The Poetry Marathon

The crust of the Earth holds many secrets

Petrified in rock and wood.

Therein is the shape of a heart

seared through layers of sandstone.

Did erosion cause this art?

Or did some ancient lover carve

his love into stone?

Then again, does it really matter?

Your profile depicts elegance of an aristocratic past

ripe with jewels in hair and neck.

Your skin illuminates the canvas as it contrasts

with the black fabric draped to the ground.

Your shoulders seem soft and smooth

as they radiate down your white arms.

Your waist is a fraction of itself chided by a corset.

Yet, you look comfortable and confident as you pose

for the artist, who is obviously in love with you.

Lathering at the sides of your mouth,

your tongue curled at the tip, you’d smile and let out a half bark.

Black and white collie/shepherd,

you were a soft mass of long fur.

Always excited to see us, you’d run up,

cry out in dog laughter:  “Hello.  Glad you’re home.”

You’d jump upon me, loving me, lapping my face with your kisses.

Those darn claws had to be clipped.

Your big body could not grip the stairs.

When we’d leave you down in the basement, your tears welled with saliva

as you’d look up to us saying:  “I love you.  I love you.”

Waiting for our return, trying to get up the stairs, the door locked,

your hind legs giving in…

you’d hear the key turn and smell us.

“I’m down here!  Come and get me!  I love you!  I love you!”

It seemed like darkness knew no end…

Heavy charcoal clouds, predicting inclement weather,

were still and solid.

The air was laden with moisture and foreboding.

The smell of ozone prevailed for somewhere,

far away, lightning spawned like firecrackers.

But here, there is only waiting.

She is skittish.

Frightened in the car, in her cage.

In her language, she cries out:

“Why are you torturing me?

What have I done to deserve this?

I give you only love, and what do I get in return?

An endless drive to see the witch doctor

who will probe my orifices with sharp weapons.”

And as I feel her terror, I call to her,

“Fear not, it will soon be over and you will be

safe and healthy again, my love!”

I’m an ENL/ELA teacher.  This past year, I taught Creative Writing which I enjoyed immensely, but I usually teach mostly Hispanic English Language Learners at low to transitioning levels.  I try to impart them a love of reading and writing to analyze and express themselves.

I have been writing poetry and prose since I was in my 20s.  I have had many short stories published as well as a book of poetry, ASPHALT SOUNDS by Fore Angels Press:  NY.  I am active in many writing associations in New York and have been published nationally and in Canada and Croatia.

Writing has come easy to me and has widened a journey of love and self awareness which I cherish.

I look forward to begin this poetry journey.