The Poetry Marathon

PH

He makes me laugh when I’m close to tears,

And holds me tight when I feel I may fall apart.

He dries my tears when I can’t see the kleenex,

And he makes it feel like home when I feel alone.

 

I’m not sure if he realizes just how much he does,

So much more than food on the table

And a roof over our heads.

 

It’s the way he holds and looks at our daughter,

The way he can laugh at almost anything.

It’s the way he encourages even the smallest thing,

And the way he always lends a helping hand.

 

I truly do love this man.

Hour 7: Kisses

Life brings many things

The soft kiss on a scraped knee

The goodbye kisses before jumping out of a car

The first Kiss full of teeth and blushing

The fist last kiss full of pain and tears

The last kiss on a wrinkled cheek

Prompt #7 Rolling hills (song prompt)

Rolling Hills 
and cedar trees.

that's our meeting place, 
where we dance with abandon, 
running towards each other frantically.

Rolling down over rolling hills
Dancing naked around bonfires
you strum your guitar  
and utter my name 
and it sounds like a song.



The sweetest lie
the hardest truth 
both meet here in this moment.
I'm almost afraid to admit 
I'm falling for you. 

Our hearts beat wild 
breaking free from our rib cages 
with just a touch and a glance. 
You light up the fire in my heart. 
You carve a place for yourself in my soul.


You intoxicate my senses.
You hold me close
look straight into my eyes
bashful and unapologetic
Talk is cheap and...
baby we're better than that. 



You skip the small talk 
jump straight for the hard questions. 
that's when I fell in love with you. 

-Janice Raquela Mendonca 

 

Stale

Stranded, sun filtering in
to a car that won’t start,
we aren’t upset
instead we leave it behind,
begin to walk
and build our own adventure.

We meander to an empty park,
and wait as a mellow breeze
rests in our hair and on our faces,
the cool air is calming.

We must begin to roam again,
words flowing freely between us,
new opportunities around every corner, a beaten path beneath the bridge
guides us to graffiti, bold and unseen.

We take pictures, stop and stare
the warm sun and the new sights
are a breath of fresh air in an otherwise
stale, hectic life.

This moment of freedom, brought on by a
broken down car,
has been the happiest moment of my week.

Louder!

As you breathe, each breath twisting and bending the air,
your sound…
In every blink, tight enough to squeeze rain from the clouds, secrets spill…
Deep silence in every inhale, stealing from the past tearing out the future, a building of force… Exhale!!! BREATHE!!! In Silence, All sounds are heard…. Your song.

*Smile*

 

Stubborn Boys

the shaking maracas

instantly draw me in

 

those stubborn boys

pluck their strings

 

“prr, prr swaaggy”

As Mykie once said

 

voices come in

reminding me

of blood and friend

 

what will the ghosts of

talking book say

forever grateful

 

for the love of music

those stubborn boys

gave to me

Amanda Potter©: 2019 Poetry Marathon

Cross Roads of Time

The cross roads of time I have found for me,

Has been something to look back and see.

I have found my journey to be a long one,

And things happen in life we are not fond of.

Through the cross roads of time I have seen wonderful things.

Traveling has it’s  wonderous beauty, the birth of a newborn child a miracle not a duty.

Loving someone in their time of need,  having good friends,  and being in the garden,  just pulling the weeds.

It is breath taking to live another year,  to watch all the seasons change.

To watch the leaves on the tree branches turn colors, If you follow the shadows of the branches on the ground.

You may find you have chosen the path you are on now. If you turn back in the shadows and look and see,  your path may take you in another turn in life.

One of Beauty or one of Strife.

One thing I have found we all live our own life,  knowing what I know.

Is this at the Cross Roads of Time,  some don’t know,  that at this point in your life.

Is that time can literally pass you by,  in a twinkling of your eye…

C. Burgess (c)

My Prison

I am imprisoned

Do not be alarmed

Just hear my commission

And plea for no harm

 

The lock to my prison

Is not one you would know.

A key will not work

At least, not the kind that shows

 

I am the lock,

I am also the key

I am imprisoning myself

Until I can learn how to be free.

This is not Life (Hour 6)

I longed to walk among you as a child.
You were sophisticated, sparkly, and accomplished.
Living adventures I so desperately wished were real.

Small town or big city, it didn’t matter.
I grew up, stuck in the unseen world of not knowing how to break free.
I could never seem to find the right door, so I created my own.
Seen only by a few, still unseen by the majority.

Stuck in a world I wanted to crawl out of, always on the outside looking in.
Trapped in a body that can’t be still, my neurons constantly misfiring.
Trapped in a body that is failing, no matter the rigorous training I put it through.
I count the minute hands of every clock, waiting for it to implode.
This is not life.

Dreams

My dragon flies by night
His eyes shine with a fiery light
He follows the stars
No matter how far
And disappears by morning’s first light.