The Poetry Marathon

Silence of Mind

Done. Shut down. The shutters closed tight.

Not a thought or a shimmer of contemplative light.

The dark overwhelming, not a sound or a peep.

My mind is turned off, now let me sleep.

Good night, Poetry Marathon 2016! Thank you.

Hope Springs Nocturnal

With the darkening of skies and closing of eyes,

dreams bring with them fresh doses of hope.

A refreshing burst of effervescent do-overs,

clean-slated seconds and the beginnings of new things.

As long as sleep wraps you in safe, deep slumber,

nothing can harm until the first lights of dawn.

Brenna Moments

Hazel eyes, dirty blonde hair, smile that warms my heart – even in moments of anger and rage.

An artistic soul, she dances with paintbrushes and always sees light – in the darkest of moments.

Her birth reigns as one of my most precious life events – a moment to never forget or regret.

Life without her would seem pointless and empty – a string of moments shallow and gray.

When I get to Heaven and God asks how I fared – the moments with her will be all he need hear.

My daughter is all that matters, but don’t tell my husband – he thinks the day we met is my moment de jour.

She’ll read these words and grin at me, embarrassed – this sweet moment I’ll add to my collection of her.

Beneath The Surface

Lurking there, beneath the surface, hides an insidious spiny thing.

With spikes for hair and claws for hands, never turn your back on the hideous being.

For it’s lightening quick, conscienceless incarnate and, above all, extremely, hellaciously vain.

Spiraling out of control and then freezing, you can never anticipate the creature’s response.

Quite neglectful and woeful, avoiding interactions, whenever and however, at every and all cost.

For the inner critic is a beast wrought and writhing, immoral and, yes, quite mental and insane.

Marathon Stream

breathe deep, exhale, now write

poems, poetry, fingers typing

words that make sense, words that are silly,

words that resonate, palpate and pulse

to ramble with sentences, free from constraint

let the muse flow unfettered, she’s loose and unkempt

a creek’s worth of water and words, creative juices

relax, let go, relent, forget

when sentences won’t come, don’t panic or tremble

just shake off the water and float through the pause

all is well, your best has been done

the race is half over, contest near complete

grateful when finished, content and connected

ready to swim once again in twenty-seventeen

you rock, you’ve done it, splash gratitude gushing

now shut down, rest your fingers, dry off, go to sleep

Mason

Clear as glass, he lets the light in and shines as if inhabited by the sun itself. He’s branded with words that mean something to him – Ball and Wide-Mouth and Made In The US. Mason swings in the breeze as the backdoor opens and closes, with his band of nine brothers in tow. Jar-headed and neck-threaded, he breaks easily but offers to hold all of my precious savories without fear or complaint. My Mason, my companion, a beloved fixture in my life.

Sunrise on the Savannah

Golden beams pierce cerulean sky,

to the west pregnant storm clouds linger,

twin fowl take to flight,

as Elephants graze the grasses of the plains.

From the south a path leads northward,

a way to hope and light and tomorrow,

the heart of the sun glistens,

as a new day dawns.

Delicate Fear

Fear not, my lovely, for the time is not upon us.

Rest your weary head on my lap, don’t shed a tear.

Release burdens carried, they’re heavy and not needed.

Such emotion leave tethered, release now your fear.

Church Examined

What is church?

A place or an ideology, a set of rules or the story of humanity? Can church be little and rural, expensive and expansive or somewhere in-between?

What is church?

Church revels in monument, mythos and method. Church deals with death, hope and eternal resurrection. How can one entity be all of these?

What is church?

No one has the right to tell me what church is, not even a pastor or reverend or sister or priest. My church is heart-felt connections and spiritual longing. My church is where God lives, loves and offers retreat.

Alberto’s Jana

Hay shafts of hair

Eyes from the ocean

Lips pale and pink, on verge of a smile

Hands held together

Ears ready to listen

Simple white dress, grey-shaded one shoulder

She carries a story

Close to his heart

A daughter,  a child of legend on paper