The Poetry Marathon

Move

Stranded and alone,
I stagger, I stumble, I fall.
I lose myself.
But still, I repeat this process.

Is it because I lack the general human ability to stand,
Or because I am trying to find the significance in standing up each time I fall.
So stranded and alone,
I pick myself up and I walk.
I stagger, I stumble, I fall.
I lose myself.

Yet still, as this lesson brings more pain than teaching,
I revise my own methods and correct myself like a child after a beating,
But still, I fail to see past my own reflection as my face kisses the wet tarmac.
But still, I stagger, I stumble, I fall.
I lose myself.

Till I stop and realize that it isn’t about getting back up,
It is about keeping focus no matter the goal.
Moving even when you are alone and do not know where to go.
So stranded and alone,
I pick myself and I walk.
I stagger, I stumble, I fall.
I will find myself.

The valley of Muse

Yes, Yes its true,

There is a valley of muse.

You can find many of them,

Some like to come with you too.

They talk to you,

Show you visions,

create worlds without divisions,

They show you the truth sometimes,

The other times unicorns,

It you,

who choose,

To stay in the real world

or explore the sky….

 

We live that word

---

She lifts me with her laugh leaving me longing for more ways to bring her joy
We join in song, voices dancing like dolphins dipping across crested waves
Her heart holds a capacity for caring and kindness akin to tales of saints
Her eyes are an endless pool of wonder and curiosity
Her lips melt into mine with tenderness and the tension of anticipation
I hold her like a puzzle piece holds it’s partner
Our bodies curving together in a yin yang releasing reality from parameters of what was previously believed possible
When we pray together miracles manifest
I find peace while watching her sleep
Her angelic innocence emanates from her exhales casting a spell that binds me to her essence.
When apart she flutters around my mind distracting me with delights from our last dalliance
My phone rings joyfully when she’s on the line
Everytime I hear her call me babe I fall a little deeper for this Aphrodite diety
I yearn to provide all of her needs before she even knows them.
I dote on her desires like Hephestus tending the fires of his forge
I take pleasure when we exchange teaching and learning
Even when she is in the next room I find myself yearning
Our passion purifies my soul burning away particles of past pain
I eagerly await the day we share the same last name

Apolemia

They begin in single file possibly as breeders with a clone already attached they leave their cars in schoolyards and then again in carparks until they arrive in supermarkets pushing carts with kids in them round the aisles and what looked like one or two have joined up in ribbon formation winding around the legs and in front of the stomachs of all that is non-zooid and it’s different on different days but you can find them all entitled carbon copied assigned their own roles by the PTA battering rams on steroids Apolemia you can almost hear them breathe their name in unison.

Hour 19; Prompt 19: The Human Organism

There is beauty in nature
And all the creatures in it

They way they live
Hunting
Procreating
Surviving
Continuing
Against the odds

Humans
How so unlike their brethren in nature
Even amongst the apes
There is more solidarity
More community
Than in one nation

Some of us, it seems, has forgotten
What it is to struggle as a species
Against the very real fate of extinction
Too busy wiping itself out, I suppose

I have long believed it is in mans nature to destroy itself
No other species in the world
Has fought so hard against itself
For control of something that can never truly be controlled
Harnessed, perhaps, but even the tamest can go wild

e Pluribus
Unum
Of many
One

One day, we will remember
And exist as nature has intended
A single species, with all of it’s colorful variations
Striving together
Beautiful

Moved On (19th hour 2020) – a nonet poem

His presence existed to suppress

He always made her feel oppressed

but still she tried to impress

til she became depressed.

Life seemed quite compressed

with great distress.

We can guess

she left

transgressed.

Hour 19 (2020)

A cog in the war machine, a link in the chain

A drop in the canteen or one in the rain

A petal in the daisy, a ray in the sun

In each case the many come together as one

19 – A Visit with Dad

Dad has disbursed. He vibrates higher now, his pitch and tone as clear as bellsound. He isn’t as invested in physical things these days. He let’s me know that although they seem critically important when we are here, they simply do not hold the same gravity from non physical.

I ask him what he does these days. He tells me he does the equivalent of what we understand as deep thinking or meditation. He says that it is like trying hard to figure something out, but already knowing everything there is to know about everything. He says it is perfect intentional vibration. I ask him if I can join him in doing it. He reminds me that we are all joined always, so if I try it, I will naturally be trying it with him, and the rest of The Collective.

He says I am always welcome.

He is much more a teacher than the goofy guy that was my dad, but I still recognize an essence of him in what remains.

I tell him I still want to remember him as he was here. He encourages me to relive the memories, and enjoy where I am right now. This last part is very Disbursed Eternal Being Dad.

I tell him Iove him… miss him so much! He radiates Purity and Consciousness over me. I never want to stop feeling  that. When he feels me, he goes, and I am left to enjoy where I am right now, and to remember Dad the way he was when he was here, my physical form Dad.

Thank you, Dad. Thank you Disbursed Form Dad in The Collective. I love and need you both so much…!

 

Elizabeth Fellows

6/27/2020, 9pm

Hour 19: Tethered 

We were born believing that the world centered around us, 

It’s confounding, really, 

when we catch this lie surround us, 

I believed that the pink of my mother’s tea was the only right way to feel warm, 

But the beauty of being wrong, 

Lies in the generosity of truth

And youth is so forgiving,

I could count the number of lies on the fingers on my hands, and not need more, 

And how many more days till the world stops revolving around me?

I’m told, it takes at least three heart aches? 

And at least four falls, before I realize the crunch of the leaves beneath my feet

Is another pleat in the longing of our entwined existence 

Across the ocean a lady in white, 

I think, she makes her tea exactly like my mother 

But each time I ask for another, it tastes a little different, 

Looks a little red, 

I dread, I would need another finger, to account another lie, 

The wind here, so sly, 

I almost felt my mother’s hand on my cheek.

Hour 19 – Colony