The Poetry Marathon

As we walked towards the milky sun,

He told me They were One.

I studied Them in CCD,

But I never understood the Holy Trinity.

In His hand, he held a blade of grass.

“What do you see?” He asked;

I gazed at the grass for just a while

Before He told me to look outside;

He stretched His hand across the lawn

And again, asked what I saw.

A single blade in His hand,

Several blades across His land.

One, yet more than one.

He was the Spirit, the Father, and the Son.

One, yet Three.

The Holy Trinity.

Dreams of Aloha

lull me to sleep,

Palm fronds sway to the rhythm

Of the Kona wind;

The ephemeral aroma of

Plumeria and tuberose

Float across the shadows

Of the night sky;

Ocean waves whisper

As a canopy of stars

Light my way

Back to the island.

Grief is like springtime in Nebraska:

You wake up to enjoy a sunny day at the lake.

The water, sky, and crisp air

Blow kisses

Inviting you

To breathe again.

The stark gray winter has passed.

The next moment, you’re seeking shelter in a bathtub

While tornado sirens wail.

With her hands,

Clay transforms from mud to majesty;

Bowls, planters, and pitchers

Emerge from the chrysalis

Of gray slabs.

With her touch,

Colorless viscosity rages into vibrant hues

Cobalt blue and napthol crimson;

She casts her spell

As earth, fire, water, and air

Bubble over in her cauldron of creativity

Her art,

Her craft,

Her magic.

I am purple glitter cascading onto white marble swirls;

I am frizzy, puffy curls in a flat iron world.

I am amethyst toe rings wiggling across a pedicured floor;

I am snorting laughter during Robert’s Rules.

I am fake eyelashes and black eyeliner in a prosaic coif;

I am improper and awkward.

The cadmium red wall

Sap green ferns frame the flower garden

Nickel gold azo bulbs center the frame

Dots of cobalt blue peek through

Berries of quinacridone red thrive beside

The indigo stalks.

The meticulous touch of the

Gardener’s hands meander throughout

Manipulative

Narcissist.

Definitely not good for me

For my independence, my intelligence,

Or my integrity, but

Miss talking about the old times,

Fun times, wild times.

Miss his power, pride, and arrogance.

Miss his charisma and charm.

Shattered my ego and my pride.

Damaging and deceitful.

Painful

Good bye.

Gold straps support the black silk heart

across her porcelain skin.

The black silhouette narrows to her waist

And the beauty explodes across her hips

Defining the shapely physique

When she smiles, she lights up the sky

Her eyes sparkle and dazzle.

But that hair,

That hair,

That beautiful purple hair.

It’s majestic and royal and grand.

Layers and layers of curls,

Styled so high.

An indigo spire

In the sky.

The Forest Queen commands all in her land,

The other trees, the grass, the animals,

Even the wind bows down before her.

She stands with grandeur in her domain.

Her branches reach out and sculpt the sky.

She has dominion over all

Except One.

The electrical wires that run through her branches.

They race through her spire

And charge the air with currents.

She rules over all

Except man.