The Poetry Marathon

Dear Freckle Face (A Letter to My Former Selves, Hour Twelve)

Dear Freckle Face

(A Letter to My Former Selves)

 

To the six-month-old hardhead

who felt the need to prove your independence

by crawling off Grandma Peggy’s mattress

and connecting with the hardwood headfirst…..

being first at everything isn’t always a good thing.

 

To the freckle-faced, four-eyed first grader,

so proud to pedal that little pink bicycle

all the way home

all by yourself

in the bitter winter cold,

then fling it into the yard in frustration

once you reached your destination….

remember home is the place where when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

 

To the geeky seventh grader

from the wrong side of the tracks,

so full of unwarranted anger and desperate for acceptance

she once snorted a packet of Sweet ‘n Low

and set her nose on fire for days trying to build this badass persona….

it’s okay to be young and stupid, but it’s just as okay to be yourself.

 

To the angsty high school junior

who fell in love for the first time,

had her first awkward kiss,

broke up with her boyfriend and swore the world

must be coming to an end

and her heart would never heal….

he was the first, not the last. There will be others.

 

To the young lady away at college

and living on her own for the first time,

ready to take on the world,

thinking she knew it all…

with education comes knowledge, but with experience comes wisdom.

 

To the chubby grungy redhead

wearing flannel and sneakers,

with a Bud Light in one hand and

a Marlboro in the other….

look to your left. See that young man in the wheelchair?

He will change your life forever, in ways you could never comprehend. Give him a chance.

 

To the twenty-year-old newlywed,

wondering what to say to your husband who was just wheeled into the room

after losing his right leg…

it doesn’t really matter. With cracked lips and dry mouth, he kisses your face and sobs.

All he wanted was to know you were there.

 

To the weary-eyed thirtysomething woman

who sits steadfastly at his bedside,

holding his hand and stroking his flat head,

feeling your heart break as you listen to his ragged breaths

fall fewer and further between,

as you whisper “I love you” and tell him it’s time….

this isn’t goodbye. He will always be a part of you. You wouldn’t be you if it weren’t for him.

 

To the middle-aged widow

who has struggled to move forward for seven years,

but has tried to rediscover her purpose,

in spite of the obstacles Life has thrown her way…..

Even baby steps show movement.

You got this girl. Never forget you’re a survivor!

Love

Love
Love
Love
Do people even understand the meaning of love anymore
People use the 3 words phrase like there’s no real meaning behind it
I love you means nothing or just something to say when you think its appropriate
Love
Love
Love
Can people truly love just one person
Can the person be enough for that one person
Or are there to many temptations or our mind just so curious that being with one person isnt enough
Love
Love
Love
To much emotions nowadays when you think about love
People feel when you love someone your exceptions grews and sometime that person can’t reach your expectations and you take that as them not loving you
Love
Love
Love
Just love with an open heart, no expectations, clear mind to want to make that person happy without looking elsewhere
Love
Love
Love
When you find that person that truly love you every doubt about love with disappear
Because when they use the 3 words phrase
I love you
Love will be love
Love
Love…..

Just One More Glass

Every now and then, I feel

a little tension, a little 

longing for excitement,

for poison to just

run through my usual

healthy body.

 

Every now and then, I want

something different, something

uncertain, something wrong

that gives no nutrition,

so I take a glass

of posion and

drink it up.

 

Last night, it was you.

Macrocornea

It’s it much better,
Wouldn’t you all agree,
That it is much better 
For the big, bad, wolf
to be disinclined 
to follow a path,
A scientific path,
Of the human anatomy.
Otherwise, 
Little Red Riding Hood 
May say,
”Why Grandma, what big eyes you have!”
And the wolf might respond,
”Yes, my macrocorneas help me to see you better my dear.”
A statement to this effect could easily frighten the poor girl away.
Indeed, that is true.

The Static of Nothing

Black Knight orbits my heart.
My breath quickens
with tidal acceleration.
Momentum builds, but
only briefly.
My heart beats
in perfect counterpoint
to his silence,
but he remains distant
unwilling to hear me
through the static
of nothing.

And we are not

we always go back

to the point in time

when everything crashed

when we ignored the clashes

and kept on going

as if we were immortals

and we are not

Honest and contradiction doesn’t mixed
It just leaves a lot of confusion
What truth, what not truth
Is those feelings valid or just valid at this moment
Are you catching feelings or you just caught up with this connection
You said God create me for you
But turn around and say you single
You get mad when I said I have options
But you don’t want any title because its to much expectations
Too much pressure
How would you feel if I decide to walk away
Would you care or even notice I’m not around anymore
Would you realize you lost a good women

Guddle Time

I made my way down to the stream
I wanted some time to loaf and dream
I settled myself upon the bank
Stared at the water, giving thanks.
A shadow suddenly darted nearby
The edge of the stream where I lie
I leaned down for a better look
Carefully set aside my book.
With a furrowed brow, I saw a trout
Disturbing my peaceful time, no doubt.
I got to my knees, leaning low
Reached down my hand, in the water just so.
I slowly wriggled my fingers just like bait,
Near the fish, not a moment to late.
He swished his way through the water clear
Closer and closer, he got very near.
With a daring grasp, I got that fish
He will make such a wonderful dish
With my hands in the water, I was befuddled
How I caught that fish, how I learned to guddle.

Nature of Chaos (Hour 12)

Source Material: The Land of Little Rain by Mary Austin

This is the nature of chaos.
Streaked with ash, evaporating the dark and bitter lies.
The wind drifts between them, the quick storms scar them
past redeeming.

One expects not to depend upon brackish and unwholesome dribbles.
Here you find the sink of Death,
the long heavy winds
and breathless calms on the tilted mesas where devils dance.
When all the earth cries for violence, with little in it to love.

 

[I don’t have a scanner and the erasure website wouldn’t let me create an account to save my erasure work. But I was able to save it as a PDF. Click the title of the poem to see the actual erasure work: Nature of Chaos – Poem ]

2212 episode 2 hour 2

2212 Episode 2

Sergeant Jackson and his squad wait
The French sneak up
He sleeps then he wakes
Hit in the head with a shot gun

He sleeps then he wakes
Locked in a prison camp in Germany

Tortured, whipped and punched
Sergeant Jackson is helped
Second Corporal Jones
Together they fight
Fought their way through the prison camp
Run from Frankfurt

To find Lewie Pippin
Leader of the French
Lewie Pippin
Who started the war