The Poetry Marathon

Neptune

September 1846
The home of possibly an ocean, but likely not
A place where a day is only 16 hours but a trip takes 165 years
if headed in a ellipse
Where diamond rain may be an occurrence
Icy crystals in a frozen tundra
As strong winds would blow it around, that is
Until those winds suddenly up and disappeared
With little to no explanation as to why
What is the furthest planet from the sun

Black and White with a Touch of Gray

Crystal clear and black and white
Things seem so cut and dry
And yet, sometimes that is not quite
The case before one’s eyes
More times than not, a touch of gray
Is accurate to view
As lines are blurred and rules un-clear
For fairness to ensue

That touch of gray, a mid-point space
On which most can agree
Is safer for keeping the pace
Of peace and harmony
Black and white thought can leave some lost
With no place to fit in
Such thinking is not worth the cost
Should hurt feelings begin

And yet, within the touch of gray
Everyone can feel embraced
A spot no one should feel that they
Should ever be disgraced
Casting aside the issues found
In black and white ideals
To blur those lines for peace abound
Where all involved can heal

Mandala

Each fiber is woven and intricate
Each strand in tandem with the next
Individuality that joins together
A band of sisters, standing as one
A simplistic beauty, measured by a dream
A dream of art, the gift of life
That measures the test of time
O’er centuries long forgotten
To ensure we never forget
And a design that will never
One that shall be everlasting
For many centuries still
Yet to come
To be enjoyed by many
Forever
As our bodies are woven and intricate
Each strand in tandem with the next
With individuality that joins together
As a band of sisters standing as one
Just like the mandala

Ode to the Air Conditioner

Oh! A/C how I praise thee!
Through all these hot summer days
I may sometimes hide beneath blankets
But you’re here in my debt and my praise
I would never make it without you
With you, I’ve the strength to subsist
You help me to maintain my focus
You make sure that I can exist

All hail thee, mighty A/C friend
You’re always there when I need
Sometimes I feel I abuse you
But you see it as part of your creed
You know that the heat leaves me restless
It ravages body and mind
But you remain true to your purpose
The most loyal friend I can find

Oh A/C! You know all my strong points
You know all my weaknesses too
I owe my good health to your presence
I thank you for staying so true
Summer heat, humid days and my asthma
Are not the three best things that should mix
But I’ll bow my head now before you
For the temp read of seventy-six!

The 2023 Texas Drought 

Crunchy grass and muggy air
Another drought filled night
No hint of rain found anywhere
On this September night
It’s been this way, all summer heat
Without any relief
The forecast promising deceit
Just adding to our grief

The plants are dead, the grass is brown
The wildlife is trying
But even still, across our town
So many things are dying
A summer unlike what we’ve known
In many years, if ever
We need to see the storms at home
How much a grand endeavor

Our planet in a periled state
Is screaming a forewarning
We need to change, if not too late
To stop this time of mourning
If summer has been but a test
It has shown all too well
We would all be very hard pressed
To live our days in Hell.

It was a cold morning on the bayou. I looked outside and noticed the light bulb by the carport had broken. I grabbed a jacket, while taking a sip of my cinnamon beet juice and headed outside to replace the light. A tremor came over me as the chill caused a twinge of pain in my elbow. Signs of an old sports injury protesting the chill.
“An island is definitely on my bucket list.” I thought as an elk greeted me.
“Hi Dave!” I wave at the elk as I struggle to reach the light.
“Oh. If only I were taller.” I think to myself as I see Randall, the neighbor’s son, hopping in my direction.
“Hello, Ms. Marlowe.” he smiles. “You look like you could really use some help.”
“Sure!” I yell. “This cold is really doing a number on me today.”
I handed Randall the lightbulb and climbed down from the ladder.
“Dave really likes you.” Randall pointed out as the overly affectionate elk decides to nudge my cheek as if to give me an Eskimo kiss.
Smiling over Dave’s affection, Randall pauses and says “That reminds me of Ralph.”
Ralph, an elderly man from the Circle, had cared for Dave for many years since he was a youngster and the blizzard left him orphaned and alone in the wilderness. The two shared an inseparable bond until Ralph succumbed to an avalanche while hiking in the mountains after a late snowstorm in March of the prior year. Since that time, I had taken over Dave’s care, a tribute to Ralph, but he was irreplaceable.
Randall changed the lightbulb and I headed back inside, watching Dave stroll into the forest again,
“I wonder where he goes.” I thought.

