The Poetry Marathon

The Avatar Inside

To light a fire and watch it burn. It only consumes what you feed it, once tamed.
A river controlled is lying damned; to go without hesitation, stay free flowing.

Full of destruction is a focused funnel of air, breathe and release. Anger and confusion, fear and sorrow, any cluster of held in emotions vortex.

Ground melts and can be molded, but remains are dense. You must push, use force and want for change.

Stay calm and focus, your intentions must be true, a clear mind with a heart ready to be broken, a desire with no quit!

Crush the coal! Light the Fire! Fan the Flames! Drink your water, we have people to feed.

To dance the dance, why wait?
What is your song?
*Smile*

I’m Not Allowed to Listen to Music

Trauma.

Everyone has experienced it on some level.

No one’s trauma is greater than someone else’s.

No one can tell anyone else how their personal trauma should affect them.

A month ago, trauma found its way to my home.

And that is how I ended up with a roommate.

My three year old has taken over.

There are crumbs in the bed, from midnight snacks he thinks he’s sneaking

(But really, I’m just relishing silence night time brings me (more…)

No Sweat…. Well Maybe Just a Little (A Tanka, Hour Seven)

No Sweat

 

Sweat floods my forehead

Heartbeat throbs betwixt my ears

Pursuing my poetry

Is much harder than I thought!

 

(A tanka is usually five lines with a 5/7/5/7/7 syllable count.)

On the theme of “ghost lives” (from the song)

PLODDING ALONG

Another day over, another day gone
With nothing to show for and nothing else done.
No closer to winning or leaving the maze.
Another brief moment that’s lost in the haze.

So stuck in today, never pausing to think
Tomorrow’s another today on the brink.
The future’s erasing itself through the now.
We must find a way to slow it somehow.

Before we lose all our tomorrows.

Cookie Moon

Cookie Moon

 

Cookie moon a golden sliver

Dark chocolate eclipse

Smells like Grandma’s kitchen

Loaded with comfort

First bite chewed quickly

Lingers between teeth

Bite the dark side of the moon

Save the bright side

For twinkling chilled milk

 

TobeTT  #5

Small

 

Hour 6

Small

 

My mind is shut

small

only has so much room

can’t squeeze in

even a tiny bit more.

Don’t want to.

 

I was born this way.

grew up baling hay,

don’t want nothin else.

 

Why would I?

I’m happy.

 

Don’t have to think about stuff

like you crazy liberal do nuthins

who wanna give this country away.

 

I don’t want to change nuthin?

 

It’s always been this way

so why change it now.

 

Mamma and Papa brought me up right.

I know what’s wrong and right.

I can tell left from right.

Cross me and you’ll start a fight.

 

Yeah…you got those big plans

and big ideas…

Bet you wouldn’t last a week

out in the wild.

 

Be my guest…

try it sometime.

I’ll dig the hole to bury you in, no charge.

You deserve it.

 

 

 

Poetry-Hour 7

Poetry courses through my veins and arteries

I feel the words climb up my spine

and the sentences climb back down

I am all aware now

though half asleep

Dreaming in my own writer’s way

Me, my fingers and this keyboard

Spin in our own world

The rest of the world just outside this bubble

I am not poet now as much as I am poetry

I am words, metaphor

Loss and beauty

Breathing in soliloquy

In solitude

In infinite verse

She knows they call her a freak
But no one else seems to listen
When the trees decide to speak.

So who better than the girl in the blue skirt?
Bright-eyed, kindhearted, unafraid,
Always ready to listen, always covered in dirt.

The trees don't care 
About her dirt covered skirt
Or even when she has twigs in her hair.

The air was hot and thrumming
When the trees told her
"Listen, a storm is coming."


(this is about a book i read when i was much younger)

Crossing roads

It’s been an honor to be many things

and to be with so many people

I look forward to crossing more streams, roads, bridges, and paths

 

Prompt 9 hour 7

My hands graze the Queen Annes Lace

white tops and fragrant blooms

keep me company

along tracks once traveled.

Sweet summer breezes bring the scent

of youth gone by

and memories of your eyes

how they searched my lips

for that first kiss.

Behind corn stalks

we hid from farmers and from brothers

just to feel alive in our small lives.

Along tracks once traveled

my hands hands graze

searching for memories

of a once small life.

 

C. Churchill