The Poetry Marathon

Unfortunately for personal reasons I am not going to be able to wholly participate in the half marathon like I originally thought, but I hope it’s okay that I’ll still post (hopefully) a couple poems today throughout it, so that I can at least be somewhat involved.

Just wanted to give anyone reading an explanation!

MISSING:

A Miss Antonia Benton

Last seen wearing:

a light blue jumper with gray converse and two brown-haired braids

Last heard:

stomping her little feet in a Walmart over no more getting to the push the cart

Last spoken:

to her mother distracted by clearance signs and the intercom announcement, which said…

“A FORMAL REMINDER TO OUR CUSTOMERS:

HOLD WHAT YOU LOVE CLOSELY, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOUR LOVE IS YOUNG.”

THE MONTH OF JUNE

crick clack snack she’s a

Jack of all trades

taking her sweet time mulling over

every

last

ounce of sweat.

Their sweat, not hers, she’s transferred pain

onto them and they have

no chance to decamp other than

to accept their fate:

she’ll circle ’round the mount about the

same time every year,

to haunt the minds of impressionables

and to steal

the

breath

of

cold.

The Past: A Haiku

Stars of memories

dusting off the clouds we see

Truth trickling down

A DESCENDANT OF THE DISCIPLES

a couple thousand

years ago

some men and women sacrificed

their lives

stoned, crucified, exiled,

and I’m over here

worried

what other people will think if I mention

that I believe in

the same Jesus.

DEATH OF FLOWERS

sunbeams kiss

my window blinds

but

white lilies die while

traffic

fills

the interstate.

MEANING

a pizza box

can mean many things

like he was late from work

and decided to not make dinner

or that it’s family movie night on a cold Friday

and popcorn’s in the microwave.

possibly there’s nothing worse than when one

reaches for the pizza box in the fridge

only to find it

empty

THE LIST

What I need to write about:

my depression

addiction to popcorn

failed friendships galore

how Jesus is changing my life

What I’ll end up writing about:

dead sunsets

empty pizza boxes

thistles mating with thorns

other unexplained metaphors

myPhone

sluggish eyes drooping

waning fast

blinded by the bright moving frame

i can’t imagine a world

without my head hurting

from so much focus on a screen.

CLOUDS IN JUNE

a funny dark cloud

followed little June down her street

one day,

as if to say, “I’d like to make

good use of your time.”

Naturally she scurried away,

closed the door of wood behind her,

only to hear rain thunder.

Running up the stairs to her green bedroom then

she saw out her window

the strange-looking grin on

the cloud that now watched her,

from her bedside,

each night,

awaiting her moment to water June’s sot.

The battle began as a chase

down her street,

but soon turned to war when June saw the

cloud’s feet drawing near as she tried

to make green the flowers close by but,

she lacked something.

The grass would grow dry and June

did not understand

what she did wrong as she bathed

them so carefully. and watered them

in sunlight.

And then would come the

strange cloud once again

she hated her so, and did not want her

near but for some reason,

when that dark cloud was there,

June’s garden could bear much

more color.

Persists made no difference,

June was meant to be friends with

the strange little cloud that

came by and smiled.

Eventually she would not

mind this bond so much but

until then she still scurries from state

to state hoping somehow to dodge the

cloud’s silly face.