The Poetry Marathon

The feeling of dread was in my mouth. By the time the elevator stopped, I could feel the panic continue to rise. I knew what to expect, and yet I was still taken aback at her being there. Greeted with a half crooked smile and a vacant heart I said, “Hey. Long time no see.” Of all the scenarios I imagined, I’d not expected a lack of blood shed.

The cold air pierces
Memory of warmer moments
Ghost of love long dead

I remember, in my dream, standing in my mom’s living room, feeling the peace and security of home. Standing in front of the window, sun shining through, breaking the light into rainbows of light, He reached out and took my hand in his. He did not look like the pictures I saw of him in church, not a face, more like a presence of warmth, light, and comfort. I remember asking Him about the Holy Trinity. Even after years of Sunday School and catechism, I never really grasped the idea of three, yet one, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. With one hand on my shoulder, He opened his other hand, where I saw three blades of grass, and He asked me what I saw. “Grass,” I answered. He then asked me to look out the window and tell him what I saw. I looked at the lawn and answered, “Grass.”

“You see,” he said holding out the blades of grass, “three,” pointed to the lawn, “yet one.”

Stems of emerald

Carpet, cool the earthly ground

Blades soften travels

Like the planes before us we would touch down on the runway and be one with our family again. Chatter of everything from left to right would fill the air. Times limited so we made it count.

The puffy clouds
pillowed the horizon
creating a world all its
own.

Losing something is painful

if its hope then one dies

We never lose in a competition

only lessons are learnt there

Exams? nope, they don’t make us losers

They are just a parameter of society

Job? No, it has no role either

Money,material and skill can be achieved anytime

You become better with time

The only person who decides is you

Don’t compare yourself with others

You are a champion

you are the leader

And only you know

Whether you lost it

or won life!

So much energy
Darting about underfoot
Shredding shoes and furniture –
And oh yes, peeing on the floor.
When I hurry off to work,
I mutter growling words
At that little fuzzy mess of energy
Known as man’s best friend.

But on the weekend in the park
She shakes off my foolishness
Born of impending adulthood
And infects me with her spirit of joyfulness
Born of play
And curiosity,
That youthful delight in the world,
Born of love as well
Knowing that where there are friends
All is well in the world.

Afternoon naps are sometimes the best
Time to get up and get on with the rest

There’s fun to be had
And memories to be made

It’s time to be glad
There’s games to be played

Just got back to internet connectivity, but I have been writing constantly for the last six hours. Here is the first one, penned down as I wandered in Anne Hathaway’s cottage in Stratford upon Avon. The words in brackets are things I accidentally missed out in my haste to write, but I did not want to cheat either.

The bus halts and I wake up to see

The last surviving Tudor cottages

Dark wood on white stone

With thatched roofs and no chimneys

In one of these, there stayed a young shepherdess

Beautiful no doubt, with a modest upbringing

In a thatched roof [topped] black and white house

With two rooms, a garden ad a brick lane path

Where her poet lover trekked up everyday

Undoubtedly, in anticipation of a warm kitchen with a candlelit supper and what naturally ensued thereafter

Standing in that kitchen, I see a grandfather clock

Frozen in time.

I rub my eyes

Did I wake up or am I in a rustic dream?

Then I walk into a garden and see a Pokemon Hunt sign

And I know I am far from the love of times past

Worlds away.

Against my will (yet I allowed it).

In a home that wasn’t mine (on loan, a safe house).

I need to connect (yet no signal to bring me home).

A worthless bridge (lifeless without invisible power).

How will I survive (worlds away)?

*hour 5

Out of Body

Earbuds firmly planted, for the first time I listened to the musical magic of Depeche Mode, flagship for my eighties alternative generation, as I waited for my race. My mind was freed, and I only unplugged when approaching the starting blocks, tossing my Walkman to a teammate as surrounding sounds invaded once again. I leaped from the start as the gun cracked overhead, body smoothly coiling into its well-practiced groove . . . swing, swing, thud, thud, breathe, swing, swing, thud, thud, breathe. Mine was the last race, the middle lane, as a slowly setting sun fixated my wondering eyes. The rest of the world faded, disappeared, and I saw myself in silence from above, a dipping, gliding, firm, young body pulling ahead of all others, feeling like the proverbial poetry in motion, sailing to a solo finish across the line and only then hearing the roaring, cheering crowd once again.

                                                       Out of my body

                                                       beyond the pale evening light

                                                       wishing to be where

                                                       Tracy Plath