The Poetry Marathon

A Little Better

Finding hope in the small wins,
As we strive to be better, do better,
Coming together in love and kindness
We can make someone smile,
Changing their days in ways unknown.

You may not change the world,
But the world is full of little things,
And every little helps,
Knowing we can all make a difference
For a brighter time to come.

Fifty Years

She stops outside number 82, sees a woman
Similar to the one
She herself remembers being.
Recollects her 21st, over fifty years ago,
And her husband to be, waiting
Until after the pub closed to attend,
Not sharing until years later
That he needed the Dutch courage to even enter the house.

Recollects her 21st, over fifty years ago,
Wonders what happened to that girl
Full of life and hope,
Who dared to love.
But her husband is gone
And she is left alone,
Standing outside a house no longer hers,
Filled only with memories.

The woman who looks like she used to,
Half her age, no wrinkles or worries,
Listens and laughs
In all the right places,
Lets her stop and talk,
And she finally feels seen,
Even though she misses her husband, and
Recollects her 21st, over fifty years ago.

The town has changed a lot,
But she stays here – born and bred,
Likes to tell her story,
Reminisce and remember
She can still hear the music,
Of the days when the dancing
Lasted all night, and they greeted the dawn,
That one night, on her 21st, over fifty years ago.

The Joy of Unseen Things

Unseen things in the air surround her
Like hummingbirds, too fast to notice,
Bringing beauty, colour, life.
Carrying her thoughts on the wind,
Casting daydreams in the air.

It is the smile on a stranger’s face,
Not knowing the reason,
The music in your head from nowhere,
The game that only makes sense
To the child playing.

In the sea, the sky, the stars,
She catches a glimpse
In the corner of her eye,
Future joys on their way,
Unseen, unheard. Felt forever.

Sense of an Ending

The end, when it came,
Had the sense of an ending,
Something changing but unsure
If real or imagined for so long.

The end was with a cautious step,
Not a leap forward.
No big parties,
Fireworks, public holidays.

A small sense of something new,
Good or bad – as yet unknown.
When lockdown ended
And a new chapter begun.

Hi All

This is my third half-marathon. Ready to get stuck in, here in Sussex, UK. Good luck to everyone taking part!

Counting Steps

In her sleep
She is counting steps.
She gets nowhere
But does not wake up.

In the morning, she rises early,
Puts on workout clothes,
Expensive running shoes,
And jogs on the spot.

She counts every step,
Every minute, hour, day,
Walking miles, never leaving the house,
Going nowhere fast.

The Other Place

I’ve never been to that other place –
You know the one.
Hidden, secret, a degree away from normal.
Entered through a small wooden door,
Only noticed out of the corner of your eye,
Or through a large wardrobe in an empty bedroom.
It could be a hole in a garden wall, almost buried
Under thick, heavy vines.
Or a locked entrance to a castle,
High in the mountains,
Where no-one ever goes.
Except when they do
And later return,
Somehow different, transported to
That other place,
Where I have never been
And am unlikely to ever go.
And so I watch the doors open,
Even as they remain closed to me.
I watch and I read
The signs, the books,
Find the almost entrances,
Almost hidden
In plain sight.

Moonshadow

Reflected in Moonshadow
You smile at me,
Reach a hand out towards me,
As I step over rocks and whirlpools,
A landscape as strange
As the surface of the Moon
In this quiet time
Between days,
Reflected in the shadow
Of a bright, full, heavy moon.
And I fill as bright and full,
Heavy with possibility,
With the future,
With the knowledge of you,
And me.

Zoom

Zoom is the new meeting place,
The cool place to be.
Safe behind closed doors
We open virtual lives to each other.

This is the strange new normal,
Waving into screens miles apart,
Choosing virtual backgrounds
More real than our homes.

Conversation buzzes brightly,
Like fireflies in summer heat.
A small bottle of time,
Unreal and unmasked.

Like Wildfire

She is a wildcat, burning strong,
Furious and bright as wildfire,
Claws sharp and deadly,
Ready to attack.

Or defend,
A lioness protecting
The young and helpless.
Cleansing fire spreading wide.

With wildfire in her veins
She is glorious.
Or awful.
A black hole pulling you into her molten centre.

She is no longer nothing.
She is everything.
Wildcat. Wildfire. Wild.
Woman.