The Poetry Marathon

BLUE ROSE ALI

Born with blue roses
instead of hair…angel Ali…
Wonder to behold

Children were afraid
to get close except for
Joey…ghetto boy…
They stared shyly
at each other from afar
Joey knew he loved her

As they grew older
Ali loved Joey back
with silent smiles

Ali couldn’t talk
Joey was a lonely waif
reaching one day
to touch a blue rose
It fell to the ground
They were amazed

Ali tried to pull
a rose that wouldn’t move
They were baffled
Each day Joey would
touch a rose and it would fall
Ali loved his touch

Just a few were left
Joey couldn’t help the kiss
It was magic then

The roses dropped
Most glorious hair fell to
her shoulders…Joey
stared in awe…it was
the color of sun
Her eyes turned blue

They married next year
far away in a meadow
where nobody knew
Ali could speak now
and the beauty of her words
Were “Joey…I do”

A storm arose
Instead of thunder, rain of
blue roses fell down
Guests were amazed
and to this day the meadow
grows with roses of blue

© Diane Morinich
All Rights Reserved

I am
a poet
I am not
a poet
depending on the day
a poet
emerges
meanders
becomes
a poet
I am satisfied
I am a poet
I am fearful
I am not
a poet
I am and will
leave it up to you
if i am
a poet

(c) Diane Morinich

I want to believe
That all of the cold dead eyes
Will open again

God will call them one
By one and there will be light
And children will see

As they march again
In the eternal dance of
Daily life and death

They will come to you
But only if you want them
It’s a conundrum

Diane Morinich

In my mind I’m stuck
Back in a time of monsters
With mad gaping maws

Creatures, creep-lovers
Leap down fiery caverns
For lost love or warmth
Searching for the lyrical
Noise of the ancients

Diane Morinich

#1
SENSATE

Hearing colors and
Seeing ocean’s salty roar
A rookie mistake–
Vocabulary
Of love transcends black and white
Erupting in red
Until my brown
Eyes cry

#2
summertime; the blues
wail through humid nights; crickets
compete with trumpets

Diane Morinich

Too tired to move
Staring at wood spider’s web
Intricate doily

Diane Morinich

love is more thicker than forget
BY E. E. CUMMINGS

love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky

E.E. Cummings, “[love is more thicker than forget]” from Complete Poems 1904-1962, edited by George J. Firmage. Copyright 1926, 1954, 1991 by the Trustees for the E.E. Cummings Trust. Copyright © 1985 by George James Firmage. Reprinted with the permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation.

I will never forget
I will always recall
Nightmares are wet
As I fall and I fail

My dreams are moonly
My love can’t unbe
You were my only
When you sailed out to sea

I thought I would win
When we felt so alive
Love so easy to begin
My love, I forgive

Sun’s no longer sunly
And surely I’ll die
You were my one and only
My diamond in the sky

Diane Morinich

Outliers chasing
Outsider fire dragons
Mostly vague ideas

Slapping and snapping
Their consciousness
Between tokes and smokes

An exclusive club
Open to all who dare to
Enter darkness

No dress codes or haircuts
Allowed in this club; only
High fives are given
Or kisses and love

Where can I join
So many have asked; the
Path to Bohemia is so
long and so dark

Diane Morinich

Darkness pushes through,
Meets the eastern sunrise and
Greets the summer day

Serpentine river
Races with snaky road to
Kiss the edge of town

Getting colder now
River meanders and stops
To take an ice nap

White on white landscapes
Infertile fallow trees crack
Under heavy weight

The sound of winter
Is cold grey silence, naked
Contrast, white on white

Diane Morinich
diane6446

Here, not here, Mom stares
At me but sees and hears ghosts–
Her handsome soldier

Patient patient Mom
Room must be filled with hidden
Impatient spirits

Cooing and soothing
Promising to envelop
Her indignity

Speaking in tongues she
Doesn’t recognize my voice
Or my face or my tears…..

Diane Morinich
diane6446