The Poetry Marathon

The graying clouds had overcome the sun

Leaving it dreary and depressed

Glad to have the heat calmed

I knew rain wouldn’t be far behind

The hike had been long

And I was sore

But I hastened my stride

Not wanting to be out late or

Too Long

I tripped

A rock had rolled onto the path

I had not seen it.

My face falling into the dirt

I looked around

The trail was deserted

No one to help. I tried to stand

I failed

I laid, giving in to the frustration for just a moment

I would try again

My eyes caught something. It was white.

I pulled my attention closer

Pulled myself up as best I could

And crawled towards it

My leg was bleeding

But my face turned ashen

A skull, human, picked clean

Just off the trail

A single daisy growing up through it

Not too far away other bones

I thought of the missing women

The missing hikers

The missing girlfriends

Whose bodies were never found

I grabbed my phone

There was no signal

I tore a sleeve from my shirt

And wrapped my leg

I stood up, wobbly

I grabbed anything I could to mark the spot

Rocks, branches, making a circle

Around the skull

Around the place

I began to walk the trail again

Trying to remember each clue

To where I was

The skull image blistering my brain.

I pushed myself

Pulled myself. down the mountain

down to the end of the trail

everyone was gone

Only I remained

The sun setting

I reached for my phone

A small signal

I called for help

The answer never came

A moment later

a whack, my head screaming in pain

I hit the dirt again

I looked up

His full body a giant above me

A log in hand, he hit me again

and again and again

My skull would never grow a daisy

My picture would be on a poster

I also rest

In an unmarked grave

Just off the trail

A reminder to women

Never hike alone

I now begin the second half

My poetry partner husband

Has abandoned me for sleep

24 too much for him this year

His computer chair is empty

His computer silent

I sit alone

The fans wailing

Just me and the words

Just me

How strange it is

To be alone again

The camaraderie broken,

the poems languish without his ear

The tiredness becomes mine to bear

He is missing

I miss him,

The marathon changes

I must make the journey alone.

The halfway mark

A canopy of words

Protecting me

My breastbone aching from sitting up

Panic shadowing me

Chasing me

The moon whispering to keep going

There will be glory at the end

My body would give it all

For ten hours sleep

And a home-cooked meal

But I must soldier on

Grab my words and beat the monsters down

Lunge with verse and attack with phrasing

Another 12 to go.

I met Bob for the first time

Four long years ago

He had a car then

He walked slow but deliberate

His hair cut, washed and combed

In his Sunday best

He always left a tip

A big smile, a friendly personality

He was the luckiest man alive.

He disappeared for a while.

He returned without a car

Without a hair cut

His clothes more tattered

Pushing a walker laden with his life

His body more frail, his smile more crooked

Still he would tell you whether you asked or not

He was the luckiest man alive

He told me his story one day

Parts at least

He had been hit by a drunk driver

He had been in a coma

Woke up, unable to walk

His wife deserted him

His new life was hard work

But he was alive

he learned to walk again.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses had been there

And every Sunday he tries to make church

Whenever he possibly can

God has blessed him

He is the luckiest man alive.

He pushes his walker, sometimes attempting to run

Across a street or along the highway

His legs barely working

He has almost gotten hit

Too many times to mention.

He told me the worst part

Was never feeling clean.

I saw him pee by the side of the road once

The bathroom too far to go.

He always tells me, he tells us all

He is the luckiest man alive

Once I found him asleep on the sidewalk

He looked dead

The police came, they knew him well

He had walked too far and just couldn’t go on

They shewed him away

Sent him down the highway

He struggled to stand

But he made it a ways

Bob never gives up

Never gets upset

He is the luckiest man alive

He lives in whatever parking lot he can

Tries to be a good citizen

Cockroaches fall from his bags

He has a tarp for when it rains

People buy him food sometimes

He smiles and chats

His hair long and tangled

No one really cares, no one really helps

But Bob will tell you

He will always tell you

He is the luckiest man alive.

I wish I could help him, take him in

Help him find warmth and love and safety

But each day, he struggles along

Alone

Step by careful step

One long day into the next

He is a good man, a kind man,

He tells us all

Anyone that will listen

He is the luckiest man alive

I believe he means it too.

At this point in the process

Ten hours of waking struggle

My inner muse screaming for help

I can only offer praise

To the bed I love so and abandoned in the middle of the night

Praise to sleeping in until 11 on Saturday mornings

Waking to the glorious sounds of” Shall we go for breakfast?”

I praise coffee, canned cappuccino, brewed fresh, instant cappuccino,

I love them all

And Starbucks, a Frappucino on a hot day

How glorious

How sinful

I praise junk food, malted milk balls

Macadamia Roca

Mixed nuts

Taco Bell tacos and Popsicles

I praise poets,trying to defeat the angry sleep demon

And the blank page

I praise the written word and how it has held me hostage

I praise computers and keyboards and fancy pens in frivolous notebooks

And I praise the short nap I am about to take.

Glass echoes

Silent in shatters

Windows of the soul

Concrete opacity

I step lightly onto a path

Made from transparency

Not quite willing to be seen

But my soul visible

If someone throws a stone

Or an insult

Or dares to walk too close

Warrior

I conquer worlds like it is my duty
Slipping into fantasy and fright
Standing outside the darkest night
Stowing adrift in sanity’s grip

Slipping into fantasy and fright
Howling moon stands at the ready
Stowing adrift in sanity’s grip
I cannot imagine a more hideous trip

Howling moon stands at the ready
I conquer worlds like it is my duty
I cannot imagine a more hideous trip
Standing outside the darkest night

The clock ticks. It’s loudness piercing the hum of the fan

The groan of husband, reading the prompt. Cat is missing. Sleeping soundly

in a quiet hidden space. Gentle sunlight plays with shadows.

Soft morning musing

Verse of married delights

A mellow whisper .

I hate people

No I loathe them

Especially when they are in cars

They do not look

Do not use their blinkers

Run through red lights like they don’t exist

I cannot tolerate people

In shopping carts

Blocking the aisles

digging for pennies

In the bottom of their purses

With twenty people moaning behind them

I abhor people

Screaming children

Who pound at the floor

And beg for choclate

Parents ignore the beast when it pulls

It’s tiny sister’s hair

And the inevitable screaming

and yelling that follows

from parent, sister and beast

I hate people

smelly, unkempt,

Always on their phones

Pushing themselves

Through crowds of others

I hate people

Always eating, whining, bitching

Complaining.

I hate them all

Riddled with ridicule

Jarring in judgement

Falling, farting, fermenting

I hate people

Present company excluded

Even darkness cries for the light sometimes

The light will touch it gently,

Caressing it’s grays into orange and it’s black into pink

The light watches the transfusion

The dark and light become one,

Shadows slink away under trees and behind fences

The light wins for a day

All is jolly and bright

Until shadows waken

The light begs for release

Pleasantness has lost it’s joy

It needs to relax, be less on stage

Darkness comes out of hiding

It caresses the light

Changing it’s yellow to red

And it’s white to purple

Until the dark wins

The light seeping into a small orb and distant flickers

The light and dark are companions

Friends, Enemies

But always dependent

On the others return