The Poetry Marathon

hour eight – without lyrics

Before, I was

drowning in silence.

Without you would be life without music.

Of all the things that move through me,

as the afternoon sunlight stretches over our bed

I give myself to you, taste my skin

like you do when our legs are tangled.

Our song comes to an end

You carry me to the water and I wait

for something more to come,

I stand naked,

not quite ready to wash away this day

I think about what kind of wood would I need to make a violin.

What about a boat to sail away in?

What about sheet music?

What if I capsize?

I hate to think of all those notes getting lost at sea.

Where does silence come from?

No fools

You ain’t fooling me again
With that chip on your shoulder
With your eyes narrowed with deceit

You ain’t fooling me this time
With your shady intentions
And the lies that surround your smile

You ain’t fooling me again
Like you did before
With your perfect words
And your swag

You’re good at making me believe
In you
In us
Like a roll of Thunder
On a cloudless night

You make me believe in magic
And hope
And love

But you ain’t fooling me again
Not this time

Hour 8: “Entropy”

Shadows trickle in the forest,
tiny hurricanes of light and darkness,
Solar systems beneath branches,
flickering throughout the rustling underbrush.

A soft tendril slowly uncoils upwards,
chasing the fleeting warmth escaping it,
taunting it to reach higher.
How sad is the fate of such fragile efforts!
Don’t you know the world is doomed?
The universe fated to cool,
to freeze all in immeasurable silence.

Why, then, should this small, green string
insist on rising from the earth?
When everything that lives is merely
gifted a moment to know its place
before being banished back to the oblivion that birthed it.
Why would a tree want to touch the sky?
Why does a flower unveil its glorious petals?
What is the point of struggling for a few mere hours of radiance?
Of suffering for a height that disappears as you climb it?

When the penultimate truth of all that exists, is to die,
enslaved to the entropic genetic code of our inheritance.
What is the purpose of such sad beauty?
What meaning is embedded in the sun’s brilliance?
That the inevitable ruin might not touch us for an instant,
That life should persist in the brief time it has to be.
That we might love the stars despite the encroaching darkness.

When all eternity eventually succumbs to the Void,
The only reason that remains at the end of everything,
was for a single day when we could feel the hope of light.

Hour Eight: One Last Breath

When there is just one breath left may I remember the gentle night breeze under Moon’s gaze blessing me with tides to cleanse light to guide the way crickets near and coyote far even in the suburbs when there is one breath left may I remember your smile laughter the music you made in all ways possible and your kiss blessing us when there is just one breath left may I remember your soft fur and protection your playfulness and your insistence when there is one breath left may I remember your friendship and silliness when there is one breath left may I bravely graciously step into my next being having been filled here blessed here loved here and in my breath anew may I spread all that I have been because of you

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVN1B-tUpgs.

Funeral singers #8

Funeral singers keen
In charity’s last pact
So your soul won’t
Slip silent into the night
Alone in your last act
The window is left open
Lace curtains twitch
In warm summer’s breeze
To let you fly away from me
And soar into the stars
I let you go now in peace
To be carried onward
Beyond my innermost sight
Away on the vioices
Of funeral singers tonight.

Testimony

When charity fails, and mind-numbing drugs fall short,
When our closest friends refuse to speak from their hearts,
When light keepers pray for a push, but fail to plunge,
When we’ve really failed our worst faults to expunge,
When singing dirges means we’re just keeping time,
there’s an amazing grace sinners should keep in mind:
Long ago, there’s a tree that my Lord Jesus climbed,
His sacrifice was complete for each one of us,
so when hope is dimmest, His mercy more than kind,
so come to Jesus, finding true hope in your trust.

Sometimes

Sometimes

I worry too much.

Sometimes I forget

to sing and dance.

Sometimes the weight of everything

is too much.

But I have heard a word that gives me hope.

Joy and laughter are a result of obedience to God’s word.

I would rather have joy

and laughter.

 

The Ruse

A spearmint wind speaks my name to darkness,
“Let us make her think he wants her, desperately!”

“Lamb impaled upon lettuce?”

“Let us traaaaace it all back,” eyes drool oily spice
as lust inverts its greed, hot to the mind of myth.

“So foolish be Persephone to escape the dead land!”
it snarled, slithering in mephitic stench.

“Murimuria needs a queen.” agreed a mindless mole,
“Lettuce! Stay in the present day.”

“Vegan moth balls in a light chimichurri,” offered an
overdressed snail of kitchen funk, its slime melting
into the verdant pool of sludge.

“If Earth2Joy becomes herself, I cannot consume mankind!”
it rasped, “So, tell me, top one, did she accept?”

“No, oh gloriously fetid one, she declined,” sighed the mole,
“Fortunately, I was unable to convince him to attend either.”

“She cannot approach, she cannot approach!” squawked a one eyed parrot,
hanging upside down from a volcanic arch.

“I know that, Noshbag! Om Namo Shivaya!”

“Once upon a time! Once upon a time! Squaaawk!”

“White chocolate covered crickets in a short moose earwax crème anglais.”

“Shut up! The script is written around the premise of her grief!
The Oracle of Delphi says she will find him. She shall approach him,
thinking he sent her those stupid love songs.”

“And then? And then, oh putrid one?”

“The men in my pocket will take her to ….”

“To the funny farm, where life is happy and all is gay,
hoo hoo, ha ha, hee, hee, ho, ho.”

Credit “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!” by Jerry Samuels, 1966

The white ferret shall chase its tail around a black and gold pillar.
As above, so below. So it is, and so it shall be.

“Shut up! SHUT UP! There is no funny farm!” he snarled,
wings ablaze in dragon fire. “There is no farm! Anywhere!”

“Uh, excuuuuuse me, oh great pestilence of earth,” choked the cock
emerging from a broken marble throne, “you wear no pants.”

“So….?” It hissed.

“Therefore, you have no pockets.”

“Altoid, anyone?”

The Man from Kabul said to me

Poem No.7         

The man from Kabul spoke to me

When,he drove my taxi home

He said he believed the Quran

And I should cover my head.

 

I live in  a free country and can do what I wish

The man from Kabul spoke to me

It is haram he said,  you see

Our Prophet said so in the Holy Book.

 

You can’t defy his orders.

Women must stay indoors

The man from Kabul spoke to me

No jobs for you outdoors to do.

 

Don’t send your daughter to school

But teach her at home as Allah

Then be happy with you

The man from Kabul spoke to me.

 

.

 

 

Hour eight

Steam

Like exotic birds they flock,
Displaying colourful finery
To visitors and passers-by.
Tipping top hats and twirling parasols,
They greet the crowds,
While promenading past the pier,
Goggles clear and cogs all shiny.

You can almost see the airships,
Steaming along the coast,
Stopping just long enough for a spot of tea.
They are full of airs and graces,
And inventions wild and new,
But the sky is an open road,
For steampunk’s bravest crew.