The Poetry Marathon

O! meat sticks and beer, you instil no fear
But much cheer and it’s clear that to steer
Towards you is to tear up and be reminded
Of the glory of savoury;
O! meat sticks and beer, near to never would
I say no to putting you in my mouth, both
If I’m totally honest, and it makes me wonder
Perhaps with a blunder, if what’s under
Is more important than what’s on top
Oh, and by that, I mean that food’s not
A personality
Ouch. I hurt myself.

Nighttime is petrichor and silver sky
Kissing my self-awareness softly
With lips of river’s mist and the promise of dawn

Crisp crunches of bunches of gravel
Caress corners of a mouth upturned into its cheeks
Feet attuned to a rhythm of the body

Mirrored in moonlight that dances behind clouds
Shifting about and sifting photons
Betwixt floating puddles pondering pensively

I am scattered and distraught piles of books not yet read
Stacked like good intentions never fully realised
But the thought at least counts even if the human doesn’t keep scores
And sometimes I wonder if it’s worth fighting for
Stories that are yet to be explored, a ship kept ashore
Closed tales waiting to be shucked, yarns yet to be spun
Waiting to be cracked open and woven into a tapestry of wonderment
Brilliant in its construction; I am the potential within
The stirred depths of unfathomable darkness, the murky water
Struggling to find my own clarity by sifting sands of time
Through sinew-strand joined skin hung on bone, a meat vessel
Formed of chaos and the sublime with a side of lime and rhyme
I am the infinite moment of golden hour condense into a funky,
If chunky, character, sharing care factors with friends

Just be still and listen
To the dew on blades of grass
To the twinkling of stars above
And to the glow of the moon
Reflected as it is off the river
Listen to the rain falling on leaves
And the shuffle of the forest in wind
Listen to your breath as you feel
Your chest rise and fall
The synchronised symphony
Of existence, unfolding around you

Books were safer than other people anyway,*
Solace in a social storm
Gentler than judgemental stares and glares
Full of good friends and adventure
So much better at keeping secrets
And most of the time far, far more interesting

* – With credit to Neil Gaiman

There’s a smell, in fact an aroma, that intoxicates me
A human scent, of a BO-laced meat vessel, ripe
But delightful in its pungent revelry,
Sometimes 6 days unshowered, sometimes after a single session
Of activity and dynamic motion, but unforgettable
The sour sharpness reminding me I’m still alive
That I’m still here, and so are you, visceral
In our humanity, connecting with something deeper
Like the smell of flesh to fire in a bar-bee-queue, or smoke,
An archaic comfort in the delight of primal humanity
Of a time when we relied on our noses more,
And socially constructed chaos less, natural
Sometimes I want to feel this in my nostrils when beside you,
Saturating olfactory faculties with nature and breath
Embracing you with my nostrils as with my arms
Eyes closed knowing I’m home

Club 23 West Cordova would host fetish nights
Twice a month on a Saturday
The dress code was PVC, plastic, pleather, and leather
And a few other things I can’t remember now;
Fast forward to my arrival, all bunny ears
And fluffy tail, lost and found sourced La Senza Girl briefs
Effectively booty shorts for my ample ass
I danced, a lot, and near the end of the night
A gorgeous gay couple approached me, all of us sweaty
Them all leather-harness and killer smiles
Asking me if I was there with anyone (I wasn’t)
I don’t recall the exact exchange, but I believe they asked
“Wanna come with us?” to which I’d replied something like
“I’m super flattered, but I don’t swing that way!”
Sometimes I think back and wonder how “Yes” would have felt

What world have we left for you, sweet child of mine?
Devastated old growth stands, fragmented animal habitat
Rising oceans, and melting permafrost;
Is your precocious nature going to help humanity
Through untold extinctions? I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,
And I’m sorry those who could do the most didn’t care –
I knew it was a problem when real estate prospectors
Were buying up future waterfront property;
They never doubted the inevitable, just wanted to deny it
Because shaking the status quo is bad for business
Already had budget lines for environmental infractions
It was never too late, it was always worth starting
Paralysed as we were in our conduct, sweet child of mine
We sold you short and I’m sorry… do you remember
Atlantic bluefin tuna? Do you know Pacific salmons?
Or have we made enough hatcheries to further dillute
Genetic pools more resilient than politicians understood?
It pains me to know we had the answers
But we decided to let your generation clean up the mess
Having to learn the same lessons over and over again

“Making the rounds?” I asked the figure in the corner of the bar
All black-leather-jacket-and-straight-cut-jeans –
It was the sunken eyeballs that gave him away
I knew he was Death by his walk; he didn’t need the scythe
With a smile like that, with teeth like that,
And he just nodded to me, waiting patiently in the corner

“What brings you out here?” I asked, and he levelled his eyes
One of those “Mind yer own damn business” kinda glares
But politely enough he replied “Work,” and grinned a bit larger
The sort of grin that indicated he was either an assassin
Or some kind of general contractor… perhaps, I thought,
My imagination was getting away from me

“I’m a sort of end-of-life support worker,” he said
Without being prompted or pried at, and I nodded –
Tendrils of smoke rose from his cigarette, which he ashed
And looking at me said “Say, I’m lookin’ for someone,”
He held up a picture of me at a family function
And his grin went ear-to-ear

Crystalline skies painting melodies
Intoxicate and infiltrate
Senses adjusted to bliss
Forgotten as it is
To so many folks
We reach for sky
Seize love and
Kiss the
Dome