The Poetry Marathon

Music can be
Intrusive, distracting
during my writing time
lyrics carry me off topic
deep beats, groovy melodies
I’m listening more than I’m writing
Snapping my fingers and bobbing my head
I can’t get it done this way, frustrated
Something had to change
Opened up to something new
Symphonic poems, classical music
preferably slow, completely unfamiliar
symphony-style by unfamiliar composers
Now my writing flows easily
Mission accomplished

The ancestors built it with the sweat from their backs
Eyes full of tears, waiting for years
For a compensation that will never be received
Fought in every war for freedom, but denied his own
Viewed like animals, shot down like dogs in the street
To rot for hours in 90 degree heat
Protests and marching, marching and beat
Black fists raised high for all to see
Respect must be given, I am a man too
Instead fear was the feeling that permanently ensued
Every win was tainted with the sting of deceit
Cointelpro, Patriot Act and the Crime Bill of ’94
History rewritten to hide deeper what’s been hidden
Working full-time to lock out an entire people
This is the view from within the ghettos
Spaces and places where being locked out is known and grows

From a sewer they came
multicolored and large
fins flapping, bodies waving
sharp teeth bared
Chewing air, they fly
to me, I’m afraid
Big googly eyes stare, unwavering
bodies undulating
I turn, I am running
pursuit begins
Fins flapping
teeth gnashing
Me, running
more coming
HELP!!!

A gasp escapes me at the sight of it. An ugly winged thing. The orange, a delicious contrast to the darkness beneath it and that above it. That monstrosity, spindly legs, touching the orange pulp. Dark wings, stand as if pinned on its back. I can feel fear ready to scream. It tickles the back of my throat. If it flies I will scream holy hell and miss the moment. Its ugliness is somehow, enchanting, I think to myself. I move in closer, fascinated. I zoom in, ready to scream if it opens its wings, and snap the picture.

There it stands, against the wall
Dark brown and piled high with
All things NOT writing
I stare at it, against the wall
Neglected, it has been
Covered with papers, books and magazines
Literary journals lie, piled up beneath it

I stare at my creation
A desk, against the wall, showing
me my own procrastination
At organizing, at reading, at writing
Neglected, it has been
My writing life, like the desk
Piled high with excuses

She came to me
While I was sleep
Beneath my pillow
Her hand reached
Out she pulled
Two small teeth
And replaced each one
With a new penny

I am LOUD
my voice is carried away on the wind,
speaking
of the injustices in the world
crying
for change

I am STRONG
I standfast in my beliefs,
working
to improve me and the world
writing
to share healing with others

I am BEAUTIFUL
not in features but within
my beauty radiates and flows
to and through those around me
enveloping them in its warmth

I am HEALING
triumphing over the past
doing the work to heal past hurts
writing and speaking
life into the dark areas of me
requiring light

I am ME
Beautiful me, nonchalant and funny
empathetic and angry
I am a contradiction AND
the truth
I am unequivocally ME

Another year
where will the words
come from
One hundred of them
no less than ninety
Imagery fails me
sunsets, pastel skies,
thunderstorms, music
free form, haiku
three years down
a major way to practice
My brain cannot function
not one more
poem can be written
notebook full of scribblings,
beginnings, mental ramblings
an exciting time of year
this marathon is
Creativity ebbs and wanes
like an ocean wave
twelve straight hours
of creating
like a drain clogged with hair
I’m stopped up
Nothing seeps out and
nothing creeps in
this is the last
I am done
the end

Full moon
Golden light streams onto the dampened streets
Swallowtail Jig plays
foamy beer mugs and loud drunken cheers
Men dancing in circles
bickering loudly over the happy song
jigging happily on the night wind

flashing lights, blue into red into purple
swirl, eerily bathing the darkened street in brilliant color
bullet riddled car
driver side door ajar
a leg, frozen in death
a piercing scream
mutterings of conversation
police with notepads, pens behind ears
white shirts, underarm sweat rings
A hot night
of murder