The Poetry Marathon

How many
seconds
constitutes
constitution?

Let me kiss your lips
below your waist
so I don’t forget
just how much I
love your taste.
Let me hear
your pant and call
pressin’ up against
the bathroom wall
foggin’ the mirrors
with the heat
of your body
moving under me.

I know from
where my ego comes,
inside of you.
I know the ways to
make you shake an’ shiver
lose your cool
thighs quiver
pressed against my ears.
Allow my tongue
to take its time
and dance
roll your world
into mine
and take a chance.

Let me inquire
if I may fill you
with my fire
my desire
As I take you
to conspire
to acquire
entrance into
your attire
down to the wire
tell me, my Muse,
would you inspire me
before I expire.

Take my hands
and lead them where
you like.
Settle down
and wait for
lightning to strike
twice.
Allow the waves of passion
to flow from you, dove
as I show you what it means
to make true love

So let’s put this mattress to the test
as you allow the best
to put your fears to rest.
If I may be so bold,
I’m gonna prove to you
my silver tongue
is worth its weight in gold.

Talk your words
of beauty
and pain
and suffering,
depression,
life and love,
death and decay
for I will listen.
I will be yours.
Your strength,
your weakness,
the fire that lights
the oil of potential
in your soul.
I am Water,
life giving and taking,
resistance and flow.
I am dichotomy.
I shall help you
in your journeys.

No burns,
no foul.
Pain isn’t
a cutoff
it is
a lesson
of
another err,
of Experience’s
mentorship
though the
gnarled figure
before me
is too bent
near genderless
to age.
More so tree
than human,
the rootpiece
he leans upon
resembling
an extension
of his timeworn
Self.
He is training
me for his seat,
his eyes are bright
with laughter and love
which sometimes
confuses
me.
As the harsh bite of wind
chills me,
I find the
crisp cold air
hard to breathe
and it is unpleasant.
He chides
in his customary
singsong manner
of speech:

I should not feel
the cold
I should not feel
the
wind,
I say first,
but one should always look,
he responds.

He chuckles,
clearing the air.

He goes no further,
stopping to admire
the snow
that slowly kills us
forming on a branch
listening to the patter
of softly falling needles
arranged in patterns
from the apex.
I can see vague shapes,
dueling creatures,
skittering along the upper
branches
playing or fighting
I can’t tell
and, ultimately,
it doesn’t matter.

He looks at me,
as if studying
my thoughts,

I know,
young one,
very well
your state
of mind,
so similar to mine
when I stood
where you stand,
so long ago-

don’t laugh,
even I was
a child
on the cusp
of imagination’s
magnificence
at one time.

I was young.

he looked wistfully
at a passing cloud
and smiled.

I was taught
to appreciate
the beauty,

he only says
this once.

My smile
wilts roses
death in my arms
and eyes
unremarkable
the page
accepts
unwanted emotion
the night
claims darkness
the day
claims the wish
for darkness
twilight, the moon
dawn, the sun
the stars blink
calling for vengeance
of ancestral
misgivings
Or they would,
if they were.
stone me
before I
hatch
or you will
all burn
in the fray.

Someday I’ll find my way
across this great divide
I’ve created within myself
and fill the crack between my souls.
I feel somewhat unreal
a cracked visage
of a monument
a testament to the past
the precipice I may view
but have never crossed.
I must prepare for the unexpected
to be dejected and lost
but I will press on and
someday find my way
and I will be whole once again
but I must wait
and Fate will take my hand
and lead me over the broken land
over desert dunes of sands
of broken memories
passing Time centuries
listening to the song of the Valkyries
beautiful and pure,
filling me with the strength
to carry on the journey
until I reach my destination
the grand and mighty ocean
of my imagination
surging waters and tidal waves
crashing and swelling
against the seaside caves
as I sit in silence and peace
watching the new take their place
looking forward to the open space
the future holds for those
willing to grasp the reigns
of the Chariot of Fire
leading the blaze through the sky
over those stuck in the mire
breaking the chains of the lie
we’ve deluded ourselves into believing.

I sit
within the halls
of laughter
and friendship.
I know tomorrow
holds change
softly within its
well-manicured hands
and I do not fear
the one who
pulls the strings
though that may be
paranoia speaking
but perhaps not.
I do not fear the known.
I do not fear the unknown.
I am brave enough
to face-

Daaaaaddy,

Yes, darling

Tell me a story!

ok, my dear, I will.

