The Poetry Marathon

Hour 8: Roadkill Rescues

An Elegy for the Roadkill: 

 

Has anyone ever thanked the carcasses 

For letting us be the ones to survive the wreck 

for becoming rigor mortis sculptures 

to decorate the guardrails 

keeping the crosses company 

and feeding the flowers with their decomposition  

so we can all see the reminders 

and slow down 

 

There was a girl in high school once-  

and a deer took the hit  

got to be the excuse we all clinged to 

instead of the truth 

which is that sometimes we just want to drive away from ourselves 

and finally meet the horizon 

 

Yesterday,

I slammed the brakes so a turkey could cross 

and he took his damn time too 

I’d just gotten back up to speed 

When 2 cop cars passed me 

so fast that I barely heard the next 2 coming 

so fast that I had already parked on the shoulder 

had already thanked god for no ticket 

had already felt the guilt that always follows that relief 

because they are on their way to a different kind of victim 

 

10 miles later 

there was a motorbike on a flatbed 

with no rider 

 

That night, I learned what the asphalt of your driveway tastes like 

cause I kissed the ground when I got there

that night 

we gave all our thanks 

to a turkey 

Who had made the world slow

so I could stay in it. 

 

“Siblings”

Hour Nine: Ekphrastic response to Diane Carmony photo.

Dialogue between Diane C. and Diane MW

Diane C. ” I’ll beat you home.”

Daine MW: “No fair, I didn’t know we were racing!”

Diane C:  “Yes, you did, you’re just saying that because I’m ahead.”

Diane MW: ” Nah, you’re cheating on that gust of wind.”

Diane C. Yeah, that’s true. So, join me.”

Diane MW: “Ok sis. Love you.

Diane C:” Love you too. DMW

PS Nice to meet you.

Flight from Summer

Deep black wings

outlined in pale yellow

a pair soar across

a blue sky

like two sailboats

in a lonely ocean.

Everything comes in pairs

relationships

socks

friendships

shoelaces

parents

gloves …

Two butterflies

these dark toned angels

flutter on a late summer breeze

inside a September sky.

 

Sonic Effect

The beat sound so crazy
not until you get it so badly
as far as you hear the melody
you start to dance the rhapsody

If you so close to the sky
the beat sound so crazy
moving nerve and sensory
making you feel the tipsy

Perhaps you care or worry
you hold your ears at bay
the beat sound so crazy
each wave go with energy

Just like a power of drowsy
that make object fall away
from both grown and baby
the beat sound so crazy

Hour 9

 

Cinnamon sprinkled on my cheesy egg buckets

was sure to start the day off right

even if the elk were not feeding in the bayou yet

and I had to wear my hunting jacket to eat cereal in the carport

again

Post Date

A tremor goes through me as I stare at you

Your smile is charming under the lightbulb hue

Your jacket embraces me and I hold it close by the hem

My elbows bury under the sleeves, finding warmth in them

And it smells like cinnamon, your favorite dessert

One you cannot eat anymore as I stare at your painting while you lay under the dirt

Queue Linda Ronstadt

As the tremor in my foot started

I remembered what Granny said about cinnamon.

I reached into my jacket to see if I could find one

Bumped my elbow into that marbled elk that 

George was supposed to take to the carport.

 

When I’d reminded him about it, he told me it was on his bucket list

Which I know is out there on the carport

Or down in the bayou where he likes to go and eat a beet or two

With a lightbulb strung over his little boat that I’m sure

Must have some cinnamons in it!

 

Hour 8 “Olde Towne…”

Hour 8

9/2/2023

 

“Olde Towne…”

 

Whispers shared and visions

of wonders… walls and spaces

adorned, all aglimmer with sight’s worth view.

Windows leak dreams made real

and pause-you-in-your-tracks favors

of times hauntingly past.

 

Themes of could’ves, would’ves, mights, and

even wannabes – caress minds and eyes,

held conscious by themes expressed

while smiles – leak from inside.

 

Foods of choice to try palates tastes,

Galleries reflecting sheens and whims,

brush strokes holding each visitor’s wish.

 

Art by the block – each a differing view

of life and its touch – rhyme, reason,

and depth.

 

I’ve wandered this world.

Paused, dreamt, and wished

and returned just to …touch life,

yet once again.

 

Chris

(C) Chris Twyford 9/2/2023

 

 

#Prompt 8 – 2023

Sunset

The sky ablaze
Changing minute to minute
An orange inferno
Sinking towards the skyline
Brushing the surface
Full to half
Half to a slither
And too soon the last rays die
Leaving the land to the power of the moon
And the magic of another enchanted night

[Inspired by the view from my study looking out to sea and Max Richter – On the Nature of Daylight]

Being alone

At times,  I want to be alone, in a desert
full of sands and void of noise.

I want to hear my heart beat, the flow
of blood through my veins.

At times,  I want to be alone.

To feel my breathing, my soft skins,
to smell the nothingness,

To realize what love means when
nobody is around,

to realize the pleasure of knowing
that nobody can hurt me.

At times,  I want to be alone.