The Poetry Marathon

Can’t buy me love

I still remember the first time i considered it.

i had dissolved into the back seat of the bus and there you were

just a few rows up

illuminating all of reality with that golden smile

nullifying the beauty of everything else in existence.

and there i was

wishing i had met you long before the luckiest bastard on the face of the planet took you off the market

trying to drown myself in a tidal wave of serenity

imagining all the golden years we’d have together before the cruel mistress of mortality took you from me

your perfectly-woven golden hair basking in the sunlight as they sealed you in and lowered you into that plot.

i’d jump in right after you and spend the rest of time in eternal bliss.

that’s the sheer truth of it all.

i won’t spend the rest of eternity waiting for superman,

just for you

Shove (Brandy Goodman Poem # 6)

Shove (Brandy Goodman Poem # 6)

Strong people stumble with emotions

Even the mighty can be weak

Fight for your life

Now’s not the time to be meek.

Do not sit idly by

Letting yourself turn to ice.

While life goes on around you,

It’s not worth the price.

Take a deep breath

Find something you love

Hold on for dear life

And give yourself a shove.

In life there will be pain,

Fear and doubt, depression and guilt galore

But we must push through

Because there can be so much more.

You can have happiness and joy

There will be times of hope and awe

Don’t let negative emotions

Leave you wounded and raw.

Fight for your life

Fight for what you love

Fight to be happy

Just give yourself that shove.

Prompt 6, Hour 6

Write about your ideal day using only imagery and sensory details. It is fine if it is fragmentary.

1:00 PM haiku

bibliomancy
redeeming the discarded
illumination

Heaven

Found this photo

It was taken about 6 years ago

Was 19 or so

Was holding my new son

Felt like he was the one

My all

Wouldn’t change nothing

none at all

Just thing

Was in heaven

Holding my angel

Makes me think

Can’t wait to get home

And sit in heaven with my prince 

Looking at that photo

Reminded me

It is just me and him

No one else matters

As long as we have each other

Making it heaven

Just for me and him

Deserve it

Looking at this picture

Made a promise

Just thinking of my prince

Promised him a safer place 

Like…

Heaven

5) Poinsettia

My poinsettia has made it through two Christmases

now heading for a third.

A former editor used to fundraise for Rotary,

and I was sure to support them.

Back then they died before January was in full swing.

Was it Maine winters? The cold? The lack of light?

Here in Mayo, I’m to three plants in our front room.

Late June and they’re lush with velvet leaves and

tiny yellow cyathia.

 

Aldi, tell me, did you know your Christmas poinsettias

keep going…and going….and going.

Some days I forget to water. Am down to watering once

weekly.

Dried out soil, airy light pot quickly dampened

and BOO! They bounce back.

Last year’s are full, lush, upon the windowsill.

The one from the Christmas before has shed its leaves,

re-bloomed its yellow berries and scarlet leaves.

 

The cats have abandoned the fireside,

late June log burning,

tucked themselves deep within the duvet.

Hubby’s mashing ginger nuts, slicing out

one at a time from the pack stack.

Soon, he’ll nap.

Eyes too heavy to follow the print of his book.

Sated with food, fire, now words,

he’ll putt-putt a gentle snore while the

fire temperature guage reaches vertical

the flames hum and gyrate through the logs.

Summer firesides.

Soothe the soul.

12:00 PM haiku

compare and contrast
different yet similar
finding the sweet spot

11:00 AM haiku

bunny under foot
daylight yields once more to dream
cow over the moon

#5

(Picture Prompt)

Laying, gazing
through the window
in the canopy covered meadow
with you.

The woolen blanket protects our skin
from the straw mountain grass
as our shoulders and hips
press against one another
while our heads meet at the temples.
Our hands naturally find their indentations
and crevices
that have melted into the other
over time.

The aspens rustle and sing a song
with their golden painted leaves
that flit with the air
while the eyes on their white trunks
watch us with wonder and
sweetly sway back-and-forth
to the rhythm of the wind
and dance just for us.

Hour 5: Photo-ku Series

morning mountain fog
brush strokes widen
my appetite

overnight drench
sidestepping slugs
around the lake trail

unrequited love
he throws another marshmallow
into the ashes

skinny dipping
under the galaxy
the flash of paparazzi

autumn nap
the murmur of tree limbs 
in silence