The Poetry Marathon

Lily 

To be content

At its root

To be contained

And yet

I have never felt more free

And in that freedom I

Am utterly content

Strength is not always loud

The fortitude of one’s

Body or how long

You can 

E

N

D

U

R

E

Sometimes

Strength is in the 

B

  R

E

  A  

K

    I

N

  G

      The Choosing to concede

A war

Too long waged

To abandon

The battle field and

S

E

E

K

A new PURPOSE…

The heat

A weight

Pressing

Down

.

.

.

.

Condensation 

Liquid gathering

Sliding

Down

.

.

.

.

A single long droplet 

The viscosity of honey

Descending leisurely

Down

.

.

.

.

If I were a water bear

I would dive into that pool

Submerging 

Down

.

.

.

.

Using that tiny portal

To a vast ocean of cool

Spiraling

Down

.

.

.

.

.

My feet move

A rhythm no one else can hear

Dancing at my own tempo

I let go

Giving my body to the flow

Moving for the joy 

Prancing on tiptoe

I am made of Enthusiasm

Incandescence in Girl Form

It radiates through my marrow

Suffusing the structure of me

And billowing beyond

The confines of my cerebral self

To give voice

To each play on words

And deep delve into the absurd

Out

Out into the world

That I might delight it

As it delights me

Such aPUNdance

Allow pen to scratch along paper

Let pigment flow here

Without fear 

Allow creativity to spill out

Let it sweep you along the unexpected routes

Without doubt

Be gentle with the tender blooms of story

Hold gently the threads of narrative

Over which your imagination has power

Be merciful to the new ideas

And hold kindly to those which have long lingered

Awaiting their hour

And your attention

Why must be a cause to affect 

Yet a cause leads to an effect

How is this effective

English what sort of pretention are you affecting

Shifting prismatic

Light that shatters

Fracturing 

Against the edges of reality

Sorting

Through the fragments of color

Selecting 

Each facet 

Rebuilding

The mosaic of identity

Transforming

A liquid vessel 

Taking 

The shape of its contents

A collection of paintings

Stories

And ink

Houseplants 

Color 

And no dishes in the sink

Apothecaries

Libraries

And water with ice to drink

I know that my heart is well cared for

On the counter

Perched and staring

Filled with wonder 

Fixated on the dark pools 

Eyes wide

A reflection gazing back

Admiring

An endless mirer

Falling into itself

Into that inner world

A Fibonacci Sequence composed of self

Spiraling fractals of existence 

Constellations of being