The Poetry Marathon

#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

2020, poem 5, picture prompt

Sweet Spanish Chestnuts

He kept them
wrapped up in a handkerchief,
as prized as a pocket watch
against his breast.

Seas swelled and wind whipped the Armada
tossing it about until it became waterlogged, broken. Sunken
off the Irish coast, the sailor’s body was washed up
near Ballygalley, villagers swaddled him tight
as an Egyptian mummy and buried him with the locals.

Five Hundred years on
an enormous chestnut tree crouches over
the headstones, keeping watch on all the dead souls.

For Pops

We share the same name and many of the same ways
I see your features when I look at my face
You were a proud dad but with demons
Parted for portions of my childhood with you in prison
Yet away or with me I knew you cared
Always attempted to be a good father when you were there
Conversations and laughs shared while you cut my hair
Instilling a love of nice suits, jazz, and blues
Teaching me self sufficiency and how to use tools
I still remember the call saying you died from pills
13 years later it still doesn’t feel real
A day before the superbowl where Prince performed Purple Rain
The water cascading from clouds mirrored my face tear stained
I cried as Doves Cry played on the TV
No amount of weed or liquor able to relieve me
Maybe I’m just like my father two fold
At your body viewing touching your face that was too cold
I forgive you for your faults I know you did your best
A black man growing up when you did had to face so many test
You beat racism, prison, and an addiction to crack
But even at your worst you always had my back
We share a name so you are called when my name is spoken
I see you sometimes in dreams
Then remember you’re gone when I’m woken.

Lost in Media Maze

four

four written

four posted

yes!

ahhh, BUT

frick!

WRONG

this is not

miscellaneous

four poems

born from nowhere

birthed into the site

sighted

seen

but uncounted in the maze

of a web

I didn’t design

hidden

so I didn’t know

miscellaneous was not my choice

marathon was my preference

but marathon was a lost

in the maze

of this confusing web

what to do?

forget it?

keep on

keep on

keep on

what does it matter

the construct is

a conundrum

the maze has a door

I choose not to open it

but remain

entangled

in another web

of my own making.

striving to the finish

despite

setbacks

this is a commitment

made in earnest

and in earnest

I shall proceed

 

2020 Hour #5: A Road in Argentina

2020 Hour #5:  A Road in Argentina

 

On an overnight drive

From Mar Del Plata to Buenos Aires

I sat awake, entranced by the night sky;

The ceiling was erupting in massive bursts of light,

Even in my wildest dreams, there weren’t this many stars.

From my seat, pushing my head against the window

And arching my neck to the edge of its capacity,

I became as still as a stone in rapture.

What are the rules of celestial life?

Perhaps there is a hierarchy involved,

In which the best and chosen shine brighter,

A class into which they are born

And thus are entitled.

But then, what of the strivers, the dreamers,

Those lit even more furiously from within

So, like those of us below

Have to try harder to burn longer

To sustain greatness over the obvious blinding arrogance

Whose light is an excuse to take up space.

From my perch so below this spectacle

They seemed to co-exist without conflict;

Or, was I seeing armies gathered on infinite battlefields

Waiting for the signals to charge

Infantries of light in constant formation

Until the daylight calls a truce.

Heal

HEAL

_________________________________

Healing and growth

Walk hand in hand

 

Through life’s twists and triumphs

During life’s conflicts and challenge

 

Fingers laced

One leads some days

Toward curiosity’s will-o’-wisp glow

 

Other days one pauses

Calls them to their senses

Mapping the worlds contours and creases

 

Together they wander

One may strain and the other bulk

One may leap and the other stumble

Yet

They only make it home

If they have the other

Hour 5: The Loop

I haven’t been out of this valley in 16 days.
There’s a loop that I walk,
it whips away from the ocean.
Two green thighs with
one way in, one way out.
You could die here.
Do you want to die here?

In this theatre of mountains and river,
eucalyptus ushers,
people and their dogs, their fruit punch, their Christmases.
Cloud descends to abate the heat of that
despicable star,
To cool me and my fire.

A leaf ballet, a red-hot fungus.
It’s all there in the creek:
A gift from the cyprus and a bird without a nest.
Coy are glinting in a dam.
It’s true, I may be out of my tree,
but I don’t want to die here.

HOW IT REALLY IS – Hour 5

HOW IT REALLY IS
A Zen Story

 

awakening into the twilight of the morning

I take my boat to fish among the silent mists

as the sun contemplates the course of the day

 

night playfully rousing daybreak with sweet kisses

light & shadow parting like a tender, long goodbye

mists dancing with every element in breathless balance

 

as I watch entranced

across the swirling sea-sky a shape emerges within the mist

I am halted in my dawning reverie, peering through the shadows

as the shape is delivered to me from the darkness

 

It is another boat.

 

another boat on this flowing nebula of mist and stars

obscured except its vaguest outline in the sleepy morning

another boat, right in the way of my course

 

I flap and squawk, shattering the sunrise harmony

“Hello!” I cry and “Turn Aside!” but from the other boat

there is no reply across the shimmering water

 

I’m appalled by this cretin

I raise my voice again in contempt to condemn him. Who is he

to steal my glorious dawning? Who is he to make me turn aside? and then

the curtain of fog rises in the sublime sunlight, and finally I see

 

The other boat is empty.

Beach Umbrella

Beach Umbrella

 

I have stood here, like always,

deposited in the sand

like a moon flag

watching Earthlings

camp, one by one,

on my shores.

But now, many of these

aliens don small

tents on their faces

covering their noses

and mouths, tents

larger than the briefs,

thongs, and bikini bottoms

most of them wear.

Like me, those

water-resistant canopies

are colorful, diverse,

and vital.