The Poetry Marathon

Hour 14 – “The land knows you, even when you are lost.”

“The land knows you, even when you are lost.”

 

She knows you

dear, heart

she’s felt your pulse

through the soles of your feet

from your first step

and caught you when you lost balance

 

Even when you forget

that there is love to be had

even when you forget

where your home is

even when you forget

who you really are

and what you’re here to do

 

When the whole of creation

has sent you spinning

and groundless

when you clawed at the floor

To remember

 

She’s got you

righting you

by the dense moss to the north

by the thick leaves to the south

showing that you are connected

to all things

by a cord that

cannot be cut

 

And in the end

like a tender mother

she will embrace your fragile bones

and sing you to sleep

An Ode to Liars

(An Erasure based upon A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act II Sc. 1, Titania by Sir William Shakespeare)
Forgeries of jealousy, you creeping hags!
Haven’t you done enough to me?
Never, since the day we met in 1962,
not Christmas, nor Thanksgiving, nor Easter day,
by kitchen sink, or living room couch,
or in the vast spectrum of my life’s moments,
as I danced, and sang, and played a part too well,
but with thy brawls thou hast disturb’d my life.
Therefore the arts, calling to me in vain,
as in revenge, have suck’d up to your aging client base.
Contagious hags! Boasting on the land
your husbands’ pelting incomes made so proud
that they did overbear their lives’ expectancy.
And me? I stretch’d my yoke in vain,
losing sweat and tears, too green to see
the rotted beard of your faux nature;
so fold! Stand empty in your drowned fields,
you crows! Be fatted with another fuck;
the nine men’s folio is fill’d up with mud,
th’wives quaintly amazed by your wanton greed.
So wondrous spiced, thy graceless air is to the imps!
Wanton demons wish your winter’d souls
to eat on nights with hymn and carol blest.
My friend, the moon, the governess of floods,
pale in her anger, washes your state’s foul air,
and rots the walls of your vestiges:
what a thoroughly perfect disparaging of your lives.
These seasons, altered by whore-headed men,
dare find a fresh lap for a crimson rose
on an old man’s thin and icy wallet.
Thou odorous chaplet of discreet wicked buds!
I in mockery, set thee the spring, the summer,
the childing autumn, angry winter, charged,
you haunted criminals! And the amazed world,
who, duped as me, know not which is which.
We’ll see your progeny of evils come to jail!
You want debate? You want dissension?
I am their parent and original, by no relation to you!

Compass

Those days when I would go off by myself
into the woods, grandma’s admonitions
‘be careful’ ‘make sure you don’t go too far’

‘Too far’ was never really delineated

As an only child alone with grandparents
each summer, all summer, my independence
struggled to keep pace with my curiosity

With each passing summer I strayed further
from the confines of friendships with other kids
different grandkids of different grandparents

Those kids had siblings, cousins, confines

I had what I needed, filling voids and days
with nature, my own thoughts, inquisitiveness
self-taught solitude my badge of honor

Though I knew each square inch of the woods
surrounding Horseshoe Lake, every leaf-strewn
trail, downed log, sun-soaked clearing to sit

It was the land that knew me better than I it

The woods knew when I needed cheering
they brought me birds, scampering chipmunks
days I needed to inspiration – wildflowers

Rainy days, other homes feared bored children
but rain spoke to me, rhythmically, joyously
via scent, sound through open windows

Youthful exploration gave me an understanding
peers lacked, a knowledge of things unseen
a faith I could have never learned in church

Grandma’s long-ago admonitions to ‘not get lost’
were heeded, until adulthood, when I had to
recall what was, what I had learned as a child

When I was lost, I could always get home
even if the home was no longer there, as the
woods know you, even when you are lost.

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

 

Next Door

Music streams through the window, conflicting

with my couch lounging and television watching,

rock n rock grooving

and the neighbor kids playing,

and I consider yelling out the window

that the music is great

but can they turn it down a bit,

decide to leave them enjoying their evening.

