The Poetry Marathon

What is love? #10

What is love
But the subtle violence of feeling
That slips like a shard of glass
Insinuating between my ribs
And into my heart
All I did was think of you
And my body betrayed me
My mind, agent provocateur
Whispers of forgotten touch
And conjures the scent
Of your hair, your skin
The notes of your laugh
The flash of mischief
And quicksilver
Changes of mood in your eyes
But all that manages
Is to stab me over and over
With that glittering blade
Fragile, brittle and lethal
It’s only the memory of a feeling
Yet it cuts in ways
Steel never could.

 

What is Love in Spanish

“Amor”, as in extra.

Six miles from

the Mexican border,

it often means less—

 

a luxury for those

who can still afford it,

or don’t mind paying

too much for too little.

 

I am lucky to share my bed

with someone who is

in no hurry to leave,

 

yet love in any language

gets harder to pronounce

with each passing year.

 

My tongue rolls

sideways, whenever

I try to speak the word.

 

It sticks to my teeth

and the roof of my mouth

like hard taffy.

 

With enough repetition,

language will

become unnecessary,

 

but syllables are all I have.

You must listen with care,

while I try to remember.

Again, the ants,

the odorous house ants, whom I admire
for their brilliant hive (nest) mind,
their capacity to work together
so astonishingly well, each individual
greeting every other ant person it meets
while trailing, the others going
in the opposite direction: scurry, stop,
sniff, or antenna pat, or mark and continue
on with the utmost haste and purpose.
Yet, I don’t care to share my house with
them. I’ve seen the extremes they’ll go to.

This time they discovered my prayer plant’s
water reservoir. The pest managers seemed
to discourage them so their residency
didn’t coincide with the wedding festivities
(don’t ask). Now they’re back and we’re
defending our nest. I really love and admire
insects, but coexistence in the home
is beyond my capabilities. I’m leaving
the house and studio to them eventually,
I know. We’re all just keeping on.

HOUR TEN – FRECKLES

Brown freckles adorn my face, arms, and legs; a few found their way to my back and my chest.

I’ve no need for tattoos with these ephelis marks; oft times viewed as beauty, at others as blotches

If I’m out in the sun, I produce more and more, ‘til most of my skin is brown and beige splotches.

I wonder at times if I joined all the dots, what masterpiece pictures they would suggest.

Prompt 8 Night Sky

The secret is in appreciation

for both the light and dark

Never clearly imagining

the temporariness of this realm of life

you are also a creator

of your own destiny

 

What is Love?, Hour Ten, text and image prompts both

What is Love?

For generations in Switzerland,
sick, injured, and heavily pregnant cows
have gotten free helicopter airlifts
from upper mountain pastures
to lower, warmer valleys,
flying through the Alpine skies
at winter’s onset, no cow left behind.

They are brought to safety and warmth
by Swiss dairy farmers making their home
in the Alps with their animals for hundreds of years.
They are grateful to the cows that provide the milk
from whence their famous cheese is made,
as good an answer to the question
“What is love?” as any I’ve yet heard.

There

There

There are days when I feel like a Goddess

There are days when I behave like a

Wild Child

There are also days when I look like

a fragile mess

Still most of the time I seem to be a mix

of all 3

Every day I am here

Trying

 

What is Love? (It Isn’t This) (prompt 10)

love watched as I climbed trees
wrote me a book of poetry
(that called me a whore
and compared me to my mother)

love had a British accent
took photos of me all the time
(especially after he’d made me cry
he said I was “still” beautiful)

love drove me through the desert
bought me trinkets from a gift shop
(then threatened he would hurt himself
and it would be my fault)

love was passionately intimate
stayed up all night with me
(when I wanted to be alone
and blamed me for his lack of sleep)

love wanted to know everything
and everyone I kept around
(this he proved by going through my things
while I was out of town)

love sought to save me from myself
told me to get the proper help
(then stopped going to therapy
and started taking pills himself)

love held me tightly to him
said he would never let me go
(because I didn’t know how to function
outside of his control)

love had exactly what I wanted
what I looked for in a man
(before I learned that healthy love
would never look like him)

Jumble Words (Hour 10)

Eyes say nothing,
and heart beats faster.
He crosses the room,
and a smile crosses my face,
yet my lips remain pursed.

Should I talk?
Make the first move?
Is it worth?
All or nothing?
What if?
But if?
Possibilities saying impossible things.

He mumbles something,
and I jumble my words,
but hopeless heart remains humble.

Sighs in Tears 3 – Hour 10

His face is seen everywhere.

A silhouette within the swarm.

His cadence but a drone in wind.

Drowning. Sinking in its own splendor.

Haunting my steps. Stalking a shared shadow.

Always a promise. The exquisite agony of his love.

I endure that face. That face within the swarm.