The Poetry Marathon

Hour 1

Write a poem about being in water. It can be about swimming, the shower, a bath, the rain, etc.

Blub… Blub… Bubble, Burst

Rising to  the surface

With water all around

It’s difficult, like fighting syrup

To keep your head above ground

The pull of cooling water,

the current, the sound,

The peaceful nature of its pull

Follows you around

To the point that when you leave

You can hear it still

Blub, blub, bubble, and burst

A ripple and thunder,

But that’s not the worst

Someone saw you as you left

And stole your silken suit

The fur which made water friend

You can no longer go down deep

Blub… blub… bubble, burst

To the depths of Selkie’s song

To fight the witch’s curse.

You’re stuck above with human hands

Captured by an ignorant man.

They walked overnight

Through the bellows of the storm,

Tails held high and noses down

The stoic pups made not a sound

For Winter marched upon the land

Like soldiers with a battle plan

And there stood the icy craggy crown

Of an invader to their town.

They did approach

And then did howl

This structure did not bode them well.

The leader chased it over cliff

And through the pines and high snow drift

Then they returned through winter’s night

The pups no worse for wear

Protecting their humans from Ice blight

Was their only care.

I always struggle getting started

but some say that’s what art is

The way I try to get it done

Is not always whimsical, or fun

In fact some find me quite quizzical

Taking far to long to start

I’m definitely the turtle here,

With a flare for napping like the hare.

Last year you knew a different name, though I promise they’re not the same,

I’m still me and I’m still here. I’m still writing, never fear.

See that cliff?

It’s insurmountable

But there’s a flag on it.

Which means that’s not true.

It’s my flag, this is my marathon

But it’s your flag too.

Because we did not climb alone

We walked together, side by side

And while some faltered and stayed behind

We brought them in our hearts

You surmounted the insurmountable

You just needed to not do it alone.

Up rose the horizon

As it always has

Lightening the unearthed dawn

Fifteen minutes back yonder

Awakening the birds in droves

First came the songlets

Trilling sweetly announcing the sun

Then came the minstrels

Whose music was more practiced

And third came the tone deaf

The crows and the chirpers

Who pierced the air

But they were all drowned out by

yeowwwwww-oh

The cat who hopes breakfast is near.

It’s such an untouched moment

merow

That I rarely get to hear

meYowlll

But since I’m still awake

MRAW

Geez, fine, I’ll feed you.

Twilight at new dawn

Streaming rockets breaking free

that’s 48 posts

I was asked

What is home to me

And I wanted to cry

Because, you see,

I feel I have no home

I don’t feel welcome

With friends or family

I don’t know how come,

But something feels empty

There are moments of course

Where things feel okay

But they are hollow or worse

Tainted by truth behind that day

The closest I get

To home is I guess…

When my cat comes over

And lays down upon my chest.

They say in the darkest depths of the woods when a soul comes back from the sea

The fairies dance to guide home the soul’s old memories.

The green flash lasts but a mmoment, a blur to our eyes

But it takes thousands of fairies disguised as fireflies

A thousand years or more to make it through the timestretched door.

As the door between realms dilates and closes, the soul is guided home

From fae to fawn to nymph to mer, the soul begins to roam

Danced through the greenest twilight to the land he calls his own.

What’s so gouda ’bout cheese?

Feta’vall it’s delicious

I’Monterey’ve about all the types, Jack

Colby here a while

But I’ll try to Brie Swiss about it

While I Whey in on all the varieties

Don’t feel Bleu, if it gruyere on me

It’ll grow on you here too

If you Crambert the puns,

I Curd be persuaded

To cease to Pepper in more names Jack

I don’t see the Parmesan ‘swering your questions

And I must say your cheddar is pretty Sharp.

Okay the parmesan one is a stretch

Mozzarella!

There’s a secret place I keep

With a hammock for me to sleep

and some books in a display shelf

Protected from the elements and hidden in a crevice  in the wood.

The hammock net is stored away

With the books in the display

and hide from humans the secret place

It’s not my land but it’s protected

By both government and

Tall rambling trees

hiding a path

Marked only by a threadbare bath towel.

I love my secret place

But I can never find it.