The Poetry Marathon

Poem no.11: Autumn Inspiration

When I know the time is right, I will inhale.
One careful, sensuous, languorous breath
Drawn within me, deep and slow,
And I will taste the colour of your passing summer’s day.

You turn your face away now, towards the sun,
And seek to shun the memory of me –
Surfeited as you are with this energy, this light.
Carelessly squandering a world so richly green.

But I will breathe once more – much deeper then –
Drawing the colours from the earth and sky.
And the wheel will turn.

Prompt 11 – For Me

Home is a place that has never
Existed for me

A wanderer, a vagrant,
Aimlessly drifting
From Laos to Italy

And though Home
Has never been a label
I’ve ever applied

In these blue, twinkling eyes,
You should see
The world’s my oyster
All for me

A homeless home

Home.

I left a home I loved, too eager for adventure. I sought the nomadic life, hoping to find life’s secrets.

I traveled the globe, crossed oceans, traversed the mountains.

Without a place with deep deep roots- I was homeless. A house but no home. Too eager to leave, I missed the point.

Life’s secrets aren’t hidden away, the greatest mystery is in your heart.

Every Day I’m Murderin’

To the woman ahead of me at the store
Who can’t get off her damn cell phone
And puts the money on the counter
Instead of in the cashier’s hand

To the hummer cruising down the road
Taking up both lanes at 10 miles an hour
When I’m already in a hurry
And going to be late for work

To the hopeless girl at work
Who can’t get her shit together
And constantly needs me to help her
Even when I’m on break

Just know

I want to kill you

I don’t usually consider myself
To have a particularly violent streak

But sometimes

I just want to watch the world burn

I want to rip coupon books out of women’s hands
I want to shout profanities at slow talkers on the phone
I want smack mothers who let their kids run wild
I want to TELL YOU ALL
TO GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER
OR I WILL FUCKING CUT YOU

But I don’t

Cause I just don’t see how I could survive prison
When they ask me “what’re you in for?”
And all I can do is sniff in a macho sort of way
And say
“Coupon bitch had it comin’”

5pm – my home

It’s not the most beautiful of provinces,
No, that’s our neighbour to the west,
We are brown gray scrublands
And spiky yellow fields
Edged by trees with the plainest hues
As you drive across the land in the oft-droughtful summer.
But it has always been beautiful to me
– Lakes Louise and Morraine aside, even,
For anyone can see that they are beautiful just as plainly as I do,
Those glittering mountain lakes,
Icy toned against scorching day –
No, I am talking about the scrublands,
Whose plain hues blend together in mottled shades,
Each fading into the other
Perfectly.
I was born in the perfect place
– Someone knew how it should be! –
I was born with all I need to appreciate
Alberta’s subtle beauty.

Free Verse: Sweet Tooth

Never knew a visit to the ortho could truly make me smile.
Every word she said was uplifting, a term of endearment.
Who can feel the pain when kindness showers your very soul.
She explains everything in minute detail
and asks how you’re doing;
not that you can respond with a mouthful of cotton and stuff;
You make good use of your ASL.
If she doesn’t understand it, she understands smiles.
A thumb-up never fails.
She shares some of her story, her challenges;
you both empathize.
She compliments my dental hygiene;
I’ve heard that one before.
It’s ironic since I grew up without a toothbrush.
She’s always checking for my well-being
and asks me to tell her if something’s not ok.
She wants to know everything.
We take a break, and she walks me to the restroom,
Lying with head lower than body dizzies me out.
She makes sure I’m safe;
Nowhere else have I’ve gotten this kind of kind treatment.
We talk a bit then finish for the day.
I thank her for doing a great job and schedule next appt.
Copyright@2016 Martina Gallegos

Vagabond

What do they see when they see me?

Not the careful hours of folding

The precise measurements and testing

Sure, they see all the bags and maybe

The passport full of stamps

They may hear me coming

Out of breath with jangling trinkets

If I pass closely by they may smell incense

Or sweat. Or the weird hotel shampoo

But they don’t see me

Because they haven’t seen what I’ve seen

With my own eyes

Or followed my nose down market streets

Or heard what whispers and cries still

Ring in my ears

They don’t understand that I

Never left home

I carry it with me and

Every step takes me closer

False Reality (Version 3)

She woke from a great slumber,

In a parallel realm of space,

That she didn’t know what to call.

Where she was no one,

But sought after by all,

Her people had been shackled

They were called a lesser race,

For as long as they remembered,

But she didn’t know this place,

And it felt like a sin,

Because as unhappy as they seemed,

They called themselves free.

 

Prompt 11

Colonist

When I volunteered,
little did I realize
how much I would lose,
that my womb would grow sterile,
that my heart would grow lonely.

Adventure called me,
my footprint in rust-red soil,
a new way of life
away from the blue and white
of my mothering planet.

But now I wander
further from the colony…
I cannot find home
upon Mars, within myself,
or among the silent stars.

©Ardelle Hollis Ray

Summer

I don’t want summer to leave

I whisper into the breeze

I crave the sun

The warmth brushing my shoulders

The water skimming my toes

The people everywhere

 

I only look forward to fall

For the oversized sweaters

The pretty leaves

The night of dress up

 

But summer is happiness

It is joy

It is love

Summer has my heart

I want us never to part