The Poetry Marathon

What is love when your love is gone?

She rolled over to the left side of the bed, hoping to feel the warmth of her love, her lover, her soulmate,

She felt empty, a cold shiver touched her heart,

Overwhelmed by the dark shadow of longing for the love that left too soon,

What would she do with this love, that laid buried within her soul,

Another lover could not compare,

Loving the poodle only provided temporary relief,

The love of friends and family did not underwhelm this love,

It only made the love grow until a new soul was brought forth,

to face the world anew,

Not a replacement but one that she would love, with the love within her soul

What I Love – A Tanka Poem

What is Love?

What is Love?

Greeks, adoring words,

had many for ‘love’,

thus “What are Love”

might ring truer

than the title above.

Agape, unconditional, sacrificial,

with naught in return,

heroic—Christlike, give til it hurts;

Eros, erotica, love’s physical side,

Cupid and arrows, lust and desire;

Storge, familial, as parent to child,

kinship with relatives, though distantly mild;

Mania, obsessive, jealous, or mad:

an unhealthy facet of love that’s all ‘grab’;

Ludus, friends with benefits, playful, a game,

courtship, non-committal–hope your date feels the same!

Pragma, with logic, obligation, and duty;

Philia, neighborly, affectionate friendship, not bootie;

Philautia, hubris, self love, self-esteem;

on the flip side, narcissism can be down-right mean.

These loves, interlocked, are what makes life sing;

‘What IS love’ you’ll agree, is too trifling a thing!

Hour 9 – Blackout of I’ll Be A Sky by Tallest Man on Earth

Blackout of I’ll Be A Sky by Tallest Man on Earth

I’ll be a sky, so full of empty now
That little falcon’s diving too, lover
So when I’m restless they could lead somehow
What in the world I’m gonna do out here
I feel that I’m a little lost most of the time
But I don’t really mind, oh, when my heart feels young
I travel through the storms but then I hang to dry
And I don’t really mind, oh, when my arm is in the rain and the sun
And they’ll be working the only skies I know
Working the only skies I’ll ever know
The sun is up there like a blazing eye
And I go swimming in the cold river
And I get hungry for the big ideas
How I could carry this whole world, brother
I feel that I’m a little strange most of the time
But I don’t really mind, oh, when my heart feels strong
I travel through the storms but then I hang to dry
And I don’t really mind, oh, when my arm is in the rain and the sun
As they’ll be working the only skies I know
Working the only skies I’ll ever know
I travel the fever road
I travel clouds of my mistakes
And sure, I can drift away
But I’ll be just around the corner from your love
There is a world within the world somehow
And it will steal me in the long winter
Oh, how I wish that I could call it now
Just to remember there is peace somewhere
I feel that I’m a little strange most of the time
But I don’t really mind, oh, when my heart feels strong
I travel through the storms but then I hang to dry
And I don’t really mind, oh, when my arm’s in the rain and the sun
And they’ll be working the only skies I know
Working the only skies I’ll ever know

Haphazard thoughts5pm

Every once in awhile-
I have so many thoughts
that run through my head
some slow enough to catch
others-
not so much

Why is everyone always busy?
and why does no one seem to have
any down time?
could things be improved if you
just slowed down?
Maybe

Would anyone care?
Probably not
Everyone else walks around
like they got no problems
I’m the one in the back of the
room
melting into the shadows

Hey you, I have a problem
and maybe you could help
maybe not-
could I at least just ask you
wait—

Of course not
Too busy to even pay me any mind
Such is life

People never ask
and they don’t stick around
for details
and if they did ask-
it’s going to take a lot longer than
anyone wants to spare
to listen

If I break down tonight-
I hope you know that at least I tried
to not show my mess to you and I
tried to shield you from the fall out

Can I talk to you?
Not right now, I, have to
go take care of something
oh ok, got it.
you’re busy
Why bother to try and confide in you

I can’t help who and what I am
it’s the way I was made
you don’t see me, you choose not to
and I guess that’s ok.

Maybe someday you’ll want to talk
to me-
maybe that someday-
I won’t be here.

My Crown And Glory

My crown and glory is my hair.

Thinning though it may be

when it looks good,

I look and feel good too.

kinky, curly, wavy or straight

my hair represents me.

