garden

Stay and play for awhile

You don’t care about me

I give and give and give

You take and take and take

Poisoned my flesh with your selfish ways

I can’t breathe

I’m weak, I’m tired

Need my honey, my elixir, my life

One day you will wakeup and I’ll bee gone

– Sincerely, The Honey Bee.

She loved this place

Dark damp secluded

One entrance one exit no escape

The alley behind the blood bank

Heavy with intoxicating scents of her favorite hot red human nectar

Quiet and cool away from the crowd

Away from clipboards and questions and bright lights hurting her eyes
piercing her translucent skin

For the perfect price and promise of passion, they always followed
melting into her welcoming arms and darkness

Willing to give, willing to feed
her aching hunger

Soft moans from dark shadows

A whimper, a hush and a trance to forget.

A perilous journey unfolds, when fish go fishing

Elderfish gather at schools to share wise water wisdom

Choose your morsels wisely, little fry and fingerling

Watch your float and floundering

And above all else,

Beware the shiny shrimp dancing and dangling

The fog is slowly lifting
I feel it whispering to me

“two hours west”

Promises of a good morning with rich coffee
The Bay beckons to grand adventure
at The Treasure Island Flea.
Anticipation and glee fuel my drive through the valleys and passes
Wind farms and wildflower fields with loud proud poppies.

The Bridge is a beast
but the sight of water, cools my travel weary eyes.
It smells of secrets and such
wafting over and under cold metal structures.

Carnival colored tents of every shape and size
Demand my attention as I arrive
Where do I start?
What to do I touch?
Fancy food trucks with festive feasts
Musty dusty boxes full of scarves and laces and blouses with broken beads

That special tiny painting of a girl in a silly hat
I couldn’t possibly go home without that.

The DIY is strong in this place
Papier-mâché pigeon perched atop petrified bacon branches
You are not speaking to me

I walk to the bay and hum to the skyline
I always find the real treasure on this Island
The view

But those crimson crushed velvet Mary Jane’s with satin ribbons
had stories to tell of mad dancing days.
They need a new home.
“Be honest,” I ask the vendor, “Did your great, great grandmother really wear these?
I’ll take them.