The Poetry Marathon

I wish (Prompt 12)

Sometimes I treated love like a spare tire

Instead of like the only tire

Patching it up, using fix a flat, removing nails

And anything else

Always trying to repair it in some kind of way

Love is like a cancer attacking my breastbone

Sore to the touch

Reoccurring, suffocating, treating

I have learned to enjoy my days without

Love….My late nites

Consist of watching the moon form

Light crystals over sidewalk pavements

Which I imagine are crystal blue lakes

I no longer drive to the nearest gas station

with a dollar in hand

To inflate my tire in preparation for the next day.

 

Sleep

Everyone is wide awake

Enjoying the travel

On winding mountain roads

Rushing into mist covered hills

And all i want is

To push publish

And put my nauseous zombie head

To sleep

No more metaphors left

Goodbye

Letter to Sheldon

Dear Sheldon,

I walked up the path…. the one where snow crunched beneath our boots… that day.   I remember listening to sound of our steps, thinking spring will soon be here.  It never came for me.  That winter day etched into my heart so deep and froze me in time.  You never knew that.  You moved on.  You went to war, to work, to life.  I went to sleep.  I went to sleep in a winter so deep I never felt the sun again.  How could you know?  You never looked back.

I remember your shadow in the middle of those two huge pine trees as you walked away.  Your shoulders were broad and strong.  You were so sure you were choosing the right thing.  I was so sure I would die if you took one more step.  I keep holding my breath thinking you would turn around… it would all be a dream or a joke… but you didn’t.  I sat for hours where you left me on the ground there beneath the trees that were the only living thing that heard my scream as life and living left me.

They brought you back today.  Planted you across the way on the ridge.  I didn’t go watch it. No one knew I wasn’t there.  No one knew I knew.  No one knew I cared.  I just waited  and then walked to the last place we were together.

I wondered a few times if you ever thought of me.  If you had any regrets. When I was 50, I stopped thinking that way.  I started to believe you didn’t.  Now I will never know.

Today I sat beneath the one pine tree left on the hilltop.  I didn’t scream this time.  I didn’t even cry.  I just started waiting.  Waiting for my time to be planted.

yours forever,

Darvene Harless.

 

Mr Cooper

Cooper you are sweet
Lost and lonely short and cute
Cooper, I love you

You Are Almost There

 

almost there, almost here

where I am almost

finished with the words,

finished with the heat,

finished with the dark

solitary journey.

not so dark

traveled with Carmen Miranda,

with a friend who cheered for me on email,

with a friend who called to say

she has a job interview on Monday,

she won’t see me on Sunday.

strangers stayed on the same trip

or maybe it was a different trip.

it is morning now

and I am almost at the end,

one more to go.

I will not do this again,

too hard this time around,

maybe after resting for a year

the Marathon will call me

like a flame haired Siren.

Join us, she whispers, and the

whisper grows louder,

and the poetry grows

louder and perhaps I will.

#24 Finale/Swan Song

Here at the end of the hours

bereft that all is done and dusted

(well, no, I desperately need to dust)

over, finished, kaput, completed.

(climbing out of Roget’s)

A time of wonder, now part of the patina on

this memory palaces room’s walls.

New co-conspirators,

traveling companions on this absurd

journey of pursuit of poetry.

Crazy and yes, you can be assured I shall

do it all again one day.

Finally now, to go,

spend time reading what others shared,

being moved, and humbled, I am certain.

What a ride!

Thank you, each of you

for the memories.

Whatcha Doin’

I’ve stayed awake

all day, and night

 

Tis’ the 24th hour and

I’ve survived

 

Some have failed,

so many of us succeeded

 

Through our eyes

the coffees bled

 

And whilst, most full marathoners

will be running off to lay their weary head

 

I’ll stay here writing

about the beginning

Of the End.

 

©2016 Amanda Potter

Home (prompt 11)

Home is where the heart is

But most days I feel heartless

My home lies only within my body

Its the only place I feel truly accepted

Warm, confident, loved

Every journey always leads me back

To this place.

I am the road most traveled

And I am the only road

I feel safe to take

The Night is For Sleeping

I should be sleeping

Yet words hold me hostage

I have forsaken my soft dream making bed

For the cold plastic metal clacking and clicking

of nonsensical statements

Company

Company

 

It’s the witching time of night,

or did I miss it in a flurry

of paper and purple ink?

 

This early morning hour is tricky

because

out of the corner of my eyes I

am constantly seeing

people who

are not there –

in the physical sense.

I feel them keeping me company

while I write and

the family sleeps.

 

And while I am sure

I’d be comforted

for the company,

my physical

and mental exhaustion

made me jumpy

while I write

and the family sleeps.

 

So, I’ll tip my hat,

to the inspiring spectres,

and thank them for

the camaraderie,

but it’s time to

finish up

what I write

so I can get some sleep.

(c) R. L. Elke 2016