The Poetry Marathon

Mommy

Mommy,

It hurts me when you cry
It hurts me when you ask why?
I know you never wanted to say good bye.

Mommy,
I know you love me
I know you miss me
And I want you to know
I’m watching over you now.

Mommy,
I live on in your heartbeat,
I rejoice in your breath.
I’m happiest when you smile
And I cry when you cry.

Mommy,
Every tear you shed hasn’t been in vain.
Think of how many babies you’ll save
By telling our story.
I don’t want you to worry
About what people say.
Only you and I know what happened that day.

Mommy,
Be strong and be brave.
I’m with you everyday.
I’m your Angel in Heaven,
Your savior, your guardian.

 

 

Hour Three: Eternity Now

Hour Three Prompt

Eternity Now,

a place determining whether or not you will go to Heaven or Hell.

Inside that place are two main entrance doors,

one leading to Heaven and

one leading to Hell.

It is your choice,

right then,

right now.

What will it be?

A place of eternal pleasure

or a place of eternal suffering?

The doors don’t have labels on them,

telling you which one is Heaven or which one is Hell.

However, the door you will choose is based entirely on your aura.

You will choose the right door for you, whatever it is, and you will be there to stay.

Coyote Love

8/5/2017 1:58pm
Coyote Love

I always did it for the moments I could spend with you
Do you remember how hard and long you came?
There were crevices and canyons in my heart that I begged for you to leap into
Clenching your eyes and fists and looking just like my
Teenage years that were spent trying to take a life
Not necessarily my life, any life will do, really
You’ve got the dripping jaws of coyote, snapping fast
Slender and starved screaming in the hills with meat between your teeth and
A silent predatory gait, the same way that I
Have always fled and bled wherever I liked
You were the kill, when I most needed it.

 

-Excerpt from Candy’s Poem (Candy, 2006)

The Story of the Field Mouse

The Field Mouse lived
in the front left pocket
of a black down jacket
that belonged to a Dapper Winter Man.
The Dapper Winter Man packed
bottles of water and a tent
and beef jerky in January
to hike a triangle of the
Appalachian Trail. The Field Mouse
peeked and bumped with the heavier
steps. Husks of cars from
the 1930s led the way up and up
to the trail head, some had fallen
down and down from the ledge.
And though it was January, the
Dapper Winter Man grew warm hiking
up and up. He sat on a stump
and drank a whole bottle of water
and tied his down jacket
to a tree. He stretched his legs
in the fallen leaves, out and out,
arms up and up. When he had rested
enough, he grabbed his bag and stood
and kept walking. The Field Mouse
was left behind. The sun went down
and the trees turned as black
as the down jacket, still
tied to a branch. The Field Mouse
slept. The woods near the trail
cracked and popped and growled
and still the Field Mouse slept.
And when the Dapper Winter Man
knew he left his jacket with
the Field Mouse, he made a small sound,
not knowing where it might be.
The Dapper Winter Man opened his tent
and built a fire miles away
and the Field Mouse slept.
When light slinked over the edge
of his mind and out onto
the water below, the Dapper Winter Man
stretched his legs in the open tent,
out and out, arms up and up. He walked
all day under the arch of the sun,
lost already at dusk. When he sat
in the trees where the trail disappeared,
the Field Mouse made a small sound.
The Dapper Winter Man turned around
and left the way he came
to find his way out, walking
down and down. When there was no light
left for anyone, the Dapper Winter Man
found his black down jacket
with the Field Mouse inside
and made a small sound. He put each arm
in, out and out, felt the Field Mouse
in his front left pocket, and walked on.

The River

The soup between us is colorless and it’s thought to be

liquid, but it could be energy or some mercurial substance

we haven’t discovered yet. It’s warm and cold depending

on outside configurations of clouds and wind and moisture—

but basically it’s without temperature or solidity or liquidity.

The soup between us has no taste—unless the dairy farm’s

nearby or the lumberyard—a dirty clothes hamper, but still

that’s not it. It’s not the transmitter we call “the soup” for lack

of a better name. Well, perhaps the river that connects up all.

The river, yes–that’s it. “The river.”

Abigail

Searching for a little girl, skin black ,she doesn’t matter

Searching for a her in the midst of the clatter of missing white guys ,searching for a high, led to death

Found Abigail behind her home tears in her eyes, bruising on her thighs .

Laying uncovered on the ground, all alone no one around

Suffered death at the hands of a friend? Who knows, who cares, no teddy bears ,no prayers

 

molly

she hides my keys

when i try to leave

 

heart breaks

to not always stay

 

i’d move into the attic

sleep on scratchy carpet

choking 3rd floor air

to be able to

bound down the stairs to her room

morning

first thing

 

eat breakfast out of bowls

on the couch

silently smiling

the rasp in her voice

her choice of cartoons

 

to be there always

never leaving

i wouldn’t have to take

snapshots with my mind

to remember

 

the way she pours milk

the smooth scar on her knee

the freckle under her eye

Prompt 8 ~ Inspired by the Golden Shovel

The Winning Ticket

I am tired and hungry, my mother looks at me with tears

She cries trying to be strong yet she is filled with fear

She has been working two jobs trying to make it okay

She feels as though we are drowning in debt everyday

Debt , fear , scared and tears ; she wonders if we will be okay

She wants to give up with no hope for the next day

No hope that things will change for the better

No hope until she recieved a special letter

She recieved a letter with a winning ticket

She thought she would not make it just probably kick it

This ticket filled with hope and sunshine for days to come

Hope and smiles with appreciation from my mum

She has made it to a place where we would be safe again

All from the winning ticket from a very dear friend

They won some money and knew how hard she does try

Wanted her to know good of the world before anyone dies

As she has got her chance to make things new

She thanked God above for the trials she went through

Promised to do good with this money forever more

For the first time she was free like never before.

 

 

Don’t leave our love behind

Bring my heart home  with yours

Don’t leave our love behind

Let my heart beat with yours

One more time

 

For every second

For every minute

Of every day

 

Let my heart beat with yours one more time

Give our love

One more try

Bring our love

To a place we can call home

 

My heart needs your love one more time

Don’t leave our love behind

 

Hour 8

From A Book 1 by Emily Dickinson

Chastened, he
sat silently and ate
slowly, and drank
savoring each drop of the
water, making sure the precious
liquid didn’t spill like jumbled words