How to move to beginning of Posts, 2021 Marathon

Hi all, Is there a way to jump to the beginning of the (many pages from) 2021 Marathon so I can read the posted poems? There are thousands of pages of posts and comments and would like to start at the start. Advice appreciation. Bravo/a all!

Hour 24_at home

Why do you ask this?
Prompting me to end
on a sad note.
Since the accident,
since leaving Viet Nam,
the difficult sojourn with my sister,
the surgeon-inflicted injury –
there is no place
no at home
to be in.

This body
trusty capable helper
a battlefield of repeated assault.
Heart and mind
bruised
lost.
So much to re-learn;
how and who to be
in a re-imagining world.

But there is this:
the gentle rise and fall
of breath
nourishing, sustaining
befriending
In stillness or flurry,
constant
Connecting me
with all of creation

This,
this is where I am most
at home.

Hour 21_ not an ode

I’ve been at this way too long
am absolutely crowed
Oh, why did they pick this hour
to celebrate the ode?
Earlier, by many hours, my words
my form, they flowed
But now the brain is foggy
its more than slowed – it’s snowed.

I’ll try another day
of this I won’t betray
I’ll write with great cachet
The things I will portray!

Light returns day to the sky
At this time I would be waking
But sleep has not yet bunked here
Nonsense is for the taking!

Oh, ode my deep regret
I will ne’er forget
Later – but not yet
This moment in your debt!

Hour 20_prompt

with
darkness
my cloak
i walk
smooth
satin
sky
flecked
with
stars
swiss dot
fabric
enrobing
night
in
this
expanse
all
is unveiled
and
the smallest
frog’s
throaty song
resounds.

Hour 19_3:05am, Hour 19, Poetry Marathon

Grabbing snippets
of wakefulness
then sliding back
to wide-eyed oblivion.
My spiritual teacher says
when the mind lets go,
or in this case,
can no longer hold –
there is an opening;
much is revealed.
May it be so!

Hour 18_I am trying

I am trying to tell you
but knife-edged dry ribbons
spill from my mouth.

You ask what happened.
I tell you about the humiliation,
the intimidation.

The lies told to embarrass
to destroy trust; to break apart the bonds we shared
to which he was not a part.

I remember the threats of physical violence,
isolating me from others;
feeling vulnerable and unsafe at work and where I lived.

Almost wanting the blows to fall
to shatter the anticipation of not knowing
when they would come

But he was clever
drawing the torment out to its apex
always just short of culmination

amplifying a festering heat of fear and hate.
You ask
and I am trying to tell you.

But you interrupt
and say, I thought something really awful happened.
I thought you were raped
.

What, this doesn’t measure up?

Am I to choke up these ribbons of pain
until they unfurl and twist at your feet,
a pretty bow?

Until they make of this something you can understand,
something
really awful?

These knife-edged memories
are no longer to my taste.
I’m going.

My throat is sore;
time for waiting is
over.

Hour 16_Random Prompt: write a poem about nature interacting with man made things.

[Getting harder to write. Very tired. Struggled with this one. It shows!]

When I arrive
the trail through the woods
has been paved –
bringing confidence
to those
with an unsteady or assisted gait, no doubt
Yet manufacturing
a tidy
that belies the fallen twig,
the squabbling birds

The unforgiving thwack
underfoot
Too hard for a long hike
The edges –
falling off abruptly
defining and delimiting
This path –
how far could it go?
The deep woods are not veined
with asphalt.

Before, coming here
was a return
boundaries fading
a place that was easy
Now, I resent the encroachment
even as I question my own trespass
My quitting this place
this loss
perhaps an unintended protection?

What is taken/what endures
This, the walk.

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