The Poetry Marathon

Time Warner Cable sucks.

Since 2 pm this afternoon, I have struggled to find Internet … from visiting the coffee shop to sitting in a hotel parking lot, and even visiting Macdonalds. You see, my internet stopped working sometime after my 1pm post and the cable provider cannot come until Sunday at 5pm.

So, while I have enjoyed this tremendously, I cannot keep running out to post poems. (Sad face here). But there is always next year!

slow and deliberate, with calculated steps,
the cat advances, silently stalking, the intruding mouse
who will not live to regret the visit

for a while we lay in peace

before the flames of fire

nearer death than life

farther from faith

a dance with grief, solitary steps towards the partner you never wanted to meet. stepping in, bowing out, a bit closer and then dash away to measure, examine, evaluate, and incorpirate this small pain into who you are today. never the whole heartache, only fragments because you are no longer whole, and each fragment is paired with a sliver of your soul. a patina changing your appearance as well as the way you see. not rose colored. never roses again. muddy, soiled, and dark is your life now.

the last silent seconds

of dawn – 5:57 actually _

and I have only moments

in which to memorize your face

the shape of you

the line of your arm that becomes

a border against mine,

to watch you sleep,

the rise and fall of your chest

there is not enough time

to dance in the reflection

your manic stage take brings to mind

the house of mirrors at a carnival;

the closer you come, the more

You begin to see the distortion. lean in,

‘bother it like a chained dog. not too close

for it will suck you in and you

are certain that there is no

escape once immersed.

shimmering sunlight

casts shadows between green leaves.

butterflies darting

among mauve clusters;

vernal season emerging

from grey wintertide.

Found Poetry: from Look Homeward Angel

at times she would feel

great love clustered about the

slumbering children

she tried to cry, but

her fury wove a pattern

of chaos daily

what rooted instinct

saved every desire for him?

eliza was damned.

Found poetry: from Herman Melville’s Moby Dick

A damp, drizzly Noveember

there, in streets washed by waves

do you see? Thousands of

mortal men striving

in lathe and plaster.

how little thought driving me

stepping then with a flourish,

the ship now belted by

coral reefs, cooled by breezes

fixed days tied to green fields.

if there were no stars in the sky

no moon to light my steps

your voice would guide me

through long winter nights