The Poetry Marathon

Rock a bye baby

There in a bog

I’d love to rock you

But I’m in a fog

When the wind whines

And you’re all alone

Hold onto the cradle

And not to your phone

If the bough breaks

and you take a tumble

Don’t be afraid

it’s only a stumble

Rock a bye baby

I’m off to bed

This poem makes no sense

It’s a kick in the head

I am uninspired

I guess I’m just tired

Caught in word stream

Wish I had ice cream

I hate being a poet

I want you to know it

I stand at the brink

these poems really stink

An hour to go

This really blows

Can’t wait for my bed

To get out of my head

This is what I imagine

Being a zombie feels like

Or a ghost reliving the same nightmare

Night after night after night

There is something supernatural

Something sinister about hour 22

You know the end is near

But it is out of your grasp

Your feet are being held down

Your brain screams for release

But no one can hear you

You reach out but there is nothing

to hold onto

You can do nothing but wait

Write and wait

Wait and write

The clock ticks

Ever so slowly

A time warp

A poet’s loop

A poem, on top of another poem, on top of another poem

Wait and write, write and wait

Try not to let the clock

ticking and tocking

control you.

This is when

I cannot

Will not

Concentrate on anything

not right

not  worthwhile

not worthy of my focus

I have no focus

I am a slit of who I was

All the walls are broken down

I don’t have energy for doubt

I don’t want creative genius

I only want this over

I want the ending

I want the reward

I don’t care if these make sense

If anything follows meter

I don’t care if anyone likes this

Or hates this

I am only focused

On what lies ahead

Typing the end

Slipping out of consciousness

Finding some peace

Tomorrow I will judge

Not tonight

Tonight I don’t care

I have made it this far

I have teetered on the edge

I have pulled the rabbits

Out of my boot

and made them into

magic words

I have waved my wand back and forth

And forth and back

Pen to paper

keyboard to blank screen

I have made this happen

20 times

I cannot see

My eyes are frosty

I am a word magician

Struggling through

the final tricks

Behold dear reader

I am a wordsmith

Being eaten by the words

Its late

My portrait is bleary eyed

I look old

My hair is unruly

I am cross

Discouraged

Distraught

I need sleep

I need rest

I need to be comatose

I am a computer

And a lamp

and a phone of video games

I have handed in my sanity

For two ibuprofen

And a bottle of water

Cat is restless

Husband is quiet

I am my own enemy now

These are the hours

The longest ones

Of the whole year

Counting down

Until my portrait is me

On my pillow

Sound asleep

Don’t be showing me some picture of a bed

Already made, comfy

Calling to me

This time of night

After this number of poems

You should be ashamed of yourselves

That’s like porn

You are getting me thinking things

I don’t want to think

How dare you show me a bed

Putting a picture like that up

That’s just mean

“I am begging: let me be lonely but not invisible” Natalie Diaz

I am used to lonely

Its what I do

What I have always done

Quiet time, my own music

My own books

My own voices

speaking in

hushed tones

I have been invisible too

Entered a room

No acknowledgement

I have been overlooked

Shied away from

Ignored

I have been the misfit

The last chosen for volleyball

The one forgotten at birthdays

But these days

I am seen

Noticed

By a lovely man

Who knows my heart

I am neither lonely

or invisible

The sound of “I Love You”

Opens my soul

It keeps me sane

It keeps my voices in check

So let me be lonely or invisible

Let me be the last chosen

and my birthday ignored

But just let me be loved

As I am today

Cat is spoiling my ocean-view

He likes the open window

To watch the birds, the waves, the palms

It is safe behind the window-screen

Tucked behind the curtains

Away from barking dogs

And the crows that squeal warnings

Whenever he is outside

He can watch the neighbors and not cower

Here he is the master

His domain is small, fascinating

He is vigilant

Ready

He blocks my ocean-view

But I get to watch him

His head moving side to side

to invisible sounds

Sniffing the air of other people’s dinners

Feeling the ocean air caress his whiskers

Helping me write a poem

I refuse to get botoxed

I don’t want plastic surgery

I want to grow old the way the universe intended

I want my wrinkles

My gray hair

My cold sense of humor

I could use less creaking

I wish my back felt more lively

But growing old doesn’t scare me

I never was a twenty year old model

I don’t ever care to look like one

I want the wisdom that comes with age

I want the wrinkles to reflect my laughter

I want my forehead to wear my worries for the world to see

I refuse to be botoxed

I don’t want puffy lips

I want my lips to kiss those I love

Comfortably

Let me grow old the way the universe intended

Don’t shame me for who I am.