The Poetry Marathon

There’s a face on my milk carton,

Every time I turn it around,

That face stares at me.

There’s a face in the grocery store,

Every time I walk through,

That face stares at me.

There’s a face at the Post Office,

Every time I post a letter,

That face stares at me.

There’s a number on the bottom

Of each page of paper under where

That face stares at me.

I wonder if I should call it

Every time I pass by a place where

That face stares at me, because

There’s a face in my mirror,

That looks like the face on the paper

That keeps staring at me.

Is it me?

Lue

August 13, 2016

Soft canopy shades,

Moon’s glory crept across the

Lake with time to spare.

Floating

Lue

August 13, 2016

Have to make the note simple;

Can’t make too many mistakes.

She already embarrassed

Her clothes ain’t clean.

Maybe I should have argued harder

To get the landlord to let us in,

But I’m so tired, her brother and sister

So hungry, I just didn’t have it in me anymore.

“Dear Miss,

Can Tilla get anoter math book?

Our apartment lockd up, we cant git in

And her book in there.

Thank you, Esta

PS I know you dont care

But please dont let otters no.

An extra book

Lue

August 13, 2016

There is a little flightless bird that lives in my paper.

He has many friends and gets into many capers.

He has a perpetual tuxedo complete with bow tie

And he takes me back to a time when all was right.

His laughter and tears parallel mine.

He follows my life as if by design.

Although he is really just a drawing on paper,

He brings me joy in knowing he is forever.

His attitude never changes, he always sees

The brighter, greener side of the street.

Most important of all, when I look at him

I am with those I lost all over again.

Ode to Opus

Lue

August 13, 2016

Splashing, whirling, tinkling, dancing

The brook traveled through trees and cliffs, telling stories of mountains full of gruff bears and gentle deer.

It giggled and chirruped to the passing branches about evergreens wearing coats of white and masking dens of stoats.

It shouted and reveled the rivers edges with tales of an effervescent spring gurgling from the deepest crevice of the inner ring.

It was encased by an ocean too busy for stories of a land so far away as to be a dream created by some silly, scintillating stream.

Murmuring, churning, churlish, waves

Sparkle

Lue

August 13, 2016

There is a child hidden in my heart that refuses to come out. This child is there for when the world becomes unfathomable and I need to pout. This child allows me to laugh at knock-knock jokes and silly burping games. This child, however, has no face; no name.

There is a teenager hidden in there as well, one that never went to prom or danced barefoot in the sand. This teenager is there for times when the world is smothering me to the point I forget who I am. This teenager allows me to believe in love and dreams. This teenager, holds the hurt of never making the team.

There is a young woman that mothers both of them; as she won’t have a child of her own to adore and hold. This young woman tells me stories of youth and grandeur when I was bold. This young woman assures me it is not too late. This young woman refuses to look in mirrors, though, because of who she ain’t.

There are many more people living inside of me. A daughter, a sister, a teacher, a friend. They tell me things I should do; things I can be and then, they tell me not to let go, even when it is hard to listen to the child cry, feel the teenager hurt, or hide that I am low.

There are many people in you. I can hear them call. They want to be heard, they are trying to stop your fall. Each of them bares a special pain, but each of them can make you whole again.

Voices

Lue

August 13, 2016

Wrinkle between the azure orbs is filled with sweat beads.

Underarms are soaked in deluge of fluid.

Feet slide forward with heavy glide that hides the anxiety.

Suddenly the torch disappears and all is inky blackness.

The wavy tresses bounce as the teenage head pops up from its concentration.

Mom! Shouts a cracking male tenor in full panic.

Is your room clean? Asks the woman standing in the doorway.

Awwww, Mom! Comes the reply, the player noting the plug in her hand.

Once again, the Hero is stopped by an unsuspected foe.

21^st Century Teen

Lue

August 13, 2016

His gentle purring vibrates the chair, as his whiskers dance to the rhythm of his dream. He chases crystal winged butterflies and downy grey mice across the fields of playful daffodils bouncing their sun brilliant heads in the winds teasing fingers. Twitching ear tips give silent clues that his dream world is only minutes away from awakening.

gravely tongue flickers

between sharp pearly fangs

mini lion awakes

Sean Luc

Lue

August 13, 2016

The cord wrapped around my finger,

Stretched out on the kitchen floor,

That’s how it used to be done.

Communication between two people.

Now, we Tweet, Face, Snap, Chat, and Text.

In groups of three or more, a conversation so big

The message is lost and people are faceless

Communication between technology.

Face to face, we smile and joke, shake hands

With strangers, hug our friends and family.

Looking in someone’s eyes, you bite your tongue,

Communication between two people.

Behind the screen, we punch, slap and shame.

Make fun of strangers and lie about family.

The little picture in the corner becomes who we are

Communication between technology.

As the world becomes smaller, it becomes larger.

part of any group I wish, even if I don’t belong.

Share any thought in my head, true or false

In this Communication fail.

Communication

Lue

August 13, 2016

My muse has left the building

The music has stopped playing

And the brush no longer paints.

I don’t understand why she left,

She was just going out for some

Froyo and never came back.

I have tried her phone, Instagram,

And Facebook. She seems to have

Me blocked. Did I say something wrong?

How does one apologize to a muse?

I am sorry my drawing was ugly, my words

Harsh, my chords dissonant.

I will try to continue my work, but the

Cracks are obnoxiously clear, I fear

Everyone can feel, my muse has left me.

Muse

Lue

August 13, 2016