The Poetry Marathon

Tick tock,

sounds the clock, hoping for the best.

Ding dong,

rings the gong. The day is almost through.

An icy cold plunge

Beautiful reefs all around.

The current frees me.

The roll of the dice,

the flick of a card,

the beat of a heart.

Everyone knows, the house always wins.

Build your home the way you must.

Care not what others think,

because when it comes to games of love and chance,

luck always favors the bold.

• Rise up lovers. Take not one another’s hands but your love’s.
• Only then will you find the happiness you seek in your hearts.
•  A man must know the passion of being a spouse, a parent, and a lover on equal terms that their lovers are.
• After all, was that not the argument of Adam and Lilith? Was it not decided then that both must be faithful?
• No, friends. Apparently, it has not. Men have a reputation of insensitivity and a lack of passion. But,
• Come the dawn, the romantics will rise like a great wave and prove this to be false. Terrible beasts we are not.
• Everyone has someone they are meant to be with. Show the world of what sort of love we are fond.

A tribute to Ralph Waldo Emerson,

One of the truest romantics and academics in literature.

“Love’s hearts are faithful, but not fond…” – Celestial Love

Bravely he stands, ready for battle.

Staring him down is his enemy, the one he swore to kill.

As they circle each other, one says “Surrender.”

The other cries, “Never!” And like that the war is on.

Man and beast clash for survival.

Both entered but only one leave this day.

There’s no greater feeling than that of life traveling through you.

The creaking of the wood,

The stretch of the string.

With my feet firmly planted and my head pointed towards my goal,

in that moment I can feel the very earth moving beneath me.

My ancestors whisper their secrets in my ears, and the scent of life flows through me.

I take a deep breath, trying to savor the sensation of the world’s soul as it fills my entire body.

My fingers uncurl. It’s not a loss of control, but a willing surrender to the elements of nature.

The string, once restrained, snaps to. The souls leave me in a sudden rush of wind.

Whoosh.

Say what you will, there’s an honor in persistence.

Just because one does not succeed,

have their tries become inert?

Like King Sisyphus forever cursed to roll a boulder

only for it to roll down at the end,

I care not what comes for the final result.

As any writer worth their salt can tell you,

It’s the journey that makes the trip, not the destination.

Swirling blades spinning

Tirelessly, ’round and ’round.

Soothing; Hypnotic.

The mind’s imagination is a powerful thing.

My work, my life, the very fabric of my existence,

all must be painted just perfectly so,

lest the image be flawed.

Like a dream, all things must be vibrant and lively.

Why stay here in the real world,

when I can make my own wherever I like?

Twisted words weave webs of deceit,

a trap for the unsuspecting flies of the public.

When I think of the world in terms of predators and prey,

I have to ask myself which would I prefer to be.

The Spider?

The Fly?

Or the Web.