The Poetry Marathon

Do you need a reason;

To let your world unfold?

Do you need a reason:

Why?

Do you need a purpose;

To let your dreams be known?

Do you need  a reason to;

Fly?

Hold on to your self.

Hold on to your higher self.

Let your dreams take flight.

Find the courage to see why.

Only you will know,

What you really want.

Answer what you want inside

Answer what you want:

And fly.

See your self arrive.

See your self take up new wings.

Rise above the stormy sky.

Rise above the clouds of doubt.

Spread your wings and learn to fly.

Rise above and you’ll see;

Why.

Prompt 29, Hour 24: Four Steps To My MatchBox Village.

First step:

Have teenage brothers purchase cars.

Have all go out and play.

Each matchbox car is magical.

So let it seems that way.

Second step:

Be as young as six years old;

Think cities made of mud.

Let childhood genius take its hold;

Recede Snake River’s flood.

Third step::

Skirt around wet fields of grain—

A boon from irrigation.

Small city streets— checkered terrain,

Form by imagination.

Fourth step:

Form Adam’s houses out of wet clay—

schools, businesses,  and churches.

Wait for the sun to bake them dry;

daydreams on flowing ditches.

Fifth Step:

Time travel back to innocence.

Bring along your children.

Find they’ll  travel other ways;

Their own worlds to pilgrim.

How you so delight a child?

Crawling there in smartness.

14 legs and 4 antennae.

Navigating darkness

Sniffing for a pal,

Armored for a fight,

Rolling up into a pill,

Roly Poly might.

perfectly aligned

speckled mother in my grill,

hungry gaping mouths

I’m the guardian of the house

Jacksey needs to see—

Needs to know I’m always right.

Who is alpha?  Me!

Birddog in the yard behind,

Catdog in the front.

Dingo when I have to fight,

Labrador at night.

Willing to go for a walk,

Watchdog for my dish

I’ll sound alarms when people knock,

I’ll even herd goldfish.

I love to curl up by the fire,

Humans are my pups.

I patrol the backyard wire.

I chew on plastic cups.

Nillie is my given name,

Master calls me sister.

I am loyal to a fault,

Rub my belly, Mister.

In the beginning, was a hole,

And the hole was without sound

the sound was without a beat,

the beat was without melody.

And there were no words to the music.

Then a voice was heard:

Let there be a dance.

and let the dance have sound,

and let the sound be a song,

and let the song have words,

and let the words form poetry.

And let a beat take form.

And let all dance along.

But the world was void of dancers

So God took Elm and Ash

and made from each a man and woman.

And then the dance began.

kare-eda-ni
karasu-no tomari-keri
aki-no kure

on a withered branch
a crow is perched
autumn evening

snow rests on the branch
waiting for a forlorn crow
after summer’s heat

Yuki ga eda ni kakatte imasu.
Karasu o matteimasu.
Natsu no atsusa no nochi ni

Dear Guillermo,

Hola to my kind Andalusian friend.

I write to you from the shores of Utah Lake.

The mountains hear are snow-capped yet.

How is the climate there?

I miss the beauty of the old Moorish palaces in Granada.

I miss the lively graceful beauty of the Flamenco dancers and

the prancing of your glorious horses on parade.

Do you still take lessons from the gypsies who taught you how to play the oud?

I miss the smells the music and rhythm of southern Spain.

I miss your delicious food too.

I hope you will reconsider visiting me.

Spring has sprung and Utah is all in bloom.

Best wishes to you and yours,

Your amigo,

William Jackson

Asterales Taraxacum—

Be to some, men’s weed.

Asterales Taraxacum—

Bee— thee, my life’s need.

Antho-phila-sophy hum.

Hum this hymn with me.

From the spring, ’til fall has come,

I’ll give thanks to thee.

Humbly hum this hymn with me.

To this dandy flower!

That sends out, across the breeze.

Parachutes of power.

Asterales Taraxacum—

I pray you’ll always be.

May men never overcome;

their lawn’s diversity.