The Poetry Marathon

I have no life but this

To write the smiles,

To see the songs,

To listen to the rainbows.

I have no life but this

To learn the patter of rain,

To touch the air,

To fly the soil.

I have no life but this

To run the ocean,

To swim the sky,

To till the stars.

I have no life but this

To cradle love,

To teach faith,

To feel spirit.

I have no life but this.

Inspired by Emily Dickinson’s poem “I Have No Life But This”

Waves crescendo into a mighty wisp,

crashing against the rocks.

Seagulls swoop and dive in a fury of anticipation.

But no sound.

Emptiness.

Silent echos

of nothing.

Memories that stop.

Always dreaming, but never dreamt.

Prelude with no finale.

All being,

but never been.

Nepenthe.

No pain.

In a flurry,

a connection ignites,

Memories flood forward.

A tiny hand reaches through.

Mama, don’t let go.

I won’t, Baby Girl.

Never

again.

You asked me

What I would say if didn’t see

you tomorrow.

My day would be full of sorrow;

I would feel pain inside

like the receding tide

ripping the sand away . . .

If I didn’t see you another day.

If I didn’t see your bright eyes

I’d walk shrouded, disguised

Hiding the hurt, hiding the shame

by not calling your name

Just one more time . . .

Pretending everything would be fine

I would replay every day in my mind,

and I would hope everything was fine.

Did I show you care and understanding?

Did I treat you the way He has commanded?

If I didn’t feel your faith each day

I would ask God why he took you away;

I would know He had His plan

But still I wouldn’t understand

But you are an angel of today and so many tomorrows

I see the beauty you have now

The sparkling eyes, the beautiful smile

Your faith, your love, your heart

I see the hope for your tomorrow

And in that place, there is no sorrow

No pain,

Only sunshine breaking through the torrential rain

You will spread peace, faith, hope, and joy;

But above all else, you will spread love!

poetry forms a cacophony

lines and words to mesmerize

feelings more than theory

rhyme, rhythm, pentameter

In my mind, a vortex

What is this mad manipulation?

Intentional manipulation

creating cacophony

swirling vortex

Memories to mesmerize

graphical elements,shift, pentameter

feelings more than theory

feelings more than theory

syllable manipulation

sound devices, feet, pentameter

creating cacophony

rhyming lines mesmerize

Concrete poems in a vortex

Swirling vortex

feelings more than theory

Synthesize thoughts to mesmerize

word manipulation

pen strokes create cacophony

haiku, tanka, pentameter

Paradox in pentameter

Verses within vortex

Cadence or cacophony

feelings more than theory

Masterful manipulation

Internal rhyme to mesmerize

Couplets mesmerize

Palindrome or pentameter

Structure manipulation

Visions within vortex

feelings more than theory

Refrains rings of cacophony

lines mesmerize; visual vortex

pondering pentameter; feelings more than theory

masterful manipulation; clearly cacophony

When she cried . . .

I felt the house shake

Because she was the foundation

When she cried . . .

The sky turned gray

Because she was the sun

When she cried . . .

The day was silent

Because she was

Nature singing

When she cried . . .

The earth stopped

Spinning

Because she was the axis

When she cried . . .

She turned her face

Because she was

The stronghold breaking,

The sun fading,

Nature’s silencing,

And my world falling

Worry

It presses

Like a corset on my mind;

It is crumpled remains

Of an ancient fountain;

It is scraping iron

On brick;

It is the taste of a

Vinegar

Popsicle.

It is the smell

Of burnt popcorn;

It is the spirit being

Worn away.

I remember . . .

All of the family gathered

In the big, white house;

A house with a

Wrap-around porch.

I remember . . .

Happiness and laughter and love

And rejoicing and celebration

I remember . . .

Not enough beds,

Relatives lying on sleeping bags,

Couches, porches

I remember . . .

Being too old for a crib,

But having to sleep

In one that weekend.

I remember . . .

A snotty older cousin standing

By the crib

In the morning,

Chanting, “Good morning, Baby.”

I remember  . . .

Wanting to  poke

Her in the eye,

But I would get in trouble

For that, so instead

I remember . . .

Pouring salt in her glass

Of TANG, and

I remember . . .

Her sour cream face crying

I remember . . .

Laughing so hard

That milk bubbled in my nose

I remember . . .

That big, white house, the crib,

The laughter, the TANG,

And salt

And I remember . . .

winning

Midwestern girl transplanted in the Bay Area.

Temp. job in a warehouse.

No air conditioner.

Who needs A/C in the Bay?

Typing, filing, sweating.

“I’m in the mood for an icy pop,”

I chirped,

Imagining a Big Gulp filled with Diet Coke

And

Lots

And

Lots

Of

Ice.

“I’ll run out and get us some snacks. What flavor do you want?”

What flavor do I want? What is she talking about?

“Diet Coke?” half question, half answer.

                “Diet Coke? They make Diet Coke popsicles?”

Popsicle?

“I don’t want a popsicle. I want a pop with lots of ice.”

“Pop? Oh, you mean soda.”

Moving is tough.

Brown, furry, friendly

Little scamp nipping my heels

Begs for nightly walks

Female, Age 88, Late Stages of Dementia

Fall risk, visual hallucinations

Eyes as blue as night

What if the sky melted into a blanket of blue

And washed all the gray away?

What if the night broke into a thousand pieces,

And the stars became diamonds floating to the earth?

What if all the laugh lines formed together

To build a bridge of memories of happiness?

What if love could tear down the fortress of disease?

What if every breath had meaning?

What if life were an orchestra of experiences?

She mumbles, “Keep the music playing. And play it loud!”

But no one hears