The Poetry Marathon

Forester

Deeply rooted, planted firmly, time has softened my bones.

Once, palms that cradled faces now gone, even the structure

suggested, the curve of moss like flesh, and the trees groan

with my voice, their roots like veins, arteries, and somewhere

deep in vegetable memory was a dusty table, wooden floors

and heartwood bright and deep, slow kisses on lips

now long since faded, and the remains of me buried deep

in bracken and old memory. If you tread here, step lightly,

feel the reverence of my joy touch you, my life still golden here

long after I am dust and my ghost no longer skirts

the edges of eternal dreamless sleep and memories

soft, full, honey-warm and sweet, and the hubris

and ugly matter that made me undone, leaving only

peace, silence, and the slow unmaking of a woman gone, still loved

by the trees, the mushrooms, the moss.

Hour 14:Flowering Self Reflection

Finding yourself can be difficult

In this crazy, hectic world.

Take your troubles into nature

Let all your worries unfurl.

Spend some time nurturing flowers

Smell the soil, water it well

If you focus, you can tell.

The plants will feed your soul

Renew your spirit too

In a reciprocal situation

And you’ll both be like new.

—————————

Inspiration taken from Braiding Sweetgrass, in which Robin Wall Kimmerer writes — ‘In some Native languages the term for plants translates to “those who take care of us.’

Ambling

I walk,
but never enough.

If I could, I would walk
for endless hours
across the forests
where I love to walk.

I hike
not uphill.

The lowlands call me.
Rivers, streams, creeks mostly…
those tight, shady spots
where the water is shallow and clean.

I wander
rarely too far.

Safe and secure
my inner compass guides my path
North or South
East or West.

I play
always alone.

Too old except for cards,
I muse my journey
meets a queen
or king of some other realm.

I walk,
it’s never enough.

A Man of Compassion

A Man of Compassion

A man of his compassion
Deserved something better
Than Shahpur, the place he lost everything
His dwelling, longing and belonging
Where his heart stifled a quarter
And met his life and destination

Hour 12 

@varenyas

Randidawn

 

Randidawn

Dawn
breaks through
the umbra-
Her eclipsing
miam–her fortitude
as she faces discord
risen from ashy shadows
ruminating over the breaking
glow, sunbeams illumine the inherent
delight within the souls warmed with tenderness
she exudes. Her brilliance manifests itself in
shades of color, like feathers upon the skyline
The grace of her generosity as she shares her hues
Like fire, she brands the treeline in iridescent crimson streaks
Awakening those whose hearts are parted by the gossamer clouds
leaving remnants of color imbued within her every venture.
She inspires the daybreak, creating a masterpiece every morning
She is the first blush of early light after darkness had prevailed through the eve,.
She graces the world with tenacity and a will to break through the horizon.

 

I made it!

It was a beautiful morning

The sun was shining strongly

I was happy and excited

My fifth year Marathon

It’s about to launch

The hours passed by

Prompt after prompt

Sunset on my window

Announcing is almost done

Good bye Half Poetry Marathon 2020

My heart is full of joy

I made it!

@Mejia – Hour 12

Luna and Aurora

Luna and Aurora high on their chariot

traverse the heavens

cast shadows

pull tides

sisters

twins

two

sides

the moon

dark and light

Aurora shines on romance

while Luna laughs at broken hearts from the dark side of the moon.

 

 

 

 

14: The Ship of Clouds

A ship travels

in a wide sea

of blue

with orange

and yellow

also pink

reflecting orange and yellow

on the edge

as it tore through the sky

running on condensed water

dying sunlight

And telephone wire

Hour 13, Prompt 13 – Happy Accidents

I’ve lived on the second floor
of someplace or another since 20, 10 and 4
Each day, I would find myself traversing the stairs to the outside world
Running halfway down in a dream, body hurled,
only to notice my near-sightedness
and rewinding
just to miss the bus
an ever-transpiring malady
to retrieve my glasses or my keys
before the door slams shut behind me
And at night I’d twist one big toe in a semi-circle in front of me
finding my way in the dark
practicing ballet
Doing pirouettes for the fool moon

I didn’t really consider the utility of stairs until
I couldn’t take a step on my own and my broken foot swelled
Suddenly, my ankle refused to support me through this transitory space
between the places
that held my life
I crawled from the bed excited to use the bathroom
so I could see a different color paint, I tried to escape,
In my bed, I would dream of Scotty beaming me up and out
anywhere, but this sinkhole my body had dug into the mattress
Stuck like a cold tile in grout

Ask me where I go when I can’t
When there’s nowhere left to hide
I tunnel inside of myself, out of rebuttals to delay
Pulling back the sheets I’d thrown over the furniture of my truth
to keep it from getting dusty while I was away
Sweeping out the cobwebs
Recycling the beer cans
And moving back into the heart I had left lonely
My spirit suddenly and boldly
thankful for that moment when I fell
down and went boom
so I could make the room
to begin to see
that there’s always been more waiting for me
casting off the illusion that this was accidental
Depression and seclusion kept me hurting and distant
From my best version
I’m unearthly and my birth anointed by the sun
appointed by a jinn nonchalantly looking up from a newspaper to say,
“Welcome in. I have been waiting for you. What do you wish?”

I want to learn to walk before I run

Plants are Our Caretakers Prompt(Hour 14)

I am of the earth.
My skin sheds dust like the stones shed dirt.
I am from the trees,
the leaves cradled me when I was little.
I am cyclical, seasonal, perennial.
The sun invites the best of me.

I stay distant, untouched, without belonging.
Connected to the slow nights of the forest floor,
where moonlight spills down through the understory.
I breathe the deep essence of the wild,
into my being, through the alveoli, into my blood.
I seed the earth with my body,
let the plants turn my corpse into a hidden garden.