Four Stanza Poem Hour 4

A romantic, she was
In love with thunderstorms,
spring rains, music, trees and
pastel sunsets

Pastel sunsets
colored the sky as she
walked slowly, listening
as the trees’ leaves sing to the wind

Walked slowly, listening
as the spring rain
pelted the leaves
whispering in the breeze

Whispering in the breeze
her lips mouthed silently
words of love and romance
no one but the trees could hear


As she dances to the music of the setting sun,
her shadow plays with fireflies

Your Crazy

Respect, the ability to feel ok
with me
the ability for me to feel ok with me
with you
The ceasing of your crazy
that ability you have to make me
not feel ok
an unkind word, a quipped response, click of the call ending
And I’m left behind
not feeling ok with me, with you
trying to make myself feel ok
I rage internally
a seething, unquenchable yearning to be ok
with me, with you
A yearning that cannot be spoken of, that must be contained
within my rage
Your actions swept under the rug
Never to be spoken of, forgotten by you or rewritten in your crazy
which makes me crazy
my rage, red hot, bursting at the seams
pen to paper, writing out the longing,
the need to feel ok
no longer works
I cry, scream, yell at nothing,
at everything, except
Unspoken, the air pregnant
with words left unsaid
hurtful actions perpetuated in your crazy
Leave me unable to feel ok with me,
with you

Poem 1

I am
the wind
a force so fierce
tumultuous like
a summer storm
tossing the seas
like tumbleweeds
water is my plaything
droplets spew off
its surface
saturating the jagged
edges of earth
as she reaches for me
trying to hold on
as she
drowns, drowns, drowns
I am
the wind
deadly during
the fire season
I whip the flames along
they lick at me
the heat churns
within me
smoke, black and thick
curls and swirls
trying to hold on
to dance,
as I blow through
watching them scorch
the earth
which cries out
in horror as she
burns, burns, burns


Hello everyone.

This is my third marathon, 2nd half marathon. I can’t wait to begin this challenge. I absolutely LOVE it and will plan on participating every year. I tried the full marathon last year, but was not successful. My body could not take it and I was out at hour 18. I know I had almost made it. I look forward to reading your writings. See you on fb and at the challenge


I am enormous and majestic. People wear my image as a symbol of wisdom. In Hinduism I am divine. Often mistreated by man. Kidnapped by from my homeland to be used for the amusement of humans in the circus. Abused. My habitat being infiltrated by man.
Poached for my ivory. Becoming an endangered species. My memory is long. I get angry and I am able to kill. Very intelligent am I, and strong. We have a matriarchal society, and have an emotional bond with one another. I am magnificent. I am the elephant

First Heartbreak

Not good enough
was planted in my mind
when attention needed
I could not find
In the one man who was
supposed to be there
He left and created
A new family elsewhere
He allowed his wife
To treat us bad
The first man to break
my heart was dad

Poem 16

Scatter-brained I am
the poems are getting harder and harder
to write
My brain
is scrambled eggs
this is my brain on
sleep deprivation
creativity torturer
one 5-hour energy down
one to go
eight poems left
will I survive?
scatter-brained I am

The Heart

Within us there is
a highway,
its epicenter, the heart.
A natural pump,
made of cardiac muscle.
Blood, the nutrient supplier
zips along this interstate of
arteries and veins.
As the cargo is emptied,
it returns to the heart,
entering the right atrium, where
it is pushed into the right ventricle,
then it is hurried into the lungs
to be resupplied.
From the lungs, it is rushed
into the left atrium, scurries
into the left ventricle, where
it is then rocketed through the aorta,
to zip along the highway
for the cargo to be emptied.
If there is a traffic jam,
the backup could affect the epicenter
and life can be lost

Poem 14

A concrete windowsill
on a house
a place where the caterpillar chose
to create its cocoon
on this day, breaks open
birthing a butterfly
which dries its wings, shaded,
by the brick house

Twilight enters the city
on the south side of St. Louis,
a street lined
with brick structures
overhead, a bat, smaller than
the chimney sweeps,
flies along, gobbling up
unsuspecting insects

At the office, outside the entryway
lies a bird, on concrete
black and white stripes,
along its breast, a yellow crown
on his head, dead,
the ants have begun to dine
killed by colliding
with tempered glass

Dragonflies, of majestic colors
in different sizes
slice through the parking lot
on silent wings
over the cars