The Poetry Marathon

Dear Mr. Frost,

As a person who shares the same first name I must admit,

It never felt good sharing that name with so many who have come before me who actually made a difference to people.

It never felt like sunshine and flowers feeling like I had no sense of purpose.

But, I really have to hand it to you.

Once I realized that the path of least resistance could also be the road less traveled, that has already made all the difference.

I learned that when there is no path laid out for you, the possibilities are limitless.

I learned that least resistance could also be a clean slate.

Like living with my past didn’t mean I was sentenced to be incarcerated in it.

Robert, I want you to know now, I am no longer shameful of my name.

I want you to know that the clean slate has helped me carve a path for those like me to follow

Or to use as a baseline for others to create their own road.

My slate which was at first blank, is filled with examples of how the focus of will and energy help to see your happy ending even through the thickets.

Be not afraid of the impending storm,

Fear not the pain that is to come,

The light at the end of the tunnel is not as far as you see it.

It is just your mind focussing on what really matters.

Two roads diverged and I chose to take the road less traveled and I have made all the difference.

Forget deep thinking,

I am shotgunning poems.

I hope something sticks.

Young I am not.
Eager, I am in droves.
Sucking in as much knowledge
as I can.

Cramming as much as I can
into this tiny mind.
Hot pans and late nights make
for never a dull moment.
Eager bellies wait for no cook
to discover their groove.
Fire tempered future starts
now.

This is how it always starts. A late bloomer never seems to be on time for anything.

Imagine the horror, thinking that you have ten minutes to spare when you’re already an hour behind.

You had assumed that 9 in the morning is 9 in the morning for you…point blank and period.

However, you are just as dead wrong as you are dead tired and the only ass that was made was of yourself.

However, what I lack in punctuality, I make up for in iron will.

The last time I had such a late start, I made perfect creme brûlée and nailed every order that came my way.

This is no new thing for me.

Late starts and late nights, trying to make something of myself.

Sweating, grunting, groaning and remembering “this is nothing new.”

This is the beginning of the story of your life, this too will be the end.

“He had a rocky start, but finished strong.”

This is nothing new, this is nothing I’m not used to.

Hell, I was even born late; a late bloomer right out of the womb.

But, you know what they say about late bloomers?

They make the best flowers.

Almost didn’t make it with ten minutes to spare.

As I try to force my eyes awake I notice…. I have no clue what to write.

Like the muses kept snoozing because they too, were wiped out from the night before.

What could have I been possibly thinking?

Sure! You can close down a kitchen at 2 in the morning and get home by three and then still eat, shower, get cleaned up and then have your alarm to wake you up! But….it doesn’t.

Your alarm clock on your phone fails you just like the impending doom of the cakes you were supposed to make for service today.

Tick tock tick tock, I need to learn to read a clock.

One down, twenty three to go and almost hating myself for this…..

But I still love writing too much.