 

Then while I’m in the bathroom

that window open to the breeze too,

a man’s voice yelling, stop crying,

no more crying from you for the rest of the day,

and I flinch away in my space

which should be safe and calm

from the male anger outside,

feeling like the child down there on the ground.

Poem 15 “Is there Ever Such A Thing As Lost?”

“Is There Ever Such A Thing as Lost?” by Mandy Austin Cook

Is there ever such a thing as lost?

we think as we look with limited eyes

only able to see a tiny puzzle piece

of the entire pieced-together radiance of the horizon.

 

nearsighted squinting without glasses

trying to navigate one’s way

if you go off of  what only yourself can see

then Lost will surely find you.

 

rather reach out with trust

knowing there is something beyond

your own tiny parcel

of what you’re calling

“understanding”

To comprehend is to realize

there is no understanding without guidance.

 

I still will squint to look for you

but i know you see the bigger picture

Lord thank you for being my glasses.

for I am glad there are things in this world

more vast

than my own small sliver of perspective.

Death Awaits

 

 The sheriff stared looking at the condemned man.

 He stared back at the sheriff, his cold eyes gazing through him, chilling his blood.

    I can’t till she gets here. he coldly replied to the sheriff.

    Till who gets here?

    Just have to wait and see

   Well we don’t have time to wait, let’s get on with it

The black hidden executioner slipped the noose over his neck

and positioned himself by the trapdoor lever

With a nod from the sheriff, the lever was pulled

and the condemned plummeted to the ground,

with a loud snap the rope broke, and the man stood up and gazed up at the sheriff.

     What now?   The condemned man said

 The sheriff drew his pistol, three shots rang out,

none of them finding their home.

Befuddled the sheriff fired three more, to no avail.

    Don’t just stand there, lock him up!  the sheriff shouted to his deputies,

who ushered him back into the jail.

That night there was a knock on the jail door, a woman was there,

dressed in black wanting to speak to the prisoner.

The deputy showed her out soon after.

     Well I guess we’ll try again tomorrow The deputy sighed

When he checked, the prisoner was dead.

Nature’s children

We are all from dust and from dust we will return. Therefore the land recognizes us as its children.

We will never be completely lost,
Maybe only briefly misguided by our own accord, only to find our way again.

We take our own path as if to tell Mother Nature we can do this.
Sometimes we find a loop that takes us around again and again and when we tire of the circles, we rest and gain our inward mapping abilities to put us back on track.

Other times we may think we know what’s best, and have to roll down a few hills before we can stand again and finish our journey.

We have the ability to read our path in life if we will only sit down and gather all of the information when we begin each journey.

Dear Former Self, 2018

Congratulations are in order!

You have survived deep cuts

whose scars will never disappear

You came out swinging

TKO to the past

like a prize fighter in the ring

The future knows no bounds

It still hurts but the pain has taught you

that you shine

Even When You’re Lost

Even when you’re lost

The land knows you, even when you are lost

In its veins flows your blood

Your spirit embedded in the trees

The voices in the rarified air trapped

You hear calling out to yourself fair and free

The memories since childhood sealed

The water knows you too, even when you are lost

Liquid senses flow into being

Your feet washed clean off travails

The rivers, ponds, lakes act as hosts

Recording the stories of your travels

You know and are now willing

You are not lost anymore

 

Hour 14

@varenyas

The Land Knows You

The sun shines still as brightly as when you were aware.

Though you do not seem to notice, its beauty still is there.

Though your mind is fogged with worries and your heart is dull today,

The trees are still the same as when they held you in their sway.

The mountains are as lofty as when you visited last year;

the little brooks still babble with confidence and cheer.

The grass still grows beneath you; the sod still sings it song.

All is waiting here to greet you; don’t let them wait too long.

Their joy in life is growing and helping others grow.

Their joy will help to heal you, their love will make it so.