The Poetry Marathon

Poem I: Distance is Measured By Silence

Silence between us
sounds like prayers made for a reunion,
like poems written in the darkness
but you don’t return.
The time is marked
on the morse code of my muscles,
the melanin therein has been completely replaced which is to say
my skin is forgetting you
and my neurons won’t remember much longer.
There are only so many prayers
a poet can make
before they turn into pleas
wrenched from my heart
and only so many poems
a sinner can write
before the distance
becomes a metaphor for you.

More poetry via Instagram @anjaanography

Her world

On one of our last visits,
I pointed to the sky and said,
“oh, mom, look! —
look at that bird flying above us!”
and she said, “what I see is
a long, long line of energy.”
And her world was different and good.

She was a realist:
she often said she was demented. She said one time,
“if we sound scattered,
it is because we are.”
And her world was different and good.

She only forgot me once.
Riding in the car, she asked my name.
A moment of shock and then I said, “Dee. My name is Dee.”
And she said, “oh, that’s my daughter’s name.”
Cheerful, happy.
And then she remembered I was her daughter and she
rejoiced. And we both celebrated.
And her world was different and good.

Sometimes I miss my time in that world —
all present tense, joyful,
loving, uncomplicated.
Birds, roses, the sounds of tambourines and piano,
voices lifted in song drifting to the memory care patio.
The water splashing in the fountain next to us.
True.
Together.
Timeless.
Her world: different and good.

The Truth Is Out There

The Truth Is Out There

 

Standardized reporting system for UFO’s

 

Please circle one:

 

Did you report this sighting as an:

Unidentified Flying Object (UFO)

Unidentified Aerial Phenomena (UAP)

Unexplained Physical Object (UPO)

 

I was unable to identify the driver of the UAP due to:

Tinted windshield

Loss of bowel control during near-miss situation

Being a notoriously unreliable Navy pilot

 

The UPO appearance was:

A deflated weather balloon

A large bottle of Stoli

A Lucky Cat

 

What best describes your thoughts about extra-terrestrial beings?

Alien rights are Human Rights

Build a big, beautiful Space Wall

The only Good Alien is a Dead Alien

 

What are your concerns about reporting the UFO?

Stigma. Other Navy pilots won’t talk to me

Reprisals by big-headed beings with huge eyes

Marco Rubio says he believes the truth is out there

back alley meeting–10am

It’s night time once more
and I’m just leaving my place
I’m on the prowl once more
for something that will satisfy
my soul

It’s storming out
perfect
just heightens
the desire
the chase
the game

I know what I’m looking for
I know what I need
I also know where this night
will end

Dodging around puddles
listening to the cracks of thunder
that fill me with such yearning
I’m almost there

There it is-
my destination is that door
hardly noticed
non-descript, ordinary
door

Three knocks and I’m in
my coat has been taken
and I’ve been shown my table
in the corner, quiet
private

“What will it be tonight Ma’am?”

I barely glance-
I’m not in the mood for
a drink

“The usual.” I snap
and he runs off, eager to
do my bidding

“Hello, Ma’am” He waits quietly
for my attention
My look
My instruction

I glance at him
He’s cute
In an adorable way
Self assured
confident
but a little too cocky
and I know how to deal
with him.

“You’ll do. Follow.”
standing up we left

Outside the rain is lighter now
the terms have been agreed on
and the payment exchanged
this is where the night will end

Forestland

I came here to muse.
A lady in a pink regalia
and ash hat _
colours that wouldn’t hide her
from the eyes of a roaring lion
or herders leads us to where
was Sambisa, with forensic lense.
After so many photographs
we agreed to archive,
she asked if I remember here,
if I remember we once upon a time
lost humanity, if I remember
this bridge wasn’t walkable.
She asked if I remember that a country
almost sink in the belly of this bush.

Holding My Breath

When I was young
hopes rose unbound
but experience cautioned
like a caring abuela
don’t hold your breath.

A few more years of living,
and many disappointments later,
hope approached more timidly.
Experience shouted back
like a protective sibling
DON’T HOLD YOUR BREATH

Perhaps I am a slow learner.
The hope in me persists
despite all evidence
that it shouldn’t
And the warning is now the whisper of a caring friend:
don’t hold your breath. 

I recognize good advice when I hear it.
I recognize love when I feel it.
I recognize realities and choose to accept or change them.
I now let hope rise and the voice within me says

just breathe. 

Paths

Paths

 

Follow me for I shall guide you

Follow me for I shall guide you

Follow me for I shall guide you

Follow your own path? I know the way.

 

I know the way, I ‘ve walked it many times

I know the way, I ‘ve walked it many times

I know the way, I ‘ve walked it many times

Still! You want to walk your own path?

 

Fine, you follow your own path

Fine, you follow your own path

Fine, you follow your own path

Your own Path! It’s wrong, we’ll see!

 

You got here but how is that possible

You got here but how is that possible

You got here but how is that possible

You’re sure you followed your own path?

 

I’ve just learned a very simple message

I’ve just learned a very simple message

I’ve just learned a very simple message

Many, many paths lead to the same destinations.

HOUR 4 A Symphony of Choice

A Symphony of Choice

 

She who roars in sanguine silent symphony

Symphony offering an invitation in pairing pursuit

A pursuit and study in melodious inflicting misery

Misery rife with possibilities in bloody beauty to be wrought

 

Our beings at tandem with inner desire

Desire out to greet each others dark incarnations

Incarnations greeting the cleansing to commence

Commencement the next line of our scathing discourse

 

The hunt shall commence with judicious observation

The observation of prey chosen for their lack of civility

The civility devoid in a broken society

The society welcoming the unknown demise

 

The creature in humanities form chosen

Chosen for its own treatment of others about it

It leads others to a ruination without purpose

Purposeful in its lack of of the truest judgment

 

A foreboding sense washies over my internal self

Selfs own melodic howl matching that of she

She who will swim in the same torrents of suffering

Suffering to be brought at our judgemental paws

 

The target set

The sacrifice found

Our elation to come

Our corruption soon fed

 

 

How to Leave

Longing forward can lead us to land

 

All the places we’ve been before

like an obstacle course in a dilapidated grocery store

we cannot leave

 

Longing forward can lead to land

 

If we follow instinct

or is that keeping us trapped here

where we talk about wanting to leave

falling ceiling tiles and molding papayas

refrozen exotic ice cream in sealed packaging

 

long forward to find what you ran from

through refrigerated decay of longing

Disappointment

A crushing disappointment

Like glasses and stones and wood

Shattering and crunching and splinting

A cry rippling from the throat

In shadows and doubt

A curtain of despair

Fluttering and swirling

Churning rancid and scarred

A scar deep within

Clanging with flaw