The Poetry Marathon

the walk we need to learn

walking is our giving gift,
one step at a time
and one foot in front of the other
no looking back or
you might fall,
turn into a salt statue or
just die
disapear, be forgotten forever,
erased from the planet,

But now that i read the end of the earth,
i know the world is no longer round and
if i do walk in i will fall off the edge
and die
so what to do,
i cant look back
i cant walk backwards,
only bad people do that
and then they are punished
but what am i going to do

now that the world is no longer round
but flat as a pancake.
Forward is no longer an option
but staying put is no possible,
people start showing and pushing from behind
will i be strong enough to resist,
the leap into the unknown
or just let go,..

the mystery of frogs elbows,

have you read the essay about frogs elbows,
pointy, edgy and shouldnt be touched
but they are really handy
for frogs to put their raincoats on
in the evening thunder storm
and summer wind.

The lightness of being is pulling in its wake,
i can not resist
just let myself glide
and soon i feel my feet leaving the ground
i walk on thin air
and soon it turns thicker

The lightness of being is pulling me in its wake
and i start smiling when i realise
that i swim in the air,
i cant just let it happen
i have to intervene

That lightness of being i need to make it mine
and fall to the ground
with a loud thud
and realise i am on wooden floor in my childhood bedroom.

Pancakes are round.
they smell of childhood forgotten memories
they bring with them a huge nostalgia
of children who have left the hearth,
they are
warm, yellow and crispy
the way i like them

but they make me feel lonely,
isolate,
as an adult,
they are robinson crusoe food,
marrooned on a deserted island.
Did he miss pancakes?
He could have some of mine,

Jams and then some with cheese,
and maybe some for tomorrow’s breakfast,
used to freeze some for a quick snack for the children.

Pancakes are round or ought to be
but they give nostalgia a new meaning.

My new red and orange shoes, shinning in the bright sunshine,

still smell of shop and credit card transaction.

bought them for a cousin’s wedding.

But I like them, red and orange,

glad I am not a bridesmaid.

I will be able to coordinate the shoes and wear them to my heart’s content.

Red and orange, a dress, a hat, a handbag

and what to do with my hair.

Those shoes are the stuff dreams are made off,

they make memories for a life time.

The perfect match,

I couldn’t really afford them.

But I wear them all the time now,

They are so me,

they fit,

We are the ideal match.

I run and I skip,

I am proud and happy with my red and orange shoes.

I wear clothes to highlight them and put them to their own advantage.

Red and orange,

shoes and one day I will have to discard them,

cant think of that moment now,

Too difficult,

Will I wear them for my cousin’s wedding

No id rather skip on the milky way wearing them.

There is the story of a spider who sat next to a little girl and scared her.

There is the story of a spider who spend most of the cold winter months hanging on the ceiling of my bedroom. We didn’t scare each other, we lived alongside each other. And when early spring came he stung me in the right ankle, run out of the window never to be seen again. How is that for gratitude??

There is a story of a spider who kept being in the wrong place at the wrong time,

Sometimes people were kind enough to avoid the spider and stepped around it.

Sometimes, they picked it up to move it out of harm’s way.

Sometimes people just step on it.

And next day another spider would be at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Scaring himself to death by looking into a pocket mirror fallen out of somebody’s pocket.

In the midst of the heat of summer, the

first fleeting impressions after the long

august rains, feel like the first sobs

of the end of our love story, the end of

the summer season, the

beginning of the practise of violins

Taking us straight to the first notes of the Christmas Oratorio of

Bach and on that Christmas morn we know already of the coming autumn.

My heart bleeds,

I can feel the blood running down my torso,

between my breast like a waterfall of warm liquid.

But I pull,

 I pull even harder.

I can feel my pain,

my crushing, self destructive pain

But I ignore it

And still I pull my heart out,

and watch it

where I threw it

still throbbing in the mud of yesterday’s torrential rain,

my heart still pulsating,

bleeding in the mud

and all that blood

covers the memories of yesterday’s storm

And then I see today

my heart,

I feel my empty shell

doubled over in pain

and I kneel down to retrieve my heart

before the herd of dogs

suddenly stands there with teeth bared

And I want my heart back,

my life,

my hope ,

my future.

What should the world, do on a day like this?

On a day full of sunshine, laughter and,..

joy for all of us to celebrate today

we relax and forget about tomorrow

What should the world, do on a day like this?

When the past is still trying to smother us

when we are too afraid to face ourselves

and see a people ready for a walk

What should the world, do on a day like this?

Accept tomorrow will come and look

forward to it, embrace it and make it ours

Let the past go, go with us into morrow

After breakfast filling the cart with goodies, books, crayons, water,

and anything else that seem really important to take

I would walk off

turning around the first barn then the next into the big garden at the back of the house,

there now I can see my trusted friend the big apple tree,

generous in summer with a huge canopy to hide the sun and cool us down,

and in autumn bows cracking under the weight of the apples.

I didn’t like them much they were too sour for me,

I couldn’t wait to get there,

my little paradise,

often the cart was way too heavy

but stubbornly I managed,

I had added an extra blanket in case of a sudden breeze coming up

and a chair for visitors too ancient to sit beside me on the blanket.

Glasses, plates, and sometimes I had to run back once or twice because I had forgotten some really important element to make my day even more perfect

as I grew older I keep taking the radio from the kitchen too and nobody was too pleased with me about that,

Then lunchtime came and I let myself be tempted by the parental call

and then came back for a siesta.

But while I was gone some dog or cat or both had sneaked in and was sleeping on my blanket,

and I would just lay down next to them and close my eyes

and just rest and enjoy the peace

till we were interrupted by the first visitor of the afternoon,

bearing gifts as a toll

to enable them to share with me that moment safe out of the sun’s heat

on a summer afternoon under the apple tree