About whhhaaaat?

How about the time
I met the potato
fairy?

the whooo?

I said,
the potato fairy.
That’s why I’m the best potato cooker.

Hm. You’re potatoes are really good.
But you’re every food is good.

Yeah, yeah.
But I’m the best potato cooker.
I met the fairy.
He told me so.

Whhaaat? I’ve never heard that one before.

Well, then settle down and sit tight
and I’ll regale you the tale.

When I was a kid

abbbout how old?

Oh, about a little bit older than you
I was cooking in the kitchen
with my lovely little kitten
potatoes in the pan
turnin’ golden and delicious
when a little bitty fairy
came by

whaaaaat did he say?

Oh, I’ll tell you what he said,

“Hey, can I try a fry?”

So I looked at my pan
and said
Sure, I’ve got enough
have a little or a lottle
its up to you.

whaaat did he do?

He took a healthy portion
and he sat out the table
and if you would
believe it,
he ate with a ladle.

whaaat’s a ladle?

well, it’s like a really big spoon.

waait, he ate his potatoes with a spoon
that doesn’t make much sense

a fairy at the kitchen table
had me and the kitten very perplexed

confused!

right!

whaaaat did he look like?

Well, he wore a very large hat
and he was very little,
and very fat
and he had a
mischievous look
in his eyes
but what happened next
I didn’t expect
and it very much
took me by surprise.

so what happened?

Well, he gobbled
and he hobbled
round the table
picking up and
putting down the plate
staring at the taters
with great scrutiny
in front of his face
Then he made a great commotion
and he jumped in wild motion
and I had the crazy notion
he liked the taste

whyyyy do you think that?

well he hooted
and he hollered
and he looked a little bothered
and a little hot under the collar
and he was panting
and sweating up a storm

he looked in my eyes,
and to my surprise
I could see his tears
welling up,

He said,
Son, those the best potatoes
I ever did taste
and I’ve tasted all of em
I’m not young
for I am the potato fairy
and I believe
I can say
I’m the only one.

iiii’ve never heard of a potato fairy.

I hadn’t either, before then.

I have ten dollars
to my borrowed name
stashed within my pocket
to spend on food
or gas
Choices.
I’m sleeping
in my car tonight
but that does
not bother me
any longer
for I know
I have something
locked away
inside my heart
to ensure it beats
every lively
lovely happy
moment of pure
unadulterated
joy and litanies sung
for stars that shine
trees that grow
clouds that storm
lightning that strikes
in the heat and dead
of night
forking the sky
with brilliant
luminescence
of beauty wild.
I find myself
here often,
in the out of time
and quiet spaces
occupied by none
other that my open
heart beating soft.
I used to hate it here.
I held negativity
for far too long
and it has not
yielded profit,
so no longer.
Every moment
is previous
and precise
and precious.
I am sleeping in my car
tonight and that does not bother me
any longer,
for I know what I’m worth
and why I am here
petty Universal problems
not under my control
so out of my worries.
I could not have a car,
things may be far worse.
I must keep these thoughts
to hold my imagination steady
ready for the next bright day
of sun or cloud
the next opportunity
to welcome sunrise
and keep breath in my lungs
to watch the sunset
and enjoy my night
to keep my head above the waves
of turbulent troubled seas
and to protect myself
mine own lightning dangerous
but never so
never so visceral
so cutting.
I am sleeping in my car tonight
and enjoying my life
and all its happenstances
gracious opportunity
handing me what I need
when I need
a hand, a shoulder,
safe harbor from my storms
deep inside tumultuous
and raw.
I am grateful
for every second I am granted
to fill my lungs
with happy oxygen
for the day shall come
I breathe my last,
and there is a world I’ve yet to meet
so many people
so many stories to hear and tell
and I’ve nowhere near my fill.

I should have left already.
Paid my final dues to no one
and escape
this poison pain
I know courses
through my veins as blood.
I cannot escape this in life.
Though chains keep me
bind to something I do not want
do not hold
something that uses my corpse
to walk
and talk
a puppet
that hold its hands
around my heartstrings
pulling them out
forcing me to feel
every moment
visceral and deep
before
continuing continuum
of reducing my art
to blood and flesh
surely sorely given
digging deep scratches
that pool and shiver
wrapping bramble vine
on contradicting constricts
of understanding
and acceptance.
I am an artist.