The Poetry Marathon

Random prompt #19 (”Welcome home” j.r.m©)

His soft eyes are
full of compassion and so much love to offer.
He wasn’t afraid to break down and cry
when the moment and situation called for it.
His eyes expressed one thing right from the start,
“Welcome home.”
Sometimes it’s okay not to be okay.

His arms, at the airport
when he wrapped me in an embrace
whispered to my heart, “Welcome home.”
Ever since then, his arms have sheltered me
from many a great storm.
We communicated with pure emotions
restoring the dignity of their essence
without reducing it to mere meaningless words.
That’s when I realized sometimes home is
two arms with a heartbeat.

His fingers entwined into mine
spaces in between, it’s a perfect fit.
The last piece of the puzzle,
It became home,
This is where I belong
filling in the spaces between your fingers
‘’Welcome home.”

The way his mirthful off-tone voice
greets me every time over the phone.
How he can’t sing to save his life.
I knew I was home….
‘’Welcome home.”

Home is not a place it’s a feeling.
And it’s the way you make me feel,
takes my breath away.
It’s as simple as that.
“Welcome home.”

j.r.m©

Woke Up And My Ass Was Sore…

Woke up and my ass was sore

Tired of running nowhere in my sleep

Perhaps daily reminders of how old I am

Flights and flights  and flights of stairs

Walk yourself here to there to somewhere

Curvy, hippy, muscles still there

Folks still make my ass sore with silly ways

Saying nothing about nothing’s not true

Stop lying, ouch, no, I don’t understand

The words coming out your mouth

Runnin away to get away

I wake up and my ass is sore

It could be me

Problems come with the human stain

Smack me on the butt and say

Shut up!

You sleep atop an old mattress

And boxes

The floor on day’s most heated

Be booty and blessed

You see another day

Sore ass

Prompt 3

Eternity now!

Remain with that feeling
you are feeling,
don’t give it a name

See if you can instead
just let this feeling be
just see

Was that
a glimpse
of
eternity?

Eternity now

From here to tomorrow,

the long journey taking us through the long dark night of the soul,

to wake in the morning just like every other morning,

to the first light of dawn.

This first dawn, the first light,

each morning we see it on waking and opening the blind,

we know it is there watching us and over us.

This reminder of things passed,

making us look at today

in that instant of the first light is the here and now.

This moment of time that makes who we are,

that first light that is us

the summary of what was before and what will be.

In this glimpse of light,

we see the eternal play that is our life,

we see the role we play now, we see the character we are,.

Eternity for ever and for every day,

That moment is our link to the story of eternal reality,

of the first breath,

of the first light.

HUMBLE CAMP

They are so new, and they all look alike.

This is mine, mmm, yes, one, two, three, four!

Fourth house from the end, across the street

From the big drainage ditch – my new playground.

I can smell the woods beyond

with places to run and hide.

And hear the buzz of insects

And songs of jays and mocking birds.

I can smell the ditch too, sloped banks of clay

give it an earthy smell, so nice!

I see the picnic park and playground

At the end of the street.

I bet those city kids wished

they could live is such a swell place.

And just out the gate, a country

store and gas station. Wish I had a dime

For a soda and moon pie.

Let’s see, 5 soda bottles will do it.

Have to start watching for them,

so I can treat myself each day.

As I lay on this thick carpet of San Augustine grass

I know it will make an excellent football field

For a pickup game with all the kids around.

Gee, wonder what else I can find

in this new place?

eternity now

she buried ambition in the dirt
in the cemetery
not by the lilac bushes
but with the bodies,
a rotting corpus of potential and desire
reeking of risk and rejection

she asked me not to visit the cemetery
which is how I knew what was buried there
but I went anyway
and left tulips already cut
without a vase or water,
just tulips lying upon the dirt
the most appropriate tombstone

she passed up promotions
said “no” to love
never rode in an airplane or a train or a sailboat
didn’t have a library card
and didn’t keep a diary
she was never in the room when someone was born
or someone died
until it was time for her
to be buried in the cemetery
in the dirt;
it was winter, and no one took flowers
or paid for the tombstone:

a neon colored sign that will eventually fade,

eternity now

6h Pencils

6h Pencils
VCS

Hard etched lines
Sketched cruelly by a clan
of reckless hands
Caring about each cut millimeter
tearing through the fleshy layers
of pressed pulp page
and the work of art under the
6h pencils razor lead blades
Threatening to tear the page with each
Jagged
Irregular line

Reclaimed page
Futile to think the scribbles
Could ever be removed
The true picture revealed
Happy endings
Are meant to be believed in
Even for what looks like a
Piece of paper that could be tossed
crumpled
into the garbage can

No different than the thousands of other pages
lost under similar circumstance

No different until it is picked up
By the wind
By hands
But most of all the submission of self
To not resist the reclaiming process
To not tear
As each unkind imprint in alleviated
Understood
Erased
And integrated into the picture
That had been obscured underneath
It is now uncovered

Richer in shading
Deeper in layers
Dimensions that defy the eye
No mind conceived this art
The imperfections integrated into the picture
Seamlessly
So naturally
You’d never know
As it is carefully placed into
A complimentary matte
A protected now behind glass
In a place of honor on the wall
That this masterpiece
Hung beside other classic pieces of art
Throughout the ages
Was intended by cruel grown up children
For nothing more
Than violent scribbles
And the refuse bin

unfed

upon my return to you

I will ache for sustenance

I will search it out

like a bee to a flower

coaxed by pollen

magic dust

to keep myself going

to keep us all alive

nourished

as we slowly die

Peace

Peace

Hate is the tone of daily comments in social media, injustice and prejudice is the norm in several countries, lack of tolerance are raising like foam. Is this the place we want for our children?

 

Peace is the last goal

Hate has not solve any problem

Start with a smile

(Hour Three – Maritza M. Mejia)

 

Hour two

Your kiss like

sweet sangria—

slowly

 

loosing its red to

my tongue.

 

lingers on

my tongue.

 

my tongue

wants more.