The Poetry Marathon

HOUR 14 Mossy Death

MOSSY DEATH

There’s a cemetery few have seen;

it hides its dead, in the forest.

No visitors allowed.

Reads the sign.

 

Apparently when death arrived,

no one cared.

Piled on top of one another,

some do lie, for eternity.

 

Death cars, you heard me right.

Covered with rust and moss

some with trees, grown through

the body of steel.

 

Moss is natures carpet

to cover moist ground,

but when you slip in there

the car graveyard, that is.

 

You will find nature loves

and returns to the earth

that which belongs to her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prompt Hour Fourteen–natural intersecting unnatural world

Great Expectations

The yearning for green things, growing things,
fruits and flowers, begins in the deep and dark of winter.
Savvy garden magazines know this, tease and taunt
in gorgeous, full color photo spreads, the perfection
I can expect for our yard if I buy, buy, buy.

I fall for it, eagerly await the arrival of tender sprigs,
bare woody roots, and naked seeds to gently space,
immerse, water, and watch. Into the early summer
they flourish, growth and weight added, springing
height upwards, buds beginning to take shape.

Summer in the desert tells its own stark truth, stalks
becoming sere and dry, flowers reaching early seed,
vegetables requiring emergency shelter to survive.
The flagstones become covered with creeping, patchy
thorns, the only true green that of the sprawling weeds.

They force their way through the minutest of cracks, but
I will continue to dream the winter dream, insanely hoping
for different results, hoping for the green of spring, only
to awaken to summer’s reality: the brutally shoving, grasping,
desert weeds, cracking man-made containers we hope to fill.

Tracy Plath

 

Nature #14

Nature can be beautiful, when the mosquitos will let you be,

Lawns do look beautiful, if not filled with weeds,

Gardens give us fresh vegetables, just weed them every day,

Fresh eggs are great, just expensive to feed them chickens to lay.

 

Mowing the lawn two to four times a week, it’s true,

Most of the time in the heat, cause ot he morning dew,

slugs and bugs and burrs out to get me,

all apart of the lovely summer dream.

 

Nature is resilient will regrow in places you wouldn’t think,

You can cut it down and it will grow back while you blink,

Nature has no plans, does not follow love or hate,

Nature is mysterious, wild, brave and absolutely great.

#PoemNo14

With eyes almost closing,

but sleep is a stranger

Energy levels running low

enthusiasm fading out in the distance

prompts un -inspiring

or maybe it’s my fatigue talking

I can’t seem to tell the difference…

I wish to close my eyes

and sleep for the next 48 hours

 

Sleep is near

Sleep is near that’s all I know,  cause my body tells me so.

It won’t be long til time for bed, and there I will lay my little head.

I will dream of sweet things while I’m asleep, I’ll dream of snow cones, but not of sheep.

It won’t be long now til its time, then its back to all these rhymes.

13/24 bite

There is something ugly

spawned a life in the corner

Eight legged memories

Each one with a bite

Dear Hank

Dear Charles Bukowski,

You are my favorite drunk, poetic bastard

You gambled with women

and I heard your breath reeked of cigarettes and whiskey

I am writing to you, you see Mr. Bukowski

I used to write poetry to get into girls pants

I settled down and got married and haven’t written an honest poem since

So I write, for you, asking for you help.

send me some crude whiskey soaked words

Send some panty dropping inspiration

send me something to get me through the hours

I need you more than ever Hank

Your biggest fan

ASM

 

Eventually (Nothing Here But Forest) (Hour Fourteen)

It was a quirky house,

a little problematic.

By the time we left,

The furnace was dead.

The dishwasher hadn’t worked in years.

Windows wouldn’t stay open of their own accord.

The wooded ridge behind blocked half the day’s sun.

After we left it idle,

Nature decided what to do,

And set about erasing a house,

A home, such as it was.

The gravel driveway became grass, knee high,

Where a basketball hoop still stood,

Thinking of two-on-two games long gone.

The roof shingles, on which we lay stargazing upon many a summer’s midnight,

Belong to the mosses now, and the gutters to the grass,

The hedges are trying their best to become trees.

Eventually, yes eventually, there will be nothing here but forest.

Hour 12

Wow its a Panic
When you are in a canopy
Going through the trees
Jumping in a Jeep
Heading straight for the moon
They saw glory through
The eyes of a lion.

copyright 2016 Roxann A Harvey

A Couple’s Blessing

Through wind and rain, treacherous weather
A couple stands bound together.
Only the maker of thunder,
May render this couple asunder.
I call to you both the same,
Be virtuous, go far, and keep your fame.
Wandering is over, the world is wide
You are each other’s, love with pride.