The Poetry Marathon

Like Dreams on Earth

With every passing second

And racing of the clock

I take a quick leak at the back of the house.

Into my bed, I jump once again.

I’m so tired of counting sheep;

And every passing look is caught by abstract images

Scaring me into an eye shut.

Left turn to

Right turn into

The warmth of my own perspiration.

Like the blow to the soft spot of Goliath,

I take a hit from nothingness.

Next thing I realise, are my eyes

Plagued by a bright light.

It was night two seconds ago.

Where am I now?

 

Hour 1: Love

Love heals the wounds of loneliness.

The First Time

For the first time…

I have considered not even starting-

Wait. That is a lie.

At the very least, I should be practicing honesty.

I have thought about not starting a gazillion times in my life.

I am fabulously great at not starting.

Not starting would make an excellent book.

But it would never be read, because it would never be written.

Because I am smitten by not startin.

The hour is here.

Time to get my butt in gear…

But, not for the first time,

I question the legitimacy-

Wonder at the failure rate-

And think I simply won’t pick up my pen and start to write…

But once again, I hear the echoes of my childhood-

Reminding me that I’ve got to be better than them.

Thus, I find myself…

starting again.

The Tender Season

Hour 1 – 2021 Poetry Half Marathon

 

The light rolls in like thunder
on a night when crows rest
nervously on electric wires
just below the tree lines.

I look west – the direction of the sun plummeting into an envelope
of spring vegetation
and early darkness.

As expected, the trees are lined up
like soldiers beyond the clearing,
meeting this fresh spring sunset
in it’s tendrils climbing toward sunshine.

The weather is already teasing us
with daytime warmth,
though the nights are painted on a cool,
sometimes damp tapestry.

Soon, the shoots, sparsely bursting
through gnarled limbs and brush,
will turn into leaves unfurling
in the tender spring sunshine.

Final Boarding Call

There are

hundreds of miles between us.

Fourteen hours flying.

Six hours sleeping,

Three hours worrying,

two hours waiting in a trammeled transit

five steps waiting

three minutes running

and one more step closer, one more moment closer

to the last flight to you and our lives, now boarding.

No. 1

race as one
no more hate
black lives matter

slogans cliches words
is anyone listening
actions are needed

it’s over

the door is opened

i cry you sigh

we say good-bye

once again

 

2021: Hour One – Image Prompt

– From the Image –

Wings on the wall,

like Icarus amid the fall.

Their ominous call beckons a warning –

An ode to every mourning,

Of times both grand and small.

 

The wings on the wall,

strike a memory for all,

And we’re forced to confront a yearning –

 

To give life to dreams,

And peace to questions burning.

 

Icarus begins to fall;

It’s up to us –

We’re the Sun!

 

See the Truth of it all.

 

You Did Not Move (prompt 1, 9 am est)

You did not move to Georgia,

I asked every time we talked.

I never understood why you balked.

You did not move to Georgia,

though I longed for you to be here.

I never understood and sometime shed a tear.

You did not move to Georgia,

I could not raise you on the phone.

Your son, my brother, tried to reach you too,

though  we found ourselves alone.

You did not move to Georgia,

You went to heaven on instead.

I was not ready to say good-bye,

I sure miss you Dad.

Gaslighting

But you don’t understand,

he’s lying and being abusive.

Why didn’t you say something

last year?

I did, and I wrote a letter to the union.

Oh, they never received it.

When did this all start?

I told you this already.

Well, I have no idea what you really mean about abusive.

Abusive!  Lying about my reputation – falsifying documents –

creating a torrid of self doubt – making my life miserable.

I don’t see anything on record for his behavior.

You should have made a claim last year.

I did!  I just told you I did!