The Poetry Marathon

Hour 8 – Light Cycles

Finger intertwined, arms outstretch 
gossamer sleeves and golden hooded gowns
you rise above the plains, the meadow
then dip below and kiss the beau
who wakes the bride
to watch your glorious radiance
alight the morning sky

Minutes pass as your reach higher
more radiant with each passing moment
cheer and play swarm under
winged insects bathe and delight
in the warmth and glow you provide
as you give your all across the land
for each living thing to grow and thrive 

Then as you tire and wane a bit
your youthful souls fall adrift
while gravity pulls you toward the earth
daffodils bow their heads,
theatrics and watercolors in the sky unite
the mantis rest their head
stars await their entrance, suspended in flight

Your life you gave for the glorious day
to illuminate the lost along the way
nurture the creatures, the being, the moss
giving hope to souls who once felt lost
and now your time to rest has come
and in the morning dispell the night 
and wake us with your morning light

What is love?

Love is honey running through my veins
Love is soft as a pillow

Love is a blossoming flower
strong enough to withstand hurricanes

Love doesn’t leave room for confusion
Love is loud and clear

Love is the tender hand, on my hand
Love is a smooth touch

Love is a warm freshly baked bread
Love is my mother’s cooking

It’s hard to write all the things that love is
because love is everything and everywhere to see

Rachnoc haiku 10 hour 10

Sack falls in the tank,
Rachnoc’s tentacles moving,
Cast into the light.

What is Love to Me ( Prompts hour 10)

What is love to me?

It is my mother’s beautiful hungry eyes

watching us eat her meal.

Hour 10: WHAT IS LOVE TO A BROKEN POET?

my pen dances to the rhythms of grief
like a mighty cow trampling the field for green food.
I hold its tip_ each drop of ink is a dedication
to the unfading scars hung on my flesh.
just then, a lassie walks majestically into my life
singing a strange song with lyrics of love.
She attempts to steal away my heart
but I have locked it already
yet she tries to con me with a romantic accent
which my heart pays no attention to.
She introduces the subtitles of love,
preaching hard to convert my soul
yet her sermon makes no sense to me
cause in my own story, love is an outcast
with a pungent smell of disgusted air.
She is unwanted, for her presence stinks away my sanity.
In my heart, I strike out the letters that spell love
cause love is nothing but the epitome of grief.

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The 2023 Texas Drought – Hour Ten

The 2023 Texas Drought 

Crunchy grass and muggy air
Another drought filled night
No hint of rain found anywhere
On this September night
It’s been this way, all summer heat
Without any relief
The forecast promising deceit
Just adding to our grief

The plants are dead, the grass is brown
The wildlife is trying
But even still, across our town
So many things are dying
A summer unlike what we’ve known
In many years, if ever
We need to see the storms at home
How much a grand endeavor

Our planet in a periled state
Is screaming a forewarning
We need to change, if not too late
To stop this time of mourning
If summer has been but a test
It has shown all too well
We would all be very hard pressed
To live our days in Hell.

What Is Love…If Not Beautiful -10/24

Love is a wonderful thing to be in

It is growth, change and so many things.

It’s an experience we all deserve to be in.

~Rebeli

Think Twice

Hour Nine Dansa form

Think Twice before you burn the bridge
or one must learn to swim
in a stalemate none can win
unless the slights one acknowledge
for a new start to begin
before you burn the bridge.

Think Twice before you burn the bridge
or fashion yourself a boat
and sail back to where hope does float
before you burn that bridge.

Think Twice before you burn the bridge
For there’s no traveling to the past
Time moves forward with no room for ash
when you burn that bridge.

#Prompt 10 – 2023

What is Love?

Is it always what we imagine it would be?
Is it even what we hope it should be?
Can it be a million different things?
Can it be so diverse that two people can never agree?
Is it always going to be a compromise?
A yielding of expectations
Or can we really hold out for the ideal?
Should we?
Or could we be happy with less?
To settle for what is offered
In the hope that one day it will be enough
To sell ourselves short
In order to have something
Anything
Rather than nothing
Is true love all encompassing
Or an unrealistic dream?