The Poetry Marathon

Into the Wild

Amongst her sea of long black hair

A tiny white gleam stares me down

With eyes of wild green, she stares with such intensity

For a few minutes, our hearts beat in sync

Then hers starts to growing smaller and smaller

The roof of the bus winks at us over the trees

We were near

“It’s okay, darling”

Her mouth trembles and the words fall from her wrinkled lips

“It’s okay”

I know what she is asking of me

But I won’t

Returning my attention back to the trail

Ignoring her requests

Our destination remains visible among the stunted trees

We’re almost there

Her pace diminishes quickly

Despite her telling me it’s okay

It does not feel so

I envelop her in my arms and push forward

Wild eyes blinking crystal clear tears

More white hairs pop out in surreal time

I tell her “It’s okay”

She fashions a peaceful, toothy grin

Her heartbeat falls out of sync with mine

And then it’s gone

Paradise ranch (Poem #11)

Over the hills through the mountains
Is a lush and beautiful place
Paradise ranch where there is bliss
Joy and peace , fun and food
Nothing to do but okay all day
Enjoy the green shrubs and trees
The garden of enchantment is
More than what the eyes can imagine
The future is bright
It lights the path
It’s a place of freedom
Why not enjoy the harmony
Man and animals a like

All rights reserved copyrighted(c)2020 Roxann A Harvey-Lawrence

Space to Give Credit (Hour 11)

Fourth grade school teacher corrected our work in green – color of hope.

Hope found fear in time, they duked it out – hope ended up winning.

Winning isn’t always about the prize, but it’s about knowing the process was a good one.

One time in D.C., I met a guy names James, he designs amazing landscapes now.

Now I am giving space to give credit to my parents – thank you!

You mean more than you know.

 

 

Hour 11, Prompt 11 – Quest

A successful day(Hour 12)

Twelve poems, twelve hours, a victorious day,

writing with others, working on word play.

Stories told through prompts,

or a visit from inspiration’s muse.

The precious time spent with creative juice.

The gift of kindness from our hosts,

Inviting us back each year.

Allowing us to challenge ourselves, to improve and face our fears.

The full marathon continues for souls that are quite brave,

May your inspiration keep you through the night and on to the next day!

Prompt 11

I was the child of sea foam and storm

I thrashed about my ocean

In its safe and sultry darkness.

hearing only echos of a distant land

When I came too

I cupped my ears

The voices so shrill and loud

The world bright like I’d never seen before

I thrashed about naked

and tried to tell them

Put me back to the water I screamed

But they couldn’t understand my tongue

 

to be continued

The highway (Prompt 12)

I could be driving 365 on the highway,

Approaching a curve,

And still wouldn’t have the motivation to,

Slow down,

You didn’t,

So why should i,

Cut, slit throat,

Check please,

You didn’t break my heart,

You Slit and Cut it,

Marked your initials with a knife by puncturing my heart,

I could have,

I think should have bled out,

What’s a dead toy much use of,

So you used a needle and wire to stitch what a bandage would have done justice,

I felt pain,

So what’s death to a man with iron pins in his heart,

Running on crude oil

I detest romance,

The tiniest flaws leaving excruciating pain

~Ropa

Greek Salad

24 Poems, “The Dinner Party”

 

Greek Salad

 

A popular treat

So creativity was a must

And the quality of ingredients

A personally sampled must

 

Olives of Kalamata

With their smooth meaty fabric

Robust and oily

Pleasing the meal’s fabric

 

The teeth squeezed the grape tomatoes

With a hopeful squirt

So they all challenged on another

As I laughed with a squirt

 

The feta cheese

Was a concern for me

So I procured the sheep’s milk style

The modest perfection in me

 

Avocados were the final touch

Like a peach in their bite

And a colour of sublimity

Joining the cucumber’s bite

 

DeaBeePea  6-27-20

hour 11. 7:52 PM.

i’m sick of waking up
at 3 AM in the morning
with your name on my tongue.
it tastes like you,
but with a hint of a bittersweet goodbye.
the darkness of the shadows
lurking in the corner of my room,
under my bed, next the windows—
they all laugh at me.
they jeer at my unease,
at my endless tossing and turning,
and at the random lyrics
that blurt from my chapped lips.
i’m sick of humming stupid love songs to myself
under the moonlight, because love
is just another wolf in sheep’s clothing,
and gods, i don’t know what i’m doing.
it’s almost 8 PM and i really need to do something
to take my mind off of you,
but somehow, everything i do
just reminds me more of you.

i’m so sick of this.

hour 10. 6:50 PM.

The setting sun breaks
clouds into cotton candy.
I think I’m in love.