It is who I am.

When it acts the way I choose

I’m on top of the world

demanding respect,

and-

crying with a loud voice

without saying a word.

Look at me!

Don’t I look good?

 

Thick like wool.

Soft like cotton.

Long and flowing,

short and sassy

my hair demands to be noticed.

Although it’s not what it use to be

and may never be again

thanks to crochet, weave and wigs;

a beautiful comb, barrette, or a scrunchy placed just right.

My hair can once again take center stage

as my crown and glory.

Hour 10 – They Sent Me to Fetch the Cow

They Sent Me To Fetch The Cow

Come, Cow

Come Bossy, come Bessy, come Cow
Come on, now.

Come Cow. My dinner is waiting and I am hungry.
Come now so I can go and eat.

Come Bossy, come.
The sun is sinking fast over the mountain.
My dinner is waiting and so is yours.
Come.

Come Bessy, come with me, home to your stable.
Fresh hay for your bed, fresh water to drink.
Safe and warm.
Come cow.

I will give you a turnip.

Come Cow. The sun is sliding quickly away.
You will stumble in the dark and break your leg.
Then what will they say to me?

Come Bessy, Come Bossy, Come
Think of your stable, cozy and warm.
Think of the hay there.
Think of my sweet bed with the snow-white sheets.
Mother has embroidered flowers on my pillow covering.
I love the sinking softness of my bed.
I wish for it so.
Come!

COME!

You do not want to be out here when the sun has slid away.
The night creatures will come.
Wolves. Bears. Maybe monsters.
Perhaps there are monster that like to eat brown cows such as yourself.
Or small children such as me.
Oh, I do not know the way in the dark!
How will I find my way if you do not come?
COME THIS INSTANT!

Bossy, please? Please come.

I swear I will give you a turnip, but only if you come right now.

Fine.

Fine, I say.

FINE!

I am leaving without you!
Who cares what they will say.
Who cares how they will punish me.
I hate cows, anyway.

Good luck with whatever comes to eat you, stupid cow.

Goodbye forever.

*cowbell*

Oh, so you decided to come after all? Fine.

Good cow.

Bar Mitzvah Wine

The thirteen-year-old boy

would become a Bar Mitzvah in the morning.

At Shabbat services on the Friday evening before,

he read his Torah portion in well-practiced Hebrew.

 

The congregation waited patiently – knowingly –

to laugh after the Kaddish, as they anticipated the

soon-to-be-man would, per usual, gag and make faces

after tasting the wine. It was tradition!

 

The young man took his first sip of wine… then he

tilted back his head and raised the Kiddush Cup higher

and higher until he drank the entire cupful of wine!

 

“He’s ready for college!” his Rabbi chuckled,

the congregation letting loose their own stifled laughter.

The Rabbi took the empty chalice from the man’s hand

and set it on the nearby table with the Shabbat candles.

 

“Let’s put this over here by the challah…

and the breathalyzer!

Mazel Tov! Shabbat Shalom!”

12 Noon. Poem 10. What is Love

12 Noon. Poem 10.

What is Love?

Love is a list poem.
Love is my children
and grandchildren,
my Lucy Watusi Kitty,
all the bills paid,
and a little left over.

Love is gratitude 
and meditating cross legged
on my big, old, soft bed.

Love is books!
All my books!
All the books!

Love is guiltless
personal boundaries
really good dark chocolate
orange toenail color
feral chickens roosting
right outside my bedroom window.

Love is
the gurgle speak of Iao Stream
chit chatting down to the ocean.

Love is autonomy
and nonjudgment
and cherry chapstick…

but, that doesn’t make much sense.

All these things are things I love
not what love is.

So, what is love?

Love is letting things and beings
be who and what they are as long as they aren’t hurting anyone else in their process…

Yeah, that’s what love is.
Not very poetic, though.

Let’s try again…

Love is the ache
in my ancient cells
for crows and trains
and Mom and Dad.

Love is
the desparate hollow of my arms
where my grandbabies slept before the blast and scatter.

Love is hope
that I will know those things
again someday.

Love is hope.

Yes… love is hope.
.

What is love?

What is love
Please let me know
Florida Texas Indiana
Because love is love
Right?