The Poetry Marathon

She met him at the park or maybe online, or at the drugstore
picking up Rogaine for her husband and tampons for the girls
or in a chat room for SWM/SWW or Married seeking Same
or maybe she scoured other cesspool classifieds or Petrie dish dating sites of lies and lingerie,
But she found him or he found her writing their stories in pointy prose, sexy texts,
and after the first time, it was as good as it gets
without getting too much, without getting out of hand
not the same hands they hold now in their sleep,
his calloused around the nubs of the forefinger and thumb, hers picked at the edges
alone each in their separate beds dreaming–next to their rightful owners
joined hands locked intertwining the air waves
while the unsuspecting breathe another’s treacherous desire.

Before Darkness

Daylight friezes,
Picturesque tile mosaics
Photo shopped to taste
Apartment ledge jumpers
Poised for the leap
Decorate the city
Like gargoyles.

When sirens slice
Sleep like death
Who can hear the whispers?
Tunneled mice scamper
Twisting babies’ dreams
The screams drawled
In wincing o’s, frozen.

But when darkness comes
The neon lights the way
Illuminates the day

A man seeks to keep his love

under an arm’s distance

a gun shot’s trajectory

invisible line

across an isolating barren sea–

beauty–

as a man is wont to do

protect his own

by killing the barriers out there–

outside

without opening, closed bloom.

And the man that would capture me so,

would eat me bleeding

as he shot the waves away,

reaching our limits only he sees out there,

across the divide,

but I see between us,

passing over like summer

between us—

not knowing we’re gone

til the sun set.

You.

It all begins and ends with you–and your loneliness.

There is a loneliness that is incurable,

as terminal as life itself.

It’s the one that tracks all the barriers,

feels them with the tips of the mind’s fingers,

palpable as the stone, plaster and wood masonry wall.

It looks like that small child peeking over that garden wall,

only his brown, mop head visible,

panic in his eyes.

It’s the underside of your smile and the fake interest in your eyes,

gleaming with all you can muster.

It’s the voices that you respond to though no one else hears them.

It’s that mad conversation you have alone with yourself,

in the darkest part of the night.

It’s the realization

that the one sleeping next to you for the last 35 years

is a total stranger.

It’s the one incident that threw you over the edge

of shifted perspective,

never to return again,

like when you discover your life-long mate,

the father of your children,

never did have any craving desire for you–

ever.

And you never would have thought that.

That’s the enfolding isolation

that can never be breached, penetrated or dissolved.

That’s loneliness.

That’s your loneliness.

And inside of it,

that’s where you begin and end.

Good Morning Fellow Poets:

This is my second year, and this one I hope to complete the full marathon. Last year I did the half, and it was such a rewarding experience.

My name is Pamela Gerber and I blog at inthegazeoftheother.com as well as contribute to several online journals. To earn my keep, I teach  college English at the local college and freelance. I’m also an aspiring poet.

I live with my two nearly full grown daughters, husband, parents and pets in Huntington Beach, California.

Good luck to everyone today!

Peace,

Pam

Not sure where I posted my original introduction but thought I would check in here and say hello from sunny Southern California.

Good luck to all!

Peace,

Pam

Hello Fellow Half Marathoners (and Marathoners):

I really wanted to do the full marathon, but I cannot fathom staying up all night with all of my other responsibilities, namely work and family.

I currently blog at inthegazeoftheother.com, a personal blog themed on the mistress–what owns you, and teach English Composition at the local community college.

Though I have been a writer for my professions in the past 25 years, I started writing for my passion only in the last year, beginning with my blog. I submitted my first work for publication–a poem–about six months ago and it was accepted. Since then, I have had several creative non-fiction essays and another poem published on various sites, blogs and journals.

I blog every day and try to post a poem or two a week so that I have raw material with which work and refine, perhaps for a book in the future. In the meantime, I love to write poems, a few of which are actually not bad 😉

I am really looking forward to this challenge–to squeeze the creative juices to their maximum–and to commune with others on this excursion.

I ran a few marathons with friends and made some long lasting memories. Hoping to do the same here.

Peace,

Pam