The Poetry Marathon

Imaginary

Seeing clearly now threat which never existed,
Yet every waking moment imagined him to life,
Blighting rendering loving fosters quite toxic,
Composite being of unacknowledged edges,
Emptiness inside of cavernous cracks in me,
Fused together and breathed to worried life,
Always that which I never quite was,
Despite the sacrifice and prostrations near,
Always a threat from afar never to sight,
So dangerous a competitor I never quite see,
Reflecting in mirky pane only seeing the smudged,
As foe he will in non-existence win, and take from me,
Those fare I compete him for, driven only by the chase,
Me with my shadow tale around again.

Spirit in denial #11

here I am waiting alone
in the shadows trying to get through
can they not see me
make a noise surely they’ll hear it

I’m so tired I have no strength
am I invisible to them
even tried touching them a few times
could they not feel it

I am here they know I am
they’ve bumped into me
all they said was it’s cold in here
I’m sure they see me they’re just pretending

someone just said I died a week ago
are they fooling around I’m right here
I’ve got to stop this
they finally heard my bangs

and still no one will talk to me
all they do is laugh and tell stories
I’ll just keep talking and making noises
one day they’ll see I’m alive

Gardener

Old Ms. Beth lives down the lane
She rarely goes outside.
(Something with her legs, I think?)
I made her apple pie.
I walked it over to her
and noticed something queer:
Her garden’s full and tidy
Though I’ve seen no one here.
I ask about her roses.
If mine could bloom like that!
She says her gardener does it.
(We take some time to chat.)
I look for months to see them,
the one with such green skill,
But no one ever shows,
Much less one who’d fit the bill.
I carefully watch the yard,
Find no weeds or disarray.
Her plants must be magic
to behave so well this way!
I’m not far off, I find
One night taking out the trash.
She’s standing in the flowers.
I hear words, see a flash!
Sparks float across the stems
Trailing greenness in their wake.
I race back to my kitchen.
(My hands just slightly shake.)
No gardener ever worked there;
She got her garden free!
If only I can sway
Old Ms. Beth to mentor me…

Pay Phone (Prompt 17)

I guess I can be thankful
That payphones are rare to come across
One less reminder of the child that never got to be a child
In photographs it doesn’t look like me
My therapist pointed out that I say “it”
So far removed from that little girl
Could be a stock photo in a frame

I carry so much with me
Fractured memories but some are sharper
The darker ones seems to be the trend
Mother shaking me awake
We need to leave
No time for shoes
Climb over the patio wall
Go quickly quietly don’t look back
If anything happens run just run okay
My bare feet on cold concrete felt like we walked for miles
Gas station payphone you start to dial
I’m looking at you now

Your face is all running mascara and blood
I don’t know what to do
You don’t tell me what I should do
So I go inside and get some napkins
Clean your face up for you while you sob
While you find someone to pick us up
That’s when the cycle started for me

I learned that night that if
I don’t know what to do
I should just take care of someone
Anyone
A loophole to feeling helpless
Constantly of service
Patching up wounds so that I don’t notice
My own

My feet are cold but I have the urge
To make someone else feel better

The Little One

Prompt 23 (Half Marathon 2 Hour 11) 

Chhoti never left the room with the toys

As a child, I was jealous of her

For if I had my way, I would be there all day too

Yet I was bound by rules and school, and she was not

When I told my parents, they were dismissive

They apologized for not giving me real siblings

But Chhoti was real

It was our little secret

Ten years later

A girl is now a woman

Toys are forgotten in favor of clothes and makeup

The home  is no longer the most fun place to be

So the room with the toys lies gathering

And with it lies Chhoti

Nigel’s Power

(prompt 23)

(a poem for use in Onweald; I need suggestions for a different title, of course 🙂 )

Nigel’s Power

By Sandy Lender, attributed to Nigel Taiman

 

A kind touch on my hand

Reminded me of you today

Soft words I could barely understand

Sounded like something you’d say

 

The moment caught me so off guard

When I turned to see your face

Disappointment filled me utterly

When I found emptiness in your place

 

Anger has followed me since

Familiar company giving me strength

The gods fear where I’ll go to get you back

And to what lengths

 

 

Dear God

Yes I am a believer but in this day and age, it is the hardest thing

I remember as a child,
I would know your word like the phone numbers that belonged to my parents.
Whenever I was in trouble or distraught I had you on speed dial,
But as time went on,
I guess I got tired of your voicemail,
And put the phone down and stopped calling

I remember when I grew up,
You blessed me with more ages but I repaid you by adding more distance between us.
You gave me the ability to make my own decisions,
So please tell me why you gave me this gift if you knew,
I would rarely decide to follow you.

You gave me people to talk to,
But tell me, Lord, why should I tell a man,
Who has a sinning nature, my sins?
Read the word that has been attributed to you,
But written by so many people,
Has different interpretations.
So how do I know who is right and who is wrong?
You gave me the Holy Spirit to decipher,
But why does it feel like it’s always silent?

Tell me how I keep my faith,
When the children who you called,
Reject you and believe in theories that make you a figment of our imagination.
Where is the hope in that,
When all the vessels are broken and can no longer hold anything but empty promises.

I remember when I lay in bed at night,
And wonder where you were when I fell,
Rose to the challenge and succeeded.
Questioning your love for me when all I felt was hate surrounding,
Were you ready to welcome me home when I tried to take my life?
Or would I have hung lifeless?

I will never know the answer,
But I apologize for trying to praise you and please them,
Walking in the valley of darkness,
But also trying to keep my light ablaze.
I am sorry for questioning your actions,
But my ancestors made it so I become curious and search for answers.
I hope you know I am still a believer,
So I end this note by saying,
Amen

~Baker

20~22

Why is it so difficult to write about you?

I cannot seem to be able to decide about you.

All I ever seem to do is think of you.

I wait all day for a glimpse of you.

I wait all night for a caress from you.

All I really do is need you.

All I ever do is love you.

I cannot seem to connect with you.

I find myself often barred from you.

I know how much I anger you.

Can’t you see how much I have for you?

I’m frightened I will be destroyed by you.

 

Hour 23: Invisible Friend

I wanted an imaginary friend.
I tried to make or find one.
He may be invisible, but I would have it.

He never came.

Wanting, it turns out, is not enough.

 

Return to the Veldt

Blinding sandy dunes
A green rattlesnake hisses
Aging lion yawns