The Poetry Marathon

Literary Travel

I’m traveling through time and space, on pages rich with words.

There are people in this place, whose thoughts are even heard.

You may find me laughing, or have a need to wipe a tear,

But my favorite place to travel is through pages, staying near.

My ticket was bought through stores that sell the work

Of authors who write fiction, or fantasy with quIrks.

I won’t have to board a plane, or take a bus to there;

I’ll just sit right here at home, in my big comfy chair.

I meet the grandest people–some famous in their time–

And others who are common folk–not poor, and not sublime.

I’ve learned so very much from visiting their homes;

I’d like to invite them here–to travel worlds unknown.

Protected: poem 16 hour 16 (journey, in other words) -cede and -cide

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The Final Exodus

The final exodus

Peering through the windows

Of my vehicle, I stared …

The pitch darkness outside

Save the distant gleaming lights

The ignis fatuuses.

 

Foraying into the edge of time

By the dawning red, I waited…

Scavengers descended on my self

And angels holding torches

Led my soul away.

 

Hour 16

@varenyas

Susurration

A susurration of serpentine servants slips
Somewhere betwixt sunset and sunrise,
Assured of surreptitious searching the sanctuaries
For secrets secured against sonorous sorcery
In centuries long since sacked into obscurity.
Should the Saffron Saint sail south with these secrets,
The sacrilege would scandalize both sanguine and cynical.
So their sanctimonious and sincere stand ceremony
To this scabrous safekeeping, supervised by sages.

Things Unsaid (prompt 20, Hour 16)

I am camouflaged
behind a mound of hair.
In this small car
speeding across town,
I battle the rapids
of roaring rivers and shatter
into millions of diamonds
in their cascading falls,
or elbow the sheer waters
with a spidery grace.

I stalk the Appalachians
as we pass your lab,
eyes fixed on the tall spire
emerging like a ghost
out of frosty air,
like a lost finger
of some sleeping giant,
waiting for a magic spell.

Gazing fierce eyed
past the landscape,
I vault up into the sun
and wheel my silent wings
in tumbling patterns across blue spaces
in cloud fields, caressing
their white-bellied shapes
with a moist, airy palm as I pass.
They weep with joy.

You ask what I’m thinking
(content with your own thoughts)
But you’d never understand:
my heart is a crystal
and my shining colors
exceed your vocabulary.
So I say, Nothing special.

2019 – Sixteen – Prompt 19 As Companion to Prompt 18 – ‘Fin’

or ‘The End?’

For Hoban Washburne

I rather think I won’t be quite surprised
when all the water boils off into space,
leaving, as Pink Floyd said, ‘only charcoal
to defend.’ Nor will it seem so strange that
suddenly there’ll be nothing left I prized,
like breath. I’ve known that goes. We lose that race
when we begin. This marble will just roll
away and end each thing that we’ve begat.

But is that how it ends, the universe?
Is this all that there’ll be? Or is there more
to come and we just must accept the grief?
Tossed in time’s deep closet, like some old purse?

Life’s been fun. I guess if I’d kept a score
I think I’d win. I’ve been both wind and leaf.

World filled with void

The darkness came a little at a time
But once the world was destroyed it was void of all light.

Half-dead roamed what used to be the streets. Their vision obscured by once was bright flashes of light.

Vegetation, gone.

Animals, gone.

No sun, no moon, no clouds.
Gray haze, gasses most likely fill the air making it difficult to breathe.

No shelter, no warmth, acid rain
Falling
onto
the
barren
ground.

Dear Katie

2006.

A simple question:

“Do you love me?”

A simple answer.

Learn to let it go.

A bigger gift awaits you yet.

Travel the seas,

Climb the mountains.

Reach the one who says,

“I do.”

Prompt 20, Hour 16

Skip and hop

Skip and hop

I skip and hop

After I throw that rock

Down the blocks it is taking me

To new sights I’ve never seen

Even though I know

It is only across the street

However not one step further

I’m allowed to go

I must turn around and

Hop and skip

Hop and skip

Myself on back home

 

Copyright © 2019 by Angelica Stevenson

All Rights Reserved

 

 

Universal Music

It’s dark,
and our turn to face the truth.

Do you see it as we wander
this celestial route?

They stay the same,
or so we think,
but they move in unison,
almost, along the warps
and wiggles of time.

Listen.

Do you hear the light,
like I do?