The Poetry Marathon

The snow comes

White

Like little pearly paws

It becomes a blanket

For a cat

The cat 9-lives

Snow, less

Returning

Children, of varying sizes, equal, to a degree

Sons and daughters

Healthy, except one

unsure of vegetables

afraid of Dad, voice too loud

Friends come and go

Enjoying free food and horse rides

The house is large

they like people knowing

they are rich

Generally agreeing, that the Law

Is worth abiding to

Because trouble

simply means trouble

the word is prominence

The earth is proud of them

They like trees and animals

Glowing concepts of freedom and love

(taking into account their neighbour)

eyes always out for dogs chasing cars

There is a union

Of belief and obligation

Good vs bad never difficult

expanding self-defense

to the maintenance of dignity

Dad isn’t home much, works hard

Mother towers over them all

Using Father’s name

dedicated to everything

and always, let her kids win

I have been one acquainted with you

I have seen you, and dreamed

and when it rained, your sad face seemed new

I have looked upon many faces

and it seems yours changes in the sun

I will embrace it, and take it many places

I have tried to stop you from running

and have heard the beckoning cries

Do I gather a stylish cunning

Do not say good-bye to me

because, some of my actions are yours

and your actions are good for me

This familiarity is ours

You came to me and I came to you

yet we have not shared flowers

Do you hear  me, are you true

Your heart beats as mine

I am one acquainted with you

All but a grain of sand

Sitting under a wildflower

or am I yielding a sword of power

so much strength in my simple hand

Is my cage of wide bars

such, so I cannot reach the stars

There, a spoken demise

From a ragged hungry dog

or a prisoner amidst the flog

So fearful, yet strangely wise

Heaven’s storm is brewing

and Love’s heart stewing

Birds share a meager place

content with very few seeds

carrying out God’s given deeds

as we ne’er see their gentle face

We take credit for their life

concerned to cure only our strife

Those glorious servants so loyal

their work forever unpaid

the butcher’s knife has been laid

for a feast prepared so Royal

Where does this misuse arise

within our cruel assumption of prize

This cry for human blood

a lifeline to the prayers of earth

The answer: a song of mirth

avoiding hatreds mighty flood

We know not of tomorrow

amidst the blinding of our sorrows

The sun rises

despite the resistance to its course

We, unkindly, of little remorse

with our corruption of assizes

Yeh… the is believing

and a Godly hand receiving

I seldom saw myself

The wisdom comes late, and slowly

Those days were lonely

an unknowing fate, innocence

Little calculation, or even thought

A brief sight. Of nature

Full of warning and advice

occasional, subtle delight.  Blindness

The wonder drops

From fear. And being told.

The prolific rights and wrongs.

Not clear. Angry

Beginning to right

My eager hand. Tracing

memories and hopeful dreams

Written in sand. Ready to be swept away.

I heard words.

But the voices unsure. I am Uncertain

walking with careful steps

to endure. Not listening.

My heartbeat unfound.

In my thoughts. A miracle

a flavour of violence

I sought. Unimaginable peace.

Friends. Playful

Hiding games. Laughter.

What do they think of me.

Calling each other names. We don’t mean what we say.

Difference and sameness

The woods. Do they come to us

or we go there to explore

The questions of maybes and coulds. Answered as we run

Seen and not heard.

Is that all. Is that the world.

Am I invisible

I call. There is an echo

The curtains drawn

The lights were dimmed

I could hear the ivy breathing

my shelter garden untrimmed

I thoght of my pillow refuge

As legs were weary

and my terror-stricken mind

Alone and leery

He was before me

My disguise of sleep unfooling

I could feel his cutting eyes

in their arrogant ruling

I knew he pitied me

and that was his power

As I practised being weak

below his indestructible glower

He felt my death

but does not understand it

His unique style of murder

Suffocation, bit by bit

There was never love

except a passion for being

A holding, perfecting idol

yet unaware of his unseeing

I will find a home

with softness and forgiveness

In this half-sleep dream

a miracle of impulsiveness

Saving my name

Honour, or whatever it may be

letting go of imprisonment

Undead and free

Ah… the sun

The ultimate commander

of humility

and the tales we have spun

Continually restoring life

But spelling death too

defining acceptance and obedience

Cutting the air with a knife

Is our sky a desert

Where caped corpses

laugh at our hijinks

and the obligations we skirt

Do you turn into the moon

at night

disguised so worrisome

Teasing, with bright stars so strewn

You watch me

and seem to understand my dreams

A cluster of confusion

from nightmares to afternoon tea

The lines are drawn

with the invisible threads

Of your razor-sharp rays

where ideas spawn

Thoughts of immortality

and the oneness of all

Winds that coat our skin

reflecting your vitality

I drink the shine

and warm my chilling blood

As mornings tell me

of your power Divine

Summer. Time to prepare

For liquid influx. The concept

of weekends. No bearing on

Anything.

We curse the humid feeling of

organizing limited time. We think

of Fruit, and removing seeds.

Tedium.

The barbeque is cob-webby

and has rusty parts. I don’t think the

Steak will care.

Salmon is better. And it

makes the grates smell.

Outside where the grill lies

are furry things eating bugs.

Cute but snake-like.

The freshness of spring

Has changed to skunkiness. The rain

is never enough.

Very few monarchs. I join

A milkweed campaign. We need

more of just about everything.

But people.

My friends go camping. If you call it that.

Luxuries and electricity.

Blue Jays. Lost perspective.

They’re a real bird. Aggressive.

Catching squirrels. Re-location.

Cats, with testicles

That need removing. Despite the season

the news

hardly ever changes. We try not to be

selfish about Death.

French fries with Cajun spice

Malt vinegar.

Noisy air-conditioners. Not a breath

of fresh air.

Blueberries like the sea

enough to drown my sorrows

But where is a path

for my inspired feet to borrow

My basket

not large enough for this swallowing ocean

As I bend to gather

in a blue-flesh commotion

My fingers bloodied

asking to be dipped in wine

As I count to infinity

Picking berries divine

There is smoke in the distance

and the cry of gulls

Protesting my invasion

of uncertain culls

Am I here to conquer

my doubts and fears

Hoping that someone will hear

my unconquered cheers

I see green and blue

the glorious pungency released

and then grab a cluster of flies

Drunk on the sensuous feast

I find an oasis

a clearing of rock and determined moss

and sit, looking at where my sorrows

Have drowned like pitied dross

But I am still here

Useless in my escape

Unable to return to the basket’s home

where thatched dreams are destroyed by rape

Those days of old

lingering, dreaming

Under that tree that weeped

my soul never sold

The wagon I fed

full of smiling apples

Shined for hope and perfection

as happy, as they were red

The heydays

a time of unpurposeful frolic

But always within me

a dance and one-act plays

Dusk at the river

so mysteriously quiet

Except for the buzzing of twilight flies

as I take on evening’s shiver

The flowers and trees

all seemed to agree with me

Singing and carefree

colourful with my grass-stained knees

I couldn’t decide between the mystical stars

or the orange rise of the sun

Everything was merciful

there were no lingering scars

Time was timeless

The clock ticking, never ominous

I was loved and loving

Never a day was rhymeless

The cows and horses

and the choo of the train

Speaking to me in a way

to give me a princely course

I played in the hay with my wishes

No needles in my way

Reading of a pirate’s lore

and mythical giant fishes

The red gables of home

so bright and confident

Could I forever be the same?

as my dreams began to roam