The Poetry Marathon

Atlanta, London, Greece and back
To London, Boston, ATL
Then, thanks to my friend, C. Black,
We flew to LAX, as well

In all the lands I’ve ever been,
There’s never been a man like you
My birthday-neighbor-lovely-djinn
Unnerving friend; respectful, true

Serendipities may mark my life when trav’ling near or gone abroad:
A banker whom I met in Greece was on a flight with me, I awed.
I met a lawyer, once, for Hollywood; I flew First Class for the first time;
I’ll credit my dad with how we met: I chatted him up in the rapid climb.

There’s something social to airline flights –
In earliest morns or in darkest nights –
With a few, short hours, one could meet
A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Yet, in the flights from here-to-there
My favorite trip will always be
One home to you, who simply cared
To meet my flight and talk openly.

“The land knows you, even when you are lost.”
~ Robin Wall Kimmerer

Sunlight spilled upon the highest of the summer leaves,
Dappled silhouettes in a rough-cut canopy of green
As we meandered through overgrown brush
Down a thin, winding trail.

He was two, going on fifteen;
I was twenty-six and starving.

The trees knew me well, though unfamiliar to me,
Whispered breaths sang a soft, sweet melody
And my mind found peace in the hushed, vibrant wood
Where we hiked trails for longer than I thought a child could.

Not a fragment of my soul, in that wood, could be lost
The wood cooed truths to me about this love’s cost

And I listened too briefly
That I must end the day;
Fear stole me too swiftly;
We hurried away.

“The land knows you, even when you are lost,”
It’s been written before.
I know it’s the truth, now; I now know the cost,
I now know we should have walked out of his door.

When now, just as then, my mind threatens to freeze
I look skyward, again, at the sun-dappled trees
And I know now to run, to keep my heart intact
Since I tend more to under- than over-react.

The trouble with being alone is
Being Alone:

There’s no one around to help
Scrub the Dishes

To help
Clean Up Messes
(Or even to Make Them)

And when you want
Take-Out
or
Quick Meals

There’s no one to join you in the eating

Everything becomes a D.I.Y. Project

Whether
Digging Holes
or
Planting Trees

Weariness, too becomes quite A Thing

‘Teamwork Makes The Dream Work,’
My chef always said

So, I tried, yet again.

I went out for a Drink On The Beach
And I found:

Kisses Are Lovely
At the side of the sea

But Sand Everywhere
Is Unpleasant, at least

So, I settled for Quiet Talks
And Silent Conversation In Cars

To be perfectly-honest,
I was sated, because:

Warm breaths, a soft touch
Kisses louder than words
Can erupt into much
And vibrations stirred
Through one’s limbs
That feed into one’s heart
Can’t be stirred with mere swims
Nor when two are apart

Lips enmeshed for hours,
Tongues tangled and twined,
Eager fingers’ powers
Just can’t be mimed

And it’s this that I hate about
Being Alone

It’s Mechanical,
Mundane
A Dry, Empty Drone

But, it’s that again,
See?

Because it’s just me, now.

Me
And
Only me

Things Everyone Knows:

Roses are Red
And Violets are Blue

Little Girls are Made of
Sugar and Spice
And Everything-Nice

Little Boys are Made of
Frogs-and-Snails
And Puppy-Dog-Tails

The Little Dog Laughed to See Such a Sport
And The Dish Ran Away with The Spoon

Things Few Know:

Explanations grow longer as fewer understand.

Punctuation was made for the ignorant to know how to read (and, specifically, to know when to STOP).

Tomorrow and Today are Fragmentary Figments.

The Top-Ranked Unknown Thing:

The Universe isn’t made of Carbon and Atoms,
Of Molecules and Energy;
It’s not crafted of Memories
Nor Designed By God(s).

The Universe is made
Of All Those Secret, Unspoken Feelings –
Of Words Caught Behind Lips and Tucked Behind Teeth,
Of Thoughts Held Behind Ears and Buried In Hearts,
Of Tears Never Spilled and Loves Never Ventured,
Of Touches Unfelt,
Of Wishes Not Chased,
Of Dreams Forgotten To Remember
Of Epiphanies Unlit.

The Universe is Lost And Undiscovered,
Despite What We Believe,
Despite What We All Know, too.

This is why, of course, no one knows it, but I —

And, perhaps now,
Possibly,
You —

And why we’re here,
On this planet
Rather than
I Knowing You.

** Prompt by Sheel

There’s a better place than here,
I said.
It’s at least twelve times prettier,
And it has twelve days in every week.
There are twelve rainbows after every storm
Instead of, maybe, only three.
The hourglasses are twelve hours long,
I reminded him,
Just like on Earth,
So, that’s not confusing.
But, there are three twelve-hour parts
Instead of only two.
I made it that way,
I explained,
Because it reminded me of you.

And love,
I said,
Isn’t frivolous; there are at least thirteen words
In this language, alone,
To specify your direct meaning.
I got tired,
I shrugged,
Of all the important parts
Being lost in the shuffle of things.

