The Poetry Marathon

Achilles’ Flame

I saw him yesterday at the creek
Talking with his mother
As she gathered shells
For his necklace.

Achilles had many a flame.

I was just one maiden, fair enough
To have caught his eye
At the celebration
Of the solstice.

More than me, he wanted fame.

Never spoken of in myth, this peasant
Whom he loved as much
As the young temple
Priestess that day.

I would have borne his children.

Or so I was told by the Goddess;
His mother of ancient times
And mystical plays
Who lives far away.

He sits on the thrones of Heaven.

Prompt seventeen

I stare into the mirror

Afraid of what I might find

The angel on one shoulder

Or the devil in my mind

When the devil shows her heart

I find it hard to look

Because I know the angel quit

An easy loss she took

She fought for a minute

To keep good graces

Lazy angel

The devil wins again

But what do we expect

Its Saturday night

The bar isn’t closed quite yet

Last Yesterdays

 

Scars from 18 years ago

 

mark your shoes.

 

The lost yesterdays

 

sing tunes –

 

you’ve forgotten the words.

 

 

 

Dirt devils skip down

 

that sidewalk you once walked.

 

A penny looks up from the dirt —

 

1973.

 

 

 

I found you there lost in the tomorrows

 

you had not yet dreamed.

 

Looking at today through eyes

 

of youth

 

and age.

 

Cancer

Loss

It came to me

Unannounced, unwanted

My wife it took with sure speed

She died

Neo

There is no respect for saviours anymore.

I was the one to push back the machines,

the one to bring freedom to man.

 

But alas! When you are portrayed

by Keanu Reeves of all people,

there can only be one outcome.

Ask Jonathan Harker.

 

Not to sound ungrateful,

but if only Wachowskis were willing to spend a bit more.

Just imagine, Will Smith as me, I as Will Smith.

 

Ah well, there is still kung-fu, I guess, and Trinity.

Oh, wait! There is not. We are all dead.

Naked

Lawyer
Soccer coach
Girl Scout leader
Umpire,
Art teacher
PTA auditor
Arts Advocate
Non-profit CEO
Board director
Referee
Volunteer
Room mom
Academic Senator
Secretary, committee
Adjunct
English professor
TA
Lecturer
Law school Dean
Partner
Owner
Time keeper
Team Rep
Manager

One step
Trip
Fall
Arrest
Jailed

Naked.

Daughter
Sister
Aunt
Mother
Wife
Child
Lover
Friend
yogini
Poet

Human.

Hour Sixteen Snail and Slug

16 2917 Snail and Slug

Snail and Slug
by Paul Robert Sanford

snail carries his house
slug slimes along without one
shocking! a naked snail!

17. like the loss of a sweet melody

 

So sweet. So sad.
Minor.
Major. But mostly minor.
I finally understand
why violinists make that face.
Because they create the songs.
that trees would sing.

Silence (poem 16)

Silence in between spaces
separate minds adrift
thieves hiding in forests
of endless night
the last flicker like fireflies
and tireless symphonies
staccato and certain of nothing
except for the next note
and the next
gunpowder sweet and
mail order religion
lost and found and lost again
sins passed from father to son
familiar as secondhand shoes
comfortable as dry socks
after a rainy day
an evening by the fire
still smoldering still the next day
we sleep past noon
the sun refuses to wait for us

#17 Loss – a non cliche poem

Tough.

Strong.

Controlled.

Measured.

The singular event, situation, surprise that can eliminate the confidence of an individual of any status is loss. Even when anticipated, it is the cause of doubt.

Impacting those who are organized and exude perfection in the least flattering of ways.

It is the broken promise to ourselves that we are capable and able to handle life.

It’s the shared trait of all humanity to deal with loss poorly.