The Poetry Marathon

Hey all, Haras here! I made an error this go around, but hopefully I have fixed it!

I used the schedule feature, but none of my poems were posted on time. :/

I hope that doesn’t mean my completion won’t count.

Hope you all are enjoying the marathon and that it’s going well for you!

I couldn’t guess the bicycle,

I couldn’t guess the song,

I couldn’t find the library,

but I could ride along, along,

and search for clues.

I’ve got at least one, in the friend I have in you.

We spiraled to the Pagoda,

looked down and then climbed up.

I almost popped the bike chain,

which would have really sucked.

But I could ride along, along, and search for clues.

I’ve got at least one, in the friend I have in you.

When we stopped for books at the coordinates you wrote,

I wondered just how long it’s take to pedal right on home.

Though temporary– even when you go,

home is where you make it, and the friend you are to me is wherever we meet.

When we made it to the porch an X marked our back door,

I thought I’d made it to the end, but we’d been here before

I couldn’t guess the bookshelf

And I searched every room

It took at least five minutes to figure the last clue

But that’s okay

Because I’ve got one, in the friend I have in you.

My life shattered  began,

looking into the mirror.

Bits of glass in my fists,

reflection of all the false love you said you felt for me.

We called it love  a lie.

Leaving you, is was not a loss I mourn any longer.

The life we planned will cost me less than a new mirror.

Weeds fester,

there’s no comfort in swallowing one whole.

The seeds infiltrate the body,

take up root in your best soil.

Pluck each one,

by one,

by one,

by one.

Trauma subsides and we bloom on.

Creeps up,

feels like nothing,

a numbness,

until you feel everything.

The buzz of my skin,

hive minded,

thoughts disconnect,

left with resentment.

Can’t accept it,

want to deny it,

flight of the bee,

reaching crescendo.

I feel nothing.

Did I ever feel at all?

Did I ever stop to think about surfaced thoughts?

Did time stop to be my friend? Or pass as my enemy?

Will I always be in storm without peace?

My students may never remember the grammar rules I taught them, but they will remember they were loved.

How the chime of my bells sounded when the students rang them each day. How I would ring them back.

How they wrote suggestions and I validated their voices.

How they could come to me without judgement in their honesty.

How I would call home for the good things.

How I would call home when they needed support.

How I showed up for them even when I couldn’t show up to class when I was sick.

They won’t remember all the books, or lessons, or even my words.

They will remember how I made them feel.

I hope I make all of them feel loved.

Find Joy In Pain

I find joy in my pain,

so I can cling to my sanity.

Patchwork hues of yellow blend,

with each stroke of my blues and 

all the in-betweens.

I decided,

upon my primary color wheel expectation,

green has always been my favorite color.

(Ephrastic poem; can no longer find the image)

An Ode for the Birds

For Luna, Matilda, Minerva, Obi, Hazel, Freyja, Reddington, and Carson of the Eagle Creek Ornithology Center

Bird of prey, with the bad reputation

You’re wild, you’re free–

You lack the expected sweet disposition.

You belong here, in the great outdoors.

No walls to bind you, no windows, no floors.

Diurnal– raptor

How they seize and carry,

prey to perch and fill their empty bellies.

Horned–beaks and talons,

discernment in their eyes.

As they look upon our faces,

we are the problem.

I’m still learning about the man I am.

I don’t love myself, but I wish I did. 

Always tender to the wrong touch,

overcome by the nausea my white savior complex induces. 

Opinionated to a fault–my own detriment,

my perfectionist best will never be good enough. 

Poor with a capital ‘PO’

the world I can give revolves around homemade cards and love letters.

I can make a decision when there’s a gun pointed at my face,

but never about food. 

Habitually bitching that life isn’t fair,

while I ache for the reassurance it can be.

Absent to my world– too early, too late,

but never just in time. 

Perception burning sunlight through me, 

but I can’t digest your thoughts.

Show me love and my fight or flight kicks in,

bear to witness the lack of acceptance I hold for myself.

If you’re reading this, I’d like you to be cautious because I’m still learning about the man I am.

I don’t love myself, but I wish I did.

Opinionated, I’ve been absent to my world,

too early, too late, – never just in time.

Someone shows me love and my fight or flight kicks in,

bear witness the lack of acceptance I hold for myself.

I am poor with a capital PO, 

weight of a capitalistic society leaves me

bitching about how life isn’t fair.

Tender to the wrong touch,

nauseous over my own white savior complex

and how my best will never feel good enough.

I can make a decision when there’s a gun pointed at my face,

but never about food.