The Poetry Marathon

Rocking back and forth on the edge of a bed seemed childish and lacking patience,

Until I saw them all rocking through the doors, in the rooms to the west of mine.

Starting to understand why my world is not the only one,

He, who I knew, died while sleeping the night that I slept so well.

Until that next night came when the sun bowed out,

Sitting while rocking awake, thinking of He, who I knew.

If lost, she’d weep.

For everything she knew, then, would be erased.

First steps towards expression, while reading others left an intense impression.

For everything she knew, then, would be erased.

If fire reversed the reign of power, they too, would be lost.

Dear Talula:

Heard it’s been raining quite a bit there lately. Frequent flash flooding, they say. Sounds messy.

Certainty you haven’t forgotten to dry off your feet at the door.

Mud on the red rug would set Nana off.

No one wants that.

To be fair though – no one aspires to own a muddy rug.

Unless the mess is what you’re trying to address.

Miss you,

Joy

Born and raised on Long Island, NY, USA, I had the love of writing poetry since I was about twelve years old.

I was originally influenced by reading Robert Frost and identified with his writings.

Writing help me to communicate my feelings about myself, along with the rest of humanity and its relation to the world early on as a teenager and, it continues to this day.