The Poetry Marathon

Dayton

Dayton

 

we don’t even have to talk behind his back,

fourth hour history snoring, a safe haven for snickering,

a table’s distance. talk shit, watch the teach

smile, shake her head, filter through her powerpoint.

we’ve got to purge this rage from our minds, post-algebra 2,

pre-homeroom. let’s watch him slump over, then wake

from his roadblocked nostrils. we have conversations,

finish daily projects. the room divides itself as in mitosis,

except we’ve left behind a chromosome. he could wake

and believe no time had passed. hard to believe he could stay up

weekends staring at a screen, never looking down with tired eyes

to the controller. if we had wondered back then, it would have been

our brand of strained concern,

but the room never noticed,

just went on taking notes.

The Sound of You

I feel your breath upon my neck as you wake, then I hear you inhale my essence as you roll over to prepare for work.

And I smile at the sound of you.

Shower running, splashing rhythmically against the walls and I listen as you hum your favorite song and add my name at the end.

And I smile at the sound of you.

K know you’re desperately getting ready for work because I gladly made you late. So, I start your coffee and draw your cup just to hear you say, “Thank you baby.” The way you speak makes me weak, and when you smile at me … I can hear that too.

And I smile at the sound of you.

Gently pressing against my cheek, you whisper my name and promise to return to see me again.

And I passionately melt at the sound of you.

Every sound of you
Makes me cream thinking of you
Love the sound of you

Swing Song: a haibun

As a girl, young, bordering on naïve, I had a tree swing. My stepfather climbed the backyard tree to tie the ropes with hands that were accustomed to being fists. Hour upon hour I sat in the swing listening to the ropes creak and the wood pop. It became to most pleasant of my childhood melodies. The memory of that swing and its song, is not different from the song that pours forth from this soul that only learned to give forgiveness, never to receive it. Kyrie elasion! God have mercy.

Whispering wind blows
Whims and secrets known by God
Only trees have ears

Civil War (half-marathon #6)

My body is a country.

It is a country

Of curves, rolling hills,

Valleys that move to the rhythm of steps,

Thick forests of redwood,

Rivers and streams that

Run through muscle and bone,

And it is a country

Ruled by culture.

It runs like the blood carrying

Oxygen to every settlement

And buries its roots deep

Like the branches

Of my brain cells.

I am inhabited by

Storytellers, artisans,

Wood witches, students,

Fortune tellers, thinkers,

And royalty.

Every piece,

Like a freckled star,

Is apart of me.

It makes my trees take root

And it makes my clouds rain.

But there is a war.

A great invasion.

Invators who slash at the moon and

Make the sun internally bleed.

There are battles and unrest.

Make the land smaller.

Blow through the mountains and hills.

Flatten out the land

So that it is smooth,

Perfect and beautiful.

Make it rain acid.

The water will never nourish,

It will only pollute.

Let there be control:

A dictatorship over what I never felt was truly mine.

It is a power toss.

Control will sit in my hand like an obedient bird,

But will then fly away.

It flutters out of control

With no way to return home.

It is a war.

The only way to win is

To keep chasing that bird.

I will keep chasing it into

The sunset.

 

 

 

Self Made Celebrity

All hail Narcissus,
Patron of speaking without listening
Patron of exhibitionism
Patron of mirror kissing lack of humility

Look at me! Look at me!
Look at the pretty things I’ve made
Look at me now, ’cause I’m the prettiest
I’m the strongest, smartest, most unique

Yes me me ME,
I’m on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat
I’m where all the actions at
Yes I bring sexy back, in fact
I’m so enamored with myself,
I’m in such perfect shape and health
That you should give me all your hard-earned wealth because I’m way better

Whatever

The Ocean

The ocean has a part of me it’s true,

A piece of pure wild dancing gracelessly,

Within my soul it comes and goes sometimes,

And when it goes I know where it has gone,

Back to the sea, the place where it belongs.

 

The ocean has a piece of me indeed,

It’s gentle waves stir gentleness in me,

It breathes contentment, calm and peace of mind,

And tells me that my answers are inside.

I look within and then I sweetly know

I’ve found my missing piece beside the shore.

 

The ocean is a trusted friend of mine,

For though she may seem inconstant to some,

The balance she strikes between calm and wild,

Is a wonderful thing to emulate

#6 – Christopher (English Halibun)

Nestled in the vast pine forest of northern Minnesota, my dog and I lay in a small two-man tent. It was the last night of our canoe journey. Slowly, we were awakened, a buzzing sound surrounded us and curiosity made us look outside. Blocking the view of the lake and giant pine trees, were a zillion white flies. More individual life forms than I had ever seen before in one place. I found out later they live that one night and all die after eggs are spread. Shortly after this trip, I was looking for a closest of close friend I hadn’t seen in years. I was to apologize for something. Two years earlier, he had died. I never knew.

Circles engulf us
Never knowing where we are
Death remembers all

Compatible We

Am I?

Am I poetic in my flow?

When the bloom of my lips open like a flower

and the words that I speak flow like dew dripping from its tip

Does it look like poetry?

When my motion around you draws a gentle breeze

and the chill is just enough to awaken the senses to alertness

Does it feel like poetry?

When the melody of my voice lands on your ears like Coltrane

and the sounds all land in sharps and flats perfectly aligned in a stanza

Does it sound like poetry?

I long to be poetry – because to me poetry is life

I want to allure, awaken and accent your life, like only poetry could

If I am poetry – then the flow will be natural to me

Am I?

Am I poetic in my flow?

jj2016

Hour 6 Prompt – Haibun

I relocated to a new city for work. It was my first day at work, and I was so nervous seeing the list of things to be completed. I was feeling unwell due to the tremendous change in the climatic conditions; I had a high fever and a sore throat. I decided to leave early. I took a cab from office, and asked the driver to stop by at the nearest pharmacy. When we
reached there, I felt I had no energy to even get out of the car.

When he returned, I was surprised that he had got me a buttered toast and a cup of hot tea. I offered to pay him, but he refused to take the money.

new home …

list of things

to complete

Hour 6

Driving up the dirt road into the mountain campsite, this is not the behavior of a beetle. The car was home for the next two weeks, and I felt free. Caught between an unfulfilled dream and a status quo future. If I could use the hazard lights to warn myself- life is about to get bumpy. No one can help me start the engine.

Here in the Sierras, the altitude almost cures bondage.

Why do mountains tease?
The landing cracks the body,
Fire sickens the tree.