The Poetry Marathon

Tea and cookies on an ornate plate
wait for young ladies to sit down
and hear the old tales from old
men who know nothing of
secrets that they keep
and lies they tell
and promis-
es that
die

Van Gogh painted the sunflowers
Harsh in their brightness
Thick was the paint on the canvas
Standing out from the flat surface
Every color shone

Van Gogh drank the sunflowers
He absorbed every image around him
Took it in and consumed it
Drank it down like the finest of wines
And it overwhelmed him

Van Gogh became the sunflowers
Shrank himself down into their colors
Twisted his body
To better accommodate their shape
Disappearing into himself

Van Gogh died in the sunflowers
Gave his very last breath
To their life on the walls
Awed by many
But so few realizing what they see

The lake froze over
As it does every winter
Streaks of brown and white
Air bubbles that catch a last breath
Eye staring up
Everything is visible
And not at the same time
The images bend and twist
Ice distorting purifying and consuming all

Thick thighs save lives
So I have heard it said
Never before have my mighty Thors
Been so complimented
I have hidden them deep
Under denim and cloth
Loving the darkness
Much more than a moth
Not for fear of their look
But from wandering hands
Encased in thread and fiber
Safe from any mans

Man decides to leave the world behind
Take on a profession he has never tried before
Whether or not he is running from something
Is never actually discussed
He becomes friends with his roommate
And they sign on to the same workplace
Without knowing their boss
They head out to work
Later, horrified, they realize their boss is crazy
Obsessed with getting revenge
On forces outside of the control of man
That obsession kills everyone
Except our hero and narrator
His friend, in a last act
Gave up his last personal belonging
To make sure that he would live

Once, my life went bad enough
That I thought of doing the same thing
But I can’t swim
And I fear bosses with missing limbs and obsessions with outside forces

Why can’t you be normal?

What is normal?
I mean really
Where is the exact description
The written down prescription
For normal

Who are you to say what is normal?
We can’t all do the same things
Or have the same skills
The same abilities
Or the same disabilities

Why must we be normal?
What is the strength
In all of us acting exactly the same
None of us being unique
Automatons marching next to each other

Why can’t you be normal?
Because no one is

I dreamed I was running
The wind whipping at my face
The stairs endless before me
Over and over
There had to be an end to it

I could hear you
All around me I could hear you
You were just around the corner
Just at the top of the stairs
Always out of reach

I could see you
The outline of you
Standing black against the blaring light
Your back was to me
And you were looking up to the sky

Then everything went black
I couldn’t see the stairs
The walls
The door
And I fell into my black prison

Everyone in the house
Is having a lazy day

The house sitter
At the end of three awful weeks
That had moments of good
Still not sure if they are done

The dog
Missing her pack
She knows the sitter well
And seeks her out for pets and takes naps nearby

The tortoiseshell cat
Alternately seeking out the sitter
Sitting by themselves in the house
And instigating the dog and the tuxedo cat

And the tuxedo cat
Preferring the outside
Follows the sun around the house
And takes solace in the quiet

He leaned back in his chair
He closed his eyes

The echoes of the dog’s growl
Still echoed in his ears
He remembered the screams of
Young Lord Baskerville

He rubbed his eyes
He still wasn’t sleeping well

He woke up screaming last night
Images of green dogs
Intermixed with sand and blood
And the screams of soldiers

He went downstairs to retrieve a cigarette
Sherlock was waiting for him, one already rolled

“It was a mean trick you played,” he scolded
As he lit the cigarette
“It was necessary to my plan,” the genius replied
With no regret

Watson walked to his window
“I thought I was alone”

He looked up and saw the reflection
Of his friend in the window
“You are never alone, my friend” the genius replied
For once emotion cracked his voice, “Never.”

Watson was nearly done writing
He would send it to the publisher in the morning

He stretched his legs
He looked around his small office
His friend had been dead two years
And still could hear his voice that night

“Might I trouble you then to be ready in half an hour,
and we can stop at Marcini’s for a little dinner on the way?”

I miss you

I could almost swear
You were the person
Cuddling me in my dreams
Three nights ago

You held me so tight
Arms wrapped around me
I could feel your body pressed against mine
Your legs pulling me tighter

It was the first time in months
That I’ve felt safe
Did you visit me in my dreams
Just because you knew I needed you?

We never will escape each other
Will we?