The Poetry Marathon

As I stare into the midnight sky
She smiles down
Showering her pale light
Upon my face

She smiles down
Her light kisses the treetops.
Upon my face,
She places a kiss

Her light kisses the treetops
As I stare into the midnight sky
She kisses my face
While I shower in her pale light

Palpable
Permeates my psyche
Visions of what is to come
Visions of what is not there
Anticipation of
the unknown
impossible to contain
cold sweat
hairs at attention
pinpricks all over my skin, at the
nape of my neck
bursting silvery taste of metal
on the back of my tongue
can’t breathe
hy-per-ven-ta-la-tion
panic

Writing is a painful bliss. A piece of me remains on the page long after I have placed down my pen. I am a writer of life. I am a healer, healing my own festering wounds, tainting my soul with a callous ugliness, an enveloping bitterness of hopelessness, trying to suffocate my voice, my words. Writing is my sanity. It keeps me grounded in my creativity and allows me to travel along the dusty trails and mountain ranges of the imagination. It keeps my dreams insight, although just a little out of reach. Writing is my bridge to humanity, it stamps out the horrors of the world. It is hope-filled and dark, sometimes. It is fueled by emotion and bath in truth, my truth.

to write saves me from
bitter inhumanity
and empowers me

Gone away are our face to face connections
Replaced by the fantasies and imaginings of fake friends and lurkers
The children no longer play
but sit inside watching fight videos,
taking pictures to see how many likes they will get
Self esteem fractured by mean and inappropriate comments
No need to bully you in person,
Bullying can now be done using a computer or a smart phone
People hiding behind fake pages, trolls
spitting out their racial hatred,
a cobra’s poison tainting all who read the comments.
Obesity, time wasted, lack of creativity
falsehoods and phonies
homework left undone
I gotta get that new game system
Gotta put on fronts for my fan-base
Inauthentic, fantastical lies,
fill up my newsfeed
Videos of people killed by police, no filter,
snap-shot conversations
pick up the phone to record, not to call for help
Record the video of my own death via facebook live
Violent videos all through my timeline
Destroying my psyche,
filling me with so much sadness…
but wait,
a cute cat video,
oh look, an owl kissing a child,
wow,
a video of unusual animal friendships,
hope is restored………………..
lol

She holds her head high
Towers over the beat downs from her men
Stands above the putdowns from the media
Lives life against the grain
With the deck of cards stacked against her
Yet she stands
With her arms outstretched and open wide
Her hands upturned and fingers splayed,
the weight of her people upon her
And she still stands
fiercely in opposition against all injustice,
fighting valiantly for her sons, her daughters
taking the bumps and the bruises hailed at her by society
with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face
She stands

The blazing, burning, bright sun lowers on the horizon,
changing into a giant burnt orange orb,
Splashing its dimming light out into the sky, surrendering,
Painting the clouds in shades of pink and lavender.
A slow, steady darkening of the sky,
the circular sound of the cicadas’ song,
a whispering of the leaves, as a cool breeze blows
welcoming the coming of darkness

My voice
fell
on your deaf ears.
No words uttered
from your mouth.
I stared
at you, drinking
in your beauty, wounded,
as you sat,
your eyes off in the distance
Did you hear me?
No response
Silence
crept into the room,
into my space,
suffocating me
Tears
How could I
love
someone like you?
I am but only a shadow
of who I once was
And
I remember exactly
where we were
I remember.
Every scar
on my heart tells its own tale,
of you
every wound,
inflicted on my soul writes its own poem,
of you
And that is how those years passed,
Silently, drifting
into the
nothingness
of me

Death creeps amongst us

cloaked in black

hovering over the unsuspecting

whispering to the witch sisters of Greece

the thread of life

held and pulled taunt

long-sheared scissors

opened

prepared to cut

Snip

The End

I am very excited about the poetry marathon. I know I am up late but I cannot contain my excitement. I’m a little afraid of doing the 24 hour marathon and I am thinking of how I will stay awake. I bought myself 2 five hour energies, I hope that is enough. I look forward to reading the poems. Happy writing

She was always hungry
Many would consider her greedy
Would see her appetite as insatiable
She tried desperately not to act on its needs
But her hunger always won out
Gnawing persistently at her mental
Forcing her to act
She could not resist her cravings
So she suffered
ashamed of her wanton hunger
jailed by its immense need