The Poetry Marathon

here on treasure island

there are blue crystal sand dunes that peak

from my white wraparound porch

and after hours-

after all is quiet

and the passer-byers are all home in their beds;

the tide rolls up almost to the posts that hold us

suspended in the air-

but it never comes quite this far

even when the sea is rough

the bubbly white line only comes so far

as if there is some invisible wall that only God can see.

it is then that the soft moonlight falls over the whole ocean

and i am awed at the creativity of His mighty hand.

submersed in the deep blue ocean

i so long to be-

to live among the coral reef

the sand  the rock  the sea

the endless shift in atmosphere

the in and out of tide

a shark or dolphin swim right past

to stare me in the eye;

and i, like tiny bubbles,

let go of my fear and rise-

up to the surface, satisfied

that there is always an “other” side.

i am ready to test the limits-

to push past all my fears and stretch my hand

feeling every muscle strain –

being in the spur of a moment and

reaching for whatever mystery awaits.

i am ready to be in the moment

on top of a cliff or deep in the water

or fly through the clouds-

wherever the words take me-

i am ready.

and having you along for the ride makes it

all worthwhile.

you ask me what inspires me

so i will tell you again-

i got poetry running through my veins-

i eat words and breathe analogies

have verbs for breakfast

and synonyms for snack-

drink nouns and think antonyms-

chew on haikus all day long;

then when i’m full-

i release it like a big burp-

and BAM!

just like that-

i got a poem.

today is the kind of day where all

i want to do is write about you-

desire again.

selfish, self-seeking desire.

i remind myself that i am complete without you.

i remind myself that i have released you into the wind.

i remind myself that i can look inside of me

and feel whole.

i remind myself that i am complete without you.

i remind myself.

i remind myself.

i remind myself.

come sweet language angel

i am the red sister

consuming love like fire-

honey falling over delicious dirt-

put in the universe to grow you.-

overwhelm you with emotion and words.

come sweet language angel

dance the light of heaven-

embrace an innocent neighbor-

woman, boy or girl-

fill their hands with music, beauty and art-

and each one can live happy and full.

come sweet language angel

with your delicious kiss

go wild filling my universe with a thousand words-

never embracing old memories and pain-

only believing i will pronounce life

wherever i go.

come sweet language angel-

you with your supernal words and me with my mess-

blend us into song of hope and light-

blend us into one sweet flower destined to live throughout

eternity.

we have talked about them for years

this odd blend of simple shirt and knitted pants

never quite good enough to take the walk to school with us

or enter a classroom unannounced.

but it was her own mix of satin and lace that gave us

precious pause.

she wore an orange silk camisole underneath her cotton blouse

making every breeze more interesting to those who stood over her

while she rode the bus from fayette to montford

and it had never dawned on her that anyone would even desire a peek

much less stare with bold eye or quick glance;

and the daisy dukes revealed the orange lace tap pants underneath.

she did it all so effortlessly that she sometimes forgot to be coy

and men would whistle and yell out to her-

but she’d never pause to acknowledge the attention-

walking in her sheer cotton blouse and daisy dukes

she felt like a girl again

and didn’t want to think about the water bill she had

left on the dresser

or the dead beat dad who came by once in a while-

here and now

she was independent and spontaneous-

unrestrained and immune to the world around her-

ripe like a tangerine.

he told me i was his poetry girl

caramel skinned long thick locks

and he, tall thin framed-

he was my extra large cinammoned cappacino-

whipped cream and all;

bringing song and light when he was around.

his essence was like a diarrhetic

and words were what spewed from my lips constantly finding vocabulary to describe him.

how many ways can i say delicious?

i couldn’t let that slip through my fingers so i held on tight

and rode that brown horse like life depended on it.

he spared nothing-

touched everything-

eyelids, palms, backs of knees and baby toes.

he oozed exquisite juices like mango and fresh papaya

sipped in front of the ocean in san juan;

me, his poetry girl and him my absolute delight-

making me excited to breathe in every breath-

and i inhaled fully-

opened up my lungs to take in life with him-

next to me-

exhaled sweetly-

satisfied with every day he sleeps beside me-

i am full

i am wet

i am wide open and happy.

i am loved.

3 pair of hands and arms and legs

touching-

3 hearts pounding while 6 eyes watched-

anticipating 2 lips or 4 hands

but no words were spoken;

2 breasts heaved when 6 lips sighed-

and 4 hands felt moist with lustful desires-

3 bodies undulated and writhed

to the sound of bolero on an old record player

in the corner

thoroughly enjoying-

exploring the meaning of art.