The Poetry Marathon

I find myself,

watching….the clock….the door….

listening…for a heartbeat…a breath….

but the silence is defening…

the memory of life, fades

joy, slips from my fingers

love flits

hunger moans,

and in another world you hold loves cold hand.

I cannot believe it is almost time, poetry party.

I find it on the table

A dirty lid, a skeleton

a life caught in a

dark place, lost.

Long past decay,

a perfect specimen

a perfect gift for

a girl, with artist

for a middle name.

Marla, arches her back,

stretching her long limbs,

drapping her body over me,

she sings softly in my

ear, her whiskers tickle my chin ,

as she graces me

with her devine attention.

In the distance the rock  rests, against sky

A landscape dressed in shades of earth,

we wander closer , to gaze through the time

worn arch,  a window into  a dreamy sky.

Waiting always for the sunset to warm its weary

bones, to fill it with with summer light.

My  eyelids crave closure,

my brain is engulfed in fog,

fingers slipping on keys,

deleting a line or two  my

body fuzzy, begging for rest,

But l can hold a little longer

Its only an hour or three, the

words  have letters missing

l have forgotten how to type

but it’s a 24 hour journey,  that

ends at 11 tonight .

The lamp flicker’s in the distance, even though there is not a breath of wind,

is it you, have you finally returned from war, my feet quicken like my heart,

a hunger, long hidden rising in my throat, as l draw closer to the light l see

you are no more than a quick growing sapling eager to deceive. My memory

letting hope trick my eyes, my heart into seeing ghosts hidden in the flames.

I pull the net up, heave after heave, l am a small clog in the machine, one of many,  with an empty belly, working for a meal.

We land the fish , the boats full, many hands maning  the oars take us to shore, together, as one.

This machine with many moving  parts, scaling ,fileting , fire starting, cooking, singing, a team, a family,  a community.

We arrive,tired, but excited, acres of green and a long driveway

are all that separate us from a few quiet days.

Bright lights,night tennis none of us know the rules.

We laugh and run, chasing balls.

A warm bath, deep soaking, so quiet no inside

no outside.

Loading the car, clothes and snacks, bodied and toys.

A book from a long untouched stuck. Computers and phones,

Way to many cords.

The beach,the track,the 10km walk, no water bottles, tears

Military ruins, exploration a bus back.

The ferry, lunch, the view from shore to shore, history decorating the walls.

Packing up, all our things home.

In the corner collecting earth

your lonely frame now rests,

you no longer shine or sit,

in the centre of my desk

or place ink upon a page,

no one will read the stories

we never worked to tell

for our technology is weary,

and time has not treated

either of us well,