The Poetry Marathon

To dine at a corner table, long nights

Of blues and poetry stringing together

Speaks of loneliness.

But yet, as you sit there with your jokes

And your smile, a word whispers, lonely,

The line in your shoulders

The Atlases effort that it is, to live,

To survive, but survive we do.

You can be alone and not lonely,

But dear, tell me,

Can you be lonely, yet not alone?

There were days as a child,

My mind would fill with wonder

At blue sky, green trees, rainfall

And heavy summer light that

Wrapped you tight and kept you.

But now? Y

Too much clutter, not enough

Of dancing alone and shower singing.

Fear of personal thought, judgement

And loss, but I’m learning.

I’m just a fool learning to live again.

If, by some twist of fate you’re happy,

Don’t read on.

I’ve dreamed of long solitary cafe nights

Blued by neons and rain, bitter coffee in hand,

Letting shallow sorrow in and forgetting regret.

I’ve dreamed of future love and future pain,

And those ghosts aren’t born yet,

But they linger around already.

I hope you’ve met your man. That you have

Left behind that shoebox of old sorrow

And started dancing in the kitchen again.

I’ve dreamed of a family, a life, a home,

And life is a battlefield, but I hope you’ve

Never had to fight it alone.

Dear future me, read this,

Know you’ve already won.

Gritty eyes and cotton mouth

Ache when soft rain patterns

Past the steel skin and windows,

Bus coughing tired fumes to

An equally worn sky.

And we’re all nodding to the tune

Of stop and go, stumble and yawn

To a cool blue monochromatic theme.

Heads loll on shoulders, spines slump

And the rain softly streams,

My head dips, and I dream.

In neon chromatic I skim in a machine that purrs.

The wheel smooth as it responds in hairpin curves,

Lazy winding on glass smooth blacktop

And roaring engines that snarl hungry plumes

To a cityscape blur.

I’m slipping, sliding, gears slick and tuned

Flowing as you dare to crowd the road,

Watch me glide.

There’s no lap to the future, there’s no end,

Just the revolve, the next turn, and the blur

Of your life speeding closer to infinity.

The ships have sailed on solar wind,

Earth is the dusty relic and we are left.

And for past generations

There was an eternity of tomorrows

And we, arrogant descendants,

Assumed life was forever.

We’re waving goodbye as the last ships

Burn an old ochre sky with a smell of ozone.

We hoped for one more future,

But our dusk came.

Hold my hand, let’s watch stars burn

And die as we have, of time,

Now knowing nothing is forever.

in response to prompt 15, apocalypse or end of days

Missing you as I would do,

Letting old acoustic guitar stir awake

Long, slow sweet memories of country driving,

Your voice in my ear, low and husky with sleep

As a quiet counterpoint memory playing accompaniment

While country miles whistle by.

Slipstream wind coasting through an open window,

Coming home to a place I’ve never driven,

But in a primal way it hasn’t been forgotten,

The smell of morning dew on lightly damp earth,

Fresh green and nodding starburst morning glories

On rusted fences, and though I’m driving home,

It’s to you that I want to drive back to, and

There are miles and miles between us,

You’re home to me, the long road back home.

in response to the prompt of hour 14

I didn’t give a damn.

I was feeling puckish.

Pale dawn to the east

behind the mountaintop,

I see the sunrise coming,

I can taste it in the coffee in my hand,

the cool kiss of rain,

the soft swirl of a breeze.

Morning’s pale light,

as I am, and always

missing you.

I miss seeing the curl to your hair,

your low voice in my ear often,

the smell of you, the taste

of ice cream on Sunday,

a hand on my hip,

lips at my throat,

my name being whispered

just so, and then

you’re there and I’m

no longer alone.