We can go tomorrow,
I suggested,
Since it takes twelve times ’til Tuesday.
And all of what you love most, here,
Can be packed in photo-boxes.

He looked at me like I was mad,
Like I had lost my mind.
And though I did – once or twice or thrice before,
And nearly a fourth time –
The funny thing about photography
Is you keep a picture of things;
And reference tools break all the rules
So, I found it thrice again.

And, once I’d played lost-and-found
Those thrice-over times,
I found a portal to a magic place
Where I could find my heart again.

Stranger yet is learning, next,
That, once one’s lost their mind,
Finding pieces of one’s heart
Becomes an easier thing.

It took some convincing,
I’ll tell you that,
For him to believe I wasn’t crazed.

But, when we’d traveled eleven times
And nearly passed next Wednesday,
He saw that, just around the time
That the sands were almost fallen
The world I’d promised was just beyond

At precisely twelve times ’til Tuesday.

And, if I ever lose my heart,
I won’t cry
And I won’t start

And, if I ever lose my heart,
Oh, hey, hey,
I won’t have to love no more.

“Did it take long to find me?”
I begged of the Gods of Life.
“Did it take long to find me,
And where are all the minions of strife?”

I’m being followed by a moonshadow,
Moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin’ and hopping on a moonshadow,
Moonshadow, moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow

And, if I ever lose my mind,
I won’t flinch
Or be unkind

Oh, if I ever lose my mind,
Oh hey, hey,
I won’t have hate no more.

**Tribute / Follow-up to “Moonshadow” by Cat Stevens

Strange, how things can come about so unexpectedly;
Strange, how friendships can develop so naturally
When masks are accepted to be worn and removed so frequently
When the heat of one’s heart and mind can move so fluidly.
It was like that, when fireflies were pixies, interchangeably;
When bears lived in cottages and ate porridge to beat winter’s lethargy.
While there’s no bottle of potion to bring about invisibility,
Strange, how one can harness the zoom of grown-up anxiety
While watching the treeline fade to darkness, nightly.
It was like that, when I incarnated a pixie, lately,
When invisibility shrouded us from one another, distantly,
While I drank organic gin and elderflower tonic, recently.

Perception, Love, is only half of everything.

Tomorrow, I want to be filled with laughter and with joy,
To flit through realms of nonexistent things and see a bit of soul
To find my way to monies that only exist without meaning
Where truth is bound in energies moving towards a common goal

Tomorrow, I want to be surrounded by pixies and by trolls,
By elves and halflings killing things that never can grow old
While sneaking peeks between the realms into another world
Where flowers grow abundantly next to crashing waterfalls

Tomorrow, I want to slip behind the scenes and know a little more,
To fill my mind with in-betweens, touch what’s known scantly
To walk with yet-another man upon another ocean’s shore
Or dream of it, and hope that dream may, one day, come to be

Today, my heart is crushed into a wide beach of sand
Upon which my mind crashes in waves, over and again
In some attempt to cleanse what’s become so many tiny grains
Perhaps I should fuse another heart, since none of this was planned….

Perception, Love, is only half of everything.

Fireflies could never be as loved as one small pixie,
Nor have they light within their minds to fight with demon hordes,
Though tales of lightning bugs are told through the land of Dixie,
A tiny, flighty redhead’s shine is brighter, by all accord

It’s said: Four dark souls took up to be the Legends of Kallisti,
And when, upon this waif, they came, she charmed them, all and one.
She died not once, but thirty times, it’s said of li’l Misty
And even then, she died some more, before her work was done!

Her demons friends protected her, shielding Clearmist from harm,
Lightning storms and hail, she hailed – in the middle of the day;
To trolls and dragon’s kin flew they, by wing and magic charm,
And beat with fists and magic, swords flashing all the way!

The truth was, though: This faye had only bested with her heart;
For, though she’d flit across the world with her four favorite souls,
This little blink was pixie-dust without her friends’ dark art –
So, she would say her season’s wins were a mere few cave trolls!

Excitement throbs within.
The airport is full,
Yet no one coughs
And everyone is smiling.

I walk on, just grinning as I make my way through the crowds.

Surprise, elation as I’m upgraded to first class at no charge.
They’ve overbooked.

A pleasant, older man who smells of sandalwood and cedar sits by the window,
His thick, silver-streaked dark hair and laugh lines at the corners of twinkling eyes and knowing smile are enchanting.
Hours pass in laughter and deep conversation that swells as frequently as the waves of the Pacific.
Passions shared, generosity extended alights my mind, my heart –
And the only payment he wishes is the brightness of my smile.

The sun is bright and the air is crystalline when we arrive to the coast.

We walk through the terminal like old friends, my hand tucked under his elbow;
I’m beaming, charmed, astounded.
He describes the nuances in Italian wines and my palate lusts for dark chocolate and cherry.
That resonant, rippling chuckle spills as generously as the wine he promises.

But not tonight, I regretfully decline, accepted with easy grace.

Tonight, my mind is set alight with rainbows:
With ice-blue eyes,
With swirls and sharp edges,
With a mind as vibrant as it is gentle.