The next morning, the light was out again.
“If I didn’t know better,” I thought. “Ralph must be up to his tricks again.”
Ralph used to unscrew the light just to get me going. I think it brought him some form of old man twisted humor.
For the next three days, I would change the bulb only for it to go out again and this time, they were burned out, just loose. I thought about installing cameras, but why. Nothing is being stolen. Just unscrewed, even if it was leaving me a little unhinged.
It has to be in some way fate. Ralph is loosening the bulbs to mess with me. Some message from beyond.
Funnier still, Dave had disappeared too. I hadn’t seen him since Randall had changed the burned out bulb. But then, as quickly as he left, he returned but the light still kept going out.

About three weeks – and several light issues later – I saw Dave at my carport and to my surprise, he was unscrewing a bulb with his antlers and this time, he took the bulb with him when he left. I decided to follow him and see where he went. When he stopped, so did my heart. I couldn’t help but cry. Dave had been unscrewing the bulbs to make me think of Ralph and carried this one to Ralph’s headstone. It was his own way of making me think of his good friend and protector and now, shining a light on his friend, one more time.

The Flame to Your Stars

Out in the desert, a sky filled with stars
I sit in the darkness, a fire burns afar
I shine light upon it and realize the view
The stars, the flame, the light – all for you
I think back to the night that we met long ago
A night, rather similar, beneath moonlit glow
Where oft nervous talking gave way to a kiss
Which led to a life that I now truly miss
That evening, its moonlight, its flame and its stars
Came up in our memories, a night truly ours
A whole life before us, little we knew then
Now left but in memory of what might have been
That night you were with me
In ways, you are still
But, residing in Heaven
Twinkling down as God’s will
O’er that spot oh so special
So sacred and ours
Where I feel you with me, my flame to your stars

Photo credit: https://unsplash.com/@tianhao_wang

We Breathe Life

We breathe life
Into every intention
Every interaction
Every sense of promise

When we walk down the street
We breathe life
Into every smile, every wave
Every step, marching to our own beat

Each time we console a loved one
Hugging them or easing their fears
We breathe life
By simply sharing our cares and concerns

Each second or minute
Hour or day on the planet
And in every way, shape or form
We breathe life

Swan Lake

Swan Lake for some is but a dance
But, here, it is vacation
A camping trip that at a glance
Yields rest and relaxation
Picturesque hints of crystal blue
Meet up with forest green
A break from life, a fond adieu
From all the stress I’ve seen

I set my tent beside the lake
Beneath a sprawling maple
I took a breath for peaceful sake
Let quiet be my staple
A time to let the lakeshore speak
And to let each sorrow fade
Until the solace that I seek
Defines each glint of shade

I close my eyes and take it in
The sounds ring in my ears
The pain releasing from within
Marked by my silent tears
As I let go, peace floods my heart
And I begin to heal
For nature’s power to impart
Such peace is quite surreal

I bid farewell to dear Swan Lake
Relaxed and freed within
Her beauty ’twas a blessed break
From the perils that had been
And I find calm in knowing she
Will be there should I need
Another chance to simply be
At one with her ’til freed

A Crime of Passion (or Not)

Shards of glass, strewn everywhere, scattered beneath the moonlit sky
Brown footprints appear to dot the windowsill – a clear sign of forced entry perhaps
Inside, chaos ensues
Tossed memories, loose leaf dreams, lots of questions
The glass appears to have been broken from the inside… and out…
That’s odd
The papers strewn everywhere seem like there was a struggle of some sort, but it could have been internal
It could have been self made
And yet, no one is home, just a frightened cat, maybe the source of the paw prints
Where’s the homeowner?
A canvass of the area shows footprints leading into the woods
Inside, more clues… crumpled up paper in the trash, the pages filled with illegible writing and scribbles
Maybe harm, maybe harmless – scene and source unknown
A walk into the woods follows the footprints to a clearing in the trees where there is a road to nowhere
Could the suspect have fetched a ride and better yet, again, where is the homeowner
A walk into the woods follows the footprints to a clearing in the trees where there is a road to nowhere important
Could the suspect have hitched a ride and better yet, the homeowner. Location unknown
A jogger passing by confirms she saw one lone mad man jump into a Taurus and head East, yelling something about a coffee shop
We head East for answers
The coffee shop is filled with early Saturday, pre-dawn, revelers, busy for the hour at hand
We must interview them all
When we finish our discussions, we have but one customer left. A balding man in his 40s, leaving a restroom and looking flustered
Upon questioning, we learn he’s a writer and on a deadline. Suffering a days long writers’ block, the commotion ensued at home
And there we have it, no break-in, just no sense of break through
The cat…. he was the source of the footprints on the sill. He spilled coffee on the only idea the man had had in days.

Case closed.