The Poetry Marathon

Possibility a haiku

It is entirely
possible, says my friend, that
everything will be ok.

Coming Home (haiku)

round the bend could be
anything, or nothing at all,
the cash draw – empty.

Silencio (haiku)

long night of writing
silence finally fills the mind
the cup is empty

Running (haiku)

Even in her sleep,
little one, where are you bound?
steady gait so fast.

Forest Bathing

there comes a time each day, to walk the forest trail.
if I should forget, or be otherwise inclined, a warm moist
nose nudging my arm, or the deep and soulful dark eyes of one,
accompanied by the long low whimper of the other, will let me know
I have gone far to long forsaking our daily ritual.

my folly and shame are met with complete forgiveness, as I grab the leashes
and we hookup for the brief car ride to any of several forest gates.
patiently waiting my gear permutations; bug spray, poop bags, water, tracking collars,
responder, cell phone, and hat. up with the hatch and down with the ramp
to ease the old one’s exit.

we take to the trail with uninhibited joy and ecstasy. the unmitigated pleasure
one has when meeting a long absent lover. the haste to renew the union,
reignite the passion and explore every nook and cranny that may have transformed
within the past 24, or less, hours. each visit bringing a new ebullience that defies
human capacity for delight.

3am
light rain descends as night moves toward morning’s light.
poetry’s passion sits on my chest reminding me, like Robert Frost’s little horse,
I still have hours to go before I sleep. Sweet sleeping hounds keep me company,
poetry family check’s in on by email and marathon comrades keep posting.

the night is very still, while loud and irritating electric hissing sounds fill the air. I chose
this journey and revel in its labyrinth of complexity as the clock ticks. the hour that seemed not long enough to complete the task at hand, now stretches languidly onward. I beseech
the next prompt, the next hour, please claim me before sleep over-rides the body!

poetic justice, recompense for my confident commitment to word and time
O’ foolish poet, like mystics and seekers throughout millennium, I drink the elixir
of intoxicating phrases seeking solace in their rhyme and comfort from their mystery.
I close my eyes, a brief respite, to begin the journey again into it’s final hours.

Crow

creative problem-solver, undaunted by human encroachment,
she uses traffic lights to crack her nuts and gather them only when traffic is stopped,
prophetic symbol of transformation, soaring on wings of freedom
linking the living and the dead, with gratitude.

messenger of Lord Yama, ruler of death and justice. beware should one harm the crow, for she will remember.
time has come for healing and respect for what you might have taken for granted. the karma mirror reflects one’s destiny. each day a gift until your final resting.

The Girl with Fly’s Eyes

I am the eye of the fly, 750 hexagonal facets
bound together like staves in a barrel.
8,000 lens per eye, and 360-degree directions.
a nerve connecting every facet to the brain.

back through memories, diving into history and swirling
toward the future. timeless legacy flows among stars and galaxies.
celebrating all sentient beings, all things are phosphorescent and
shimmering. the octopus’s and chameleon’s kaleidoscopic colors,
complex communication, creative camouflage abide.

my simple dizzy, dancing, humming, melding
into oneness and song, keeping me awake, never to fear again
now that I have tasted oneness.

So Sorry

I’m sorry you can only
see things your way.
your mean girl attack
is just another fly
in the dojo of life.
I sail onward,
my own wings
catching the wind.

The 15th Hour

time is transient and transcendent.
a boat on the water. choppy at times,
stillness for a moment, or in the flow of life.
do we recognize when time is running out?

spinning in the galaxies of time,
perhaps no-thing is really time limited,
merely out of balance with fulfillment
yet having whatever time it takes to flourish.

only the seeker will know the moment called home.