The Poetry Marathon

Subway to El on the “2” Train: 1976

Subway to El on the “2” Train: 1976

Frannie Z

 

You’re just riding, but well,

you’re twenty-something

and looking, too…

 

He is tall, velvet dark tan,

black eyes, ,

killer smile…

 

And the hat.

 

The hat tops everything.

 

Unselfconsciously he stares,

you stare back.

He grins. You grin back

 

He takes the hat, spins it

(revealing a mop of dark, wavy hair).

Catches it. Grins again.

 

Something inside you gyrates,

like one of those new techno toys

and you want to get right up

on top of him

and dance closer

than two courting birds.

 

West Farms Square.

The train whirls around

spinning buildings, streets, stores,

and high flying dance kings

in discos

into view.

 

He gets off.

 

You stay on.

 

Pelham Parkway, meet 158^th Street.

Don’t stop now.

 

 

#12 Midnight paddle

Out on the Lake
A canopy of cloud covers the moon
For a moment I panic
Losing my way
My heart pounding against my breastbone
The lantern shows itself in all it’s glory
I paddle ashore, my spare body grateful

XII. God Said

 

God said
I’m sending you on
a lonely mission
this time.
It’s gonna be scary,
you might well feel lost,
but here:
and He handed me a guitar.

I might have liked a gun better,
or a peaceful sleep,
but nope.
He gave me a guitar.

So I learned to play it,
and it became my voice.
I hid behind it, I hid in front of it,
I scared men off with it,
but mostly I loved it.

So, thanks, God.
When the bus rolls through
the Pearly Gates,
I’ll play the song
I wrote for you.
I hope you like it,
and I hope you sing along.

 

Art: Nashville, Tennessee, 2015 by Virginia Galfo

Haibun – Heaven’s Gate (Prompt 6)

Heaven’s Gate

These things sometimes happen. The words were cold, impersonal.  Intended to be comfort? Condolence? It didn’t matter. The sound was little more than the haunting incantation of a grim reaper draped in a white lab coat, Death with a professional bedside manner.  The teenaged girl was beside her, reaching for the woman’s arm even before she began to fall, a role reversal of the scene they’d undoubtedly played out countless times throughout her young lifetime. The woman wailed into the younger’s arm, clutching her as though she too might slide into Death’s pockets, a bonus soul to add to his bounties tonight. The young woman–presumably the daughter–was stone, her face to her arms, the rock that her mother needed. I looked away, guilty because I couldn’t grieve with them.

 

Angels, observers

Ghosts float in and out of rooms

Lost souls or envoys

 

Hour 10…Praise Time travel fast forward and rewind.

Praise

The sun, the air, and water are staples to the life we hold so dear.

I wish it were that simple, I swear.

To love and to share.

To love with your whole heart, and care that is the ultimate dare.

A dare to be bold in the face of adversity.

A dare to be fair… to do what you know, what is right in the depths of your soul.

Yes, this is the first step to becoming whole.

…Inspired by Grace…

The Invisible Man

Most people don’t know this
I am a mutant

I read comic books as a child
I always wanted super powers
Like Spiderman or Batman or Wolverine
But who wants to go through some painful accident or experiment?
Not me, I thought!

So instead, I wished for super powers
I wished hard
Everyday
I drew fantastic pictures
and wrote amazing stories of all my adventures

I drowned out the noises of the rest of the world
and kept drawing and writing and creating
I just forgot to write an origin story
But it happened anyway

One day I realized
I had developed super powers
I became – Invisible Man!
It wasn’t easy
and I made some dangerous mistakes.
But I learned how to develop and hone my secret power.

Most people don’t see me or hear me
I can hide in plain sight
But only if I’m very quiet
I have to remember to avoid the ones who are immune
They are usually loud
and they give themselves away

Others look in my direction
but their eyes are hollow
That’s how I know their souls were taken
and they won’t alert the immune ones.
They are too afraid

They will never know my secret
and they will never ask
They will never travel to the places I’ve been
Experience the things I have seen
They will never know
I’m an artist
I’m a writer
I’m a superhero

Vagrant

I am a ceaseless wanderer

who carries all I own

as I wander place to place

not knowing which

is Home.

 

I tread the path of the world

as aimlessly I go

searching, seeking

waiting, hoping

for something I don’t know.

 

I’ve always been an orphan..

can you sense my pain?

I am a loner who walks

night and day

down the lonely lane.

 

Suddenly there appears

a set of footsteps true

in the dirt

of the trail which comes

into my view.

 

The Man who I see there

looks at me with Eyes

which have seen

many things

and nothing a surprise.

 

He looks at me with an endless,

penetrating Gaze

and I know I am looking back

at the Ancient

of Days.

 

He tells me the greatest Story

and no longer am I blind

for He has seen

my searching

for something more sublime.

 

He says: “I was once lonely.

I had no pillow for My Head.

I hung on a Tree

until they made sure

I was dead”.

 

“They thought me a vagrant..

whose time was more than gone.

My teachings

they had despised

for so very long”.

 

“But, where I went they couldn’t go.

I had loved until the last….

even those who

rejected Me

in my lonely past”.

 

“Now, I am King of the Angels.

I am no longer alone.

The Earth is My Footstool.

And Heaven is My Home.”

 

“I invite you to come with Me..

your wanderings are done.

A whole family

awaits you,

my most blessed son”.

 

I look at Him in wonder

as slowly I surmise

that as the deepest night falls,

is when the brightest

Sun does rise.

 

So I stepped forward in trust,

no longer alone.

I know now where I am to go

on this path

which leads

to Home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem 12

Chapter 12: Initiation

 

Next place,

Uphill

Running and running

Gray-green skies

Tan dead grass

Scraggly trees.

 

Never night

Never morning’s light

Always hazy early evening.

 

A well, a tree.

Walk on.

A well, a tree.

Walk on.

A well, a tree.

 

I laugh and laugh.

Behind me, something snaps.

My prince stumbles

Stumbles

Half-rotting chest,

Maggot-filled eyes.

 

A mirage or truth?

The thing lunges.

Run, run, run.

No progress.

No sense of fright.

This thing may consume me.

 

Like a dream, no sound

No movement

Except the progress of the beast.

 

I swing

A fallen branch.

The beast vanishes.

 

By the well,

An old woman laughs.

Hour Twelve

How do I like the view, you ask?

The lake is dead water

the moon a glory-hole cut in the sky’s canopy

through which the gods fuck us,

and speaking of fucks, I have none left to spare.

Behind my breastbone is a toxic shudder

I can’t tell if it’s panic, rage,

or mere indifference made larger-than-life,

but I want to take this jacked-up Jeep and drive it up the ass

of everything that once made me human.

Public Library

Anyone can enter a public library
there’s no fee, no ID required
There are places to sit
and clean restrooms

The stacks are mostly
quiet, especially fiction
W – Z is good for napping
until a page shows up

Even the employees
seem to understand
leave me nodding off
stack the books to shelve later

It’s warm in the winter
cool in the summer
safe and quiet
with running water

I can remember a time
when I used to read
as a child, books about
a snowy day, a tree that gave

so much of itself until
it was nothing but a stump
but still it had so much to give
a place to rest without judgement

[Prompt: Write from the persona of a homeless person]