The Poetry Marathon

The Jersey Angel

The Jersey Angel

It lives near tidal estuaries
near rich salt-marsh earth
in touch with wind and cedar creeks
where skimmers and sanderlings feed.

Near rich salt-marsh earth
with its currents, crabs, and minnows
skimmers and sanderlings feed
in touch with wind and cedar creeks.

With its currents, crabs, and minnows
a regenerative pineland thrives
in touch with wind and cedar creeks
and lighting and fire

a regenerative pineland thrives
then dies then lives again
because of lighting and fire.
It lives near tidal estuaries.

Hour Eleven

Perennial Wallflower

 

In summer you

agreed to teach me to waltz.

Then winter crept up

 

and you flew away

with the geese. Now my feet are

frozen to the earth.

11. The Jig

Dance a jig upon the ridge

with foaming surf below

to whisk and blend with sky and wind

and spirit, to and fro.

 

Quickly as the bow reveals

the tones and tunes array

the Celtic lines, do re-define

the balance, and the fray.

 

Fiddle quick and fiddle fine

Bestir an ancient fire

Music as a tinderbox

creation to inspire.

Hour 11: Meet Me

Meet me away from the eyes and the judgements
Away from the smirks and the stares

Set me apart from the fancies and fables
The stereotypes and cliches

Take me away from the lies and the whispers
Away from the constructs and tales

Meet me, come meet me away from the others
Away from the cares of the world

A flower’s Life

I’ve changed like a flower in the spring
I once was surrounded even covered by deceit that was cold as snow it even filled the environment brought down spirits so that the environment had frozen
I once had money that brought forth such greed it gave short happiness that balanced the heat and even showed me a potential life but it wasn’t for me
I once had so many trails and tribulations I lost so many petals but some one clean it all up
I once had lived dream of my life around so many colors and smells so sweet
Little did I know about the life he chose for me was everlasting

The blanket: 11/24

Tinted off-white
Filled with holes
Well-loved fabric
with faded balloons
Every edge torn,
Resembling a rag.
Aged cotton comfort.

 

The prompt was describing an object you’d save in a fire. My baby blanket.

abstraction

the rock faces mine

the rock face is mined

the rock’s face …and mind

the rock face is mine

the light plays across the rock face and mind

and mine

…and mine

 

Hour Eleven

Swallowtail Jig

Inspiration did not come
through bow and string
though your sound beautiful

Instead of words pouring
from fingers to screen
my feet longed to join
the swallowtail in her jig

Strings

There is a certain note, or range of notes, that makes me melt.
I feel it here and I want so badly to stop giving a fuck,
And dance around, arms waving wildly.

The scene from Titanic comes to mind,
Where Rose goes with Jack down into the dance hall.
Where the plebs go to let loose,
And they spin and spin and spin,
And she feels alive for the first time,
Down in the hole with the dirty and moneyless.

Such beautiful sounds are hard to explain,
But I can tell you this makes me see green and blue,
And wind and fields and I can actually feel the wind as I’m flailing.

Then I pretend I can play the fiddle like that,
I practice moving my elbow and gripping the bow,
Reading music which I haven’t done in years,
Or better yet not even needing those pages anymore,
Just playing and feeling the wind.

11 – calling home-

I run through my dreams, I run through the bushes

I fly with the wind , back to you,

I dance through my dreams into your arms,

for my love my heart may be wild but it belongs

to your song. to our hills and our valleys.

to the land that birthed us green and pure.

so take me now a bride for the night.

 

-s.j.duncan-