The Poetry Marathon

Done Wandering

I am done with wandering!

Those mystical creatures have abandoned me

They have flown away.

 

I am done with Wandering

The night sky has become too dark

Those stars are packing their bags

its time to go home.

 

I am done with wandering

The wind has calmed down

My hair have refused to be messed up

They want to be straight and smooth.

 

I am done with wandering

Its been too lonely

The roads are long

No one is in sight

Its time to find a home.

 

I am done with wandering

My brain said

You need sleep at nights now

The dreams are just illusions.

 

I am done with your excuses

Says my heart

This is the right time

The roads are quiet

Creatures left you

Hair are still messy

Your mind and heart are fighting

The magic can happen anytime now!

Trusting

Trusting perception;
getting into boiling water –
these potatoes are not cooked.

Chi

Looking at the Chicago Skyline
Hoping one day to be in one of those buildings
Walking along the sand I stare at the Wheel
Proud

The haunting truth – prompt 16

I loved you, more than you’ll ever know.

foolish girl, how could you fall for him

didn’t history repeat itself for you enough

didn’t you know this journey would be harder

yet you wanted to run along that river of trepidation

anyway

at any rate

gathering sticks and stones, clutching you heart

and breastbone wondering if he’d do right by you

because in all these years, has anyone but you

done right by you, oh my foolish girl

you want to bring fantasies into a cruel harsh world

maybe in the next lifetime you’ll kiss frogs

and won’t get warts, maybe there will be princes

and castles and hearts won’t get hurt by

step-sisters and step-mothers who mean you no harm

what does that translate into in this day and age

locked up hearts like caged animals and

no glass slipper seems to fit you right

but you still threw caution to the wind

and went all in for an amazing fight

love is a losing game

and sadly that

foolish girl lost her life  loving the wrong man

her tombstone read

I loved you, much more than you’ll ever know

 

FJ original 2016

 

 

 

As the Dawn Breaks

First shadows appear against the sky.
Before everything was the same shade of dark.
The shadows are just the trees,
And soon enough they are easier to see than the stars.

Then color slowly bleeds into the world.
The sky turns first to a deep dark blue or maybe purple.
The as the light grows, the trees and world gains color too.
Bit by bit, over hours, the world gets slowly more colorful.

Until finally, the big finale.
The sun rises up over the horizon
Shooting the clouds through with color
And fully illuminating the world.

22

If the hummingbirds hover, they trouble
all together, the coots in a clover
and the chickens in a peep, but watch for the gaggle
those geese are in a skein
See the plovers in a leash
or herons in a siege,
or the mustering of storks, because the ravens conspire,
the pheasants a bouquet,
the swans are ballet, and the quail are in a bevy,
the quail are in a covey, the flamingos a flamboyance,
the doves a piteousness
Brace for that grouse, exalt for those larks,
the rafters of turkeys
and ostentations of peacocks

TWENTY-THREE

Dear Czesław,
Hard to believe it’s been 12 years,
but listen, hey, Happy Anniversary!
I wasn’t sure about having this letter
printed in The New York Times —
do you still subscribe? — but I didn’t know
how else to reach you. I notice
the obits sometimes look more like
the personal ads, with all their messages
to the departed. I suppose you probably
get the Times online — kind of crushes
my picture of everyone sitting around
in Heaven with the paper open
in front of them — but you might
have the same problem I do — no
delivery to this address. Bummer, huh?
They sell it at Starbucks, but maybe you
don’t have a Starbucks on every corner
or maybe you favor that nitro cold brew
or take your coffee the way they served it
at the Med. I miss the Med, don’t you?
I really just wanted to let you know
I’m thinking of you and I’m glad for all
that “was wild and indecent” in you
— even if you’re not!

© j.i. kleinberg

Dear Heavenly Father

Grant us the music that your heart.

Plays for us.

Deliver us from the darkness.

That lays so heavy.

 

Upon our hearts.

The Diner

Every city has a place

all-nighter, regulars direct

from central casting

occupying the same seat in

Seattle as in Newark,

two cities never visited

but I have been there

 

you want your

hash browns crispy

coffee potent, in

heavy mugs (no cups)

bacon crunchy

sausage cylindrical

eggs runny,

over easy

over hard

scrambled

sunny-side-up

yoke-mopping toast

lightly burned,

isosceles cut

saves plate space

 

Hopper’s Night Hawks

still resonates

New York or Omaha

Denver and New Orleans

 

ambiance is in the heart

of the beholder

flirting with the

counter staff obligatory

anchor your tip to

the counter with your saucer

leave your greasy fingerprints

on the receipt as a souvenir

when you leave

 

just like home

even when you aren’t

 

Mark L. Lucker

© 2016

Perhaps a better future #18

Dressed in a king’s attire,

under the mask of lies,

convincing as a con man,

the country slowly dies.

 

Blood as coffee stains,

wounds are gaping holes,

the Royal eyes are closed,

as life, the Angels stole.

 

Adrenalin, a marathon runner,

pumping through their veins,

as they drop their arms in surrender,

crimson in showers of rain.

 

Running for their life,

fleeing their own land,

perhaps a better future,

their oaths a strong band.