The Poetry Marathon

There’s something beautiful
About what he does out there
How he tricks the defenders
And drives to the open basket

His body appears to move in one direction
But his mind has already sped past you
A twirl of the hand and he scores easily
His gleaming smile is lost in camera flashes

The arena is his hidden lair and here he practices and perfects his craft
He flies in all directions and clouds the opposition’s minds with terror
Villain to the Big Apple, but a savior and champion to those down South
A 7 feet tall, Nigerian immortal that is full of grace and style in execution

King Kreskin of London
A fine British chap
Requested to meet with Lord Bernie Von Trapp
A party in order
For Prince Lonnie Lee
Where magic and mayhem were certain to be

“I’ll get right on it, sire.”
And then in a flash
Bernie sent a crier
To Merlin McDash
“The King needs your service, the day after now
A magical party for Prince Lonnie Rau”

“On very short notice, but okay, we’ll see..
I’ll put on a show so destined to glee
The young Prince named Lonnie
The King’s youngest son
With magic and mayhem that’s second to none.”

The day arrived fast
As a feather-filled breeze
King Kreskin hoped Merlin
Had come aimed to please
With bunnies and hats
And scarves o’er bats
Merlin Mc Dash made the little Prince laugh

” ’twas the best birthday ever”
The Prince told the King
And all across London Lonnie’s joy did ring
“Call Merlin and thank him with my highest reward
The finest gold pieces, please give him dear Lord.”
“Yes, sire, I will do that.” and do so, he did
Merlin knew not of worry for helping a kid
To have a great birthday, one unlike it since
A blessed, life-long memory in the eyes of a prince.”

Neon glows smooth, cool and bright

Illuminating the honky tonk night

A disco ball sends points of white

Across denim and rhinestones, visual dynamite

Bodies all pressed together with carnal apetite

The woman hugged on me ain’t no ten but she looks alright

A little older than me but her body is tight

She’s getting drunker, I don’t mind sharing her plight

I think she’s ready for my grand invite

So to my place we go for bedroom delight

It was over real quick, She was hard to excite

I drank too much whiskey if I’m being forthright

I hope she stays pretty when the morning sun replaces neon light

The moonlight shimmered a path across the lake,

A secret that few were brave enough to take..

There were stories though, of once upon a time,

When people disappeared without a trace,

Some say they lost their minds.

The wind whispered its secret, rustling through the trees,

The ones to hear it, would come in twos and threes.

Taking off their shoes, at the lake they wade right in,

Disappearing from view at the horizon’s end.

The morning would come, with a few more empty beds.

The police would go on searching, always shaking their heads.

Great grandpa said there was a land where lake a moonlight met,

I never ventured over there, it has been my life’s regret.

The woman learned was stealth was,

The darkness was her Ally in escaping the soldiers at night,

She would flee to an abandoned building not far from the worker sleeping pods

It is also where she discovered fire and pain simultaneously

Rainer

The woman knew that she need a plan to escape but how?

Another thought came to her mind mysteriously

Beyond the worker pods were the mines in which she worked

Down below the mines were openings possibly leading out into the forest

She killed the newly found flame and departing into that terrifying night

Idealists know that the hero must win
And pessimists know that ideals are for fools
Suffering brings its own wisdom, of sorts,
But maturity comes when ideals are regained.

Fresh-faced and kind-hearted,
Flat-footed and dim,
Idealists know that the hero must win.

Betrayed and abandoned,
Shell-shocked and schooled,
And pessimists know that ideals are for fools.

Life-hardened, resilient,
In deeds and in thoughts.
Suffering brings its own wisdom, of sorts.

Come forth, sprout of kindness!
Feel joy and, yes, pain.
But maturity comes when ideals are regained.

Form: Cascade

Inspired by the dominant theme of the fantasy novel I should be writing this weekend. See, I am working on it after all.

There are high pitched giggles of youth

combining with swirling motion, a never ending energy

There are colorful walls filled with impressionistic art

as fictional characters dance across the floor.

A light streams in from a hidden door

as an invisible wand…

oak, supple, dragon heart string center…

weaves a spell on the minds with in this room

A gentle witch walks through the throng,

prodding, supporting, encouraging

Suddenly, fist bumps and hugs abound as

the magic takes hold and

believers are made of the doubtful

Brave Hector brought a spear and thought to brawl
outside the walls of Troy beseiged. He held
it loose and felt the grain warm in the grip
of fingers born for battle, borne to throw.
The shaft was dense and smooth, both long and tall.
War-polished in both wood and bronze, it spelled
the doom of all who’d come by horse and ship
to face him in his scorn. How could he know?

Achilles, he had come that day with “Spear
for spear and shield for shield!” carved on his heart.
And mad with grief he howled with his whole breath,
“Come to me, Son of Troy, and bring your fear!”

Andromache felt her whole reason part
for in that voice, she heard her husband’s death.

When the gaps between the leaves
cast their spotty light on your face
I catch a glimpse of heaven.
Or maybe something astronomical?
Illogical? Magic?
I can’t help but refrain from blinking
as I’m tugged by a force that is not my own.
I’m afraid I might lose it.
I was never much of a believer
of the unknown:
aliens, ghosts—God? Is he real?
But now skepticism clouds all things.
Never before have I pondered over religion
or the weight of being devoted to
Someone
Some concept
Some otherworldly feeling
until I met you.

Poem 2

I never believed in magic
Until I saw the way your eyes danced
When he stood in front of you.
Then I almost believed,
For what else
Could cause the mind to reel
And the heart to pound
And the lungs to break
The way yours did
When you saw him?
Perhaps I did not believe in Magic,
But I saw the spell he had cast upon you.
I never believed in Magic
Until I saw the way
Your heart soared
And your tears fluttered away
When he said,
“I love you.”
Then I nearly believed.
For what else
Could transform your very mind
Like this did?
I never believed in Magic
Until the day he left you,
Your heart crushed between his fingertips,
Your eyes red with the pain of heartbreak.
He looked at your pain and smiled,
And suddenly the spell was broken.
And I did not believe in Magic.
Only pain.
I never believed in Magic
Until those glowing green eyes
Looked into mine
And told me I was beautiful.
Then my heart soared
And my mind reeled
And the ground beneath me seemed to spin.
I never believed in Magic.
But maybe
I did.