The Poetry Marathon

Deep within, beneath my skin

my heart, my pulse, unite.

I see my bones, my muscle tones

my blood

in liquid night.

The boundaries

between my heart, and where my brain would go

I melt like ice, in heat

despite

reluctance

to let go.

Feelings roll like waves or more

like shadows on the lawn

they come, they go, they pass…some slow

revealing what

they know.

Deep within, beneath my skin

beyond my ego lies

a spirit of infinity

relation to

all life.

A verse… adverse

reverse, re-write…re-do!

Addiction to the form.

Complete, repeat

all right… delete!

A vision

to reform.

Decisions and revisions,

edit, shed it, let it go…

reactions and restrictions…

dedication to the show

off in my brain.

Dedicate, reiterate

enunciate in prose…

between the lines

I find in time

a space

where all

is known.

I remember the wind in my hair

riding my Schwinn down the hill to

the Lake….

Summer, so long on fun

so carefree and abundant.

Our easement had a lock

and rack full of canoes (one of them Mine!)

and a dock with a slide and a diving board.

Next door was the fancier Country Club version, but I preferred our humble piece

of the Lake.

With my friends, we would lift the canoe

into the water

and paddle as Huck Finn

on back bay adventures,

carrying it over shallow rocky inlets.

Later, my friends

were old enough to pilot

their parents’ boats.

We inner tubed and water skied

and generally cruised

the Lake.

(Watch out for the Lake Patrol!)

As I grew older,

we began to make fun of the lake…

it’s smell, it’s algae blooms,

the human wealth

upon it’s shores.

But we still enjoyed it’s bounty.

In wintertime, I went there alone

writing poems

to the sound of water lapping

upon the dock.

I remember the Lake

it’s welcoming cool depth,

it’s freedom and adventure.

For this

I am grateful.

My weary heart finds comfort

in words we wrote between

our delicate emotions

witnessing a scene.

My weary heart finds comfort

beneath the open sky

expansive in it’s bounty

reflected in it’s high.

My weary heart finds comfort

revealing mind to pen

releasing all emotions

perspective, once again.

Solitude

breathe deep

for broken dreams

suppress the lungs

in  denial.

Beauty, in it’s desolation,

ravaging in reclamation…

all is impermanent.

(Alpenglow, beneath the snow, has purchased much desire)

Where promises despair

whispered in the air

abandoned as mercurial

desire.

Ho do I dream into being

your life and your love and yourself?

Your arms they surround me in dreams, but I wake alone.

Your wife

she had so many years

I hope they were beautifully real

I envy the time she was precious

in your eyes….

the time and love I tossed aside..

in my own broken way

so long ago.

Thank you for seeing the magic

inside my very soul

Thank you for turning your love light

the way you would shine it on me

For the fire you held in your soul

open to me.

Death, abundant and foolish,

swept you away much too soon

this aching inside my of heart

just won’t leave the room.

Beyond the remains of  this yearning

this longing for what could’ve been

Your love it embraces me gently…

I feel it again.

I feel it again.

From the four directions

comes the breath, the wind

of my ancestors.

As my feet

touch the ground

my eyes delight

in the many shades

of green.

Water

so precious, the very essence of all,

blesses my lips

with seeming abundance.

Each breath I draw

a knowing

I am here.

The sun brushes everything

in golden light.

In these moments

All is sacred.

As I walk through the woods, I am overcome with pungent oxygen… cedar as incense for the soul. The branches overhead enfold me, caressing my senses with gentle divinity. There is no need for altars, pews, and lecturing with words. I am in the church of all… the abundant acceptance of god’s own symphony.

Whispering wind blows

Speaking amongst the branches

I know who I am.

Last night

the moon

like god’s own streetlamp

lit up the sky.

Only a lake

could serve as mirror

to reflect it’s boundless glory.

A canopy

of stars

above

my naked eyes.

There is a song

that I hear

whenever The End

is mentioned.

My mind is like that,

a living collection of refrains, jingles, and chorus lines.

A walking, talking, frequently whistling,

Karaoke machine.

Or juke box, I suppose.

The End

is just another word

for the Circle

or the loop

of infinity.

Begin

Again.