The Poetry Marathon

Magic Box

I was once in a coma for about 2 years. I had many dreams during this time, but the one I remember most clearly went something like this:

I was walking down the street, and

a box was blocking my path. It was no bigger than the size of a watermelon, but

It was there.

Every one else seemed to

Walk around it. as if unconsciously avoiding it.

I asked a passerby, “do you see that box??”

“what box?”

I pointed in front of me. “that box! the one right there”

He looked at the box and back at me, as if

I were crazy.

Clearly he couldn’t see it.

I asked 3 more people. A young couple with tightly clasped hands

And an old woman with a dog in her purse.

.

All of them said they saw no box. The old woman offered to call an ambulance for me.

 

so I picked up the box, this box meant for me. And I opened it.

 

Magic leapt into

My hands.

And then I woke up.

 

Haiku Rainlover Blues

To feel the falling
rain, slender chain of silver
and you, my own love.

Oh!Love of mine

Oh! Love of mine.

pour on some more dreams in my cup and let me drink on tonight.
But if our togetherness turns out a reality,
Wake me up and hold me tight.
Pour some happiness into my glass and fill it to the brim.
One sip at a time, turn after turn
You drink from the cup, I drink from your smile.

This is how it starts

I’m almost at the end

And I can see the light.

I’m where I belong, beside my best friend

I’m almost at the end.

I know something’s coming, just around the bend.

And I know that I’ll be alright

I’m almost at the end

And I can see the light

Trailing Stars

Trailing stars, shower me in your celestial dust.
Let me shimmer with pulsing light from galaxies afar.
Moon, kiss my skin alabaster white.
Divine set me free from gravity, let me fly into the depths of creation.
I will search orbs of light, orbs of dust, and find the one where I belong.
Lay me down on the warm gold you walk, and let sadness cease to be.
And there, beauty will have the meaning you always meant for it to have. 

 

6 of 12

Hour Three: Dirge

Related to one of my favorite lines: “come up with the fire, in the deadly 5th dimension pyre.” Here it goes:

 

it’s not blood staining your hand,

some ruby red lie that came up from the throat

to drown your world in all its sentiments,

I second guess every living thing in your veins,

When I waste away when I count days and struggle in the distance.

I resurrect every third day like some sort of deity,

only the thorns on top of my skull are the funeral drone of your aftermath.

I shake away and bleed, when the spear came to cut you deep,

and I saw angels burst from your skin, and the demons came to sin on your lips,

and  come from your mouth and cum from your mouth,

and envelope you in compressed thoughts.

I hold the lot of ticking time and I burn the bodies so the dead don’t speak our secrets.

I lifted myself from your rib-cage prison and dare ask your name on the release.

I often dismiss you when I’m drinking because you dismissed me in the shrinking feelings,

though they never shrink, they’re hidden some place, only the ghosts whisper their claims to that land.

I come up with the flame, and I spell your name as though this could be our engraved headstone,

of all the things that we were afraid to say, like some ritual that we lost the words to.

 

the more poems. one.

more to the sky than the clouds and the blue
(the blues are always where she though the universe began and ended)

it wasn’t the vast
or the space
or the air
that rose and fell and followed women of some certain type

you know.

those women

those women who create air
ever moving places of want
passing currents
strong and singleminded.

who passed her and created air
airs
those women of airs
the promise of lingering a(he)irs.

unlike her mother.
and very unlike the blues.

(beware the undertow)

(but what is that scent. you smell so good. so warm. so familiar.)

the promise of rain, on stone?
on green?
(on women?)
that air.
that very thick air.
that slow, that lush.

that feel.
that promise of a feel.

(that never comes. or)

reminiscent of all that came slowly (reluctantly) before she was six.

and left so quickly once turned.

ice cream.
conclusions.
breath.
more.

Phlox

A hearty growth of phlox

now encroaches on the cairn of my beloved BB,

shepherd friend who lies in peace ‘neath friendship picked stones and memories.

I shall try to transplant what needs cutting back,

dig rather than chop off.

The light determines the color of the blossoms,

some say pink, violet or purple.

Others say lavender, blue or a shade of all.

Fragrant, fragile blooms rain upon the grass as the breeze pushes her fingers

through the leggy stems.

A light floral fragrance lifts,

settles onto the back of the tongue and summer is tasted.

Breath of Rain!

The last few weeks have been desert like and densely hot,

Now the wind is picking up, first a little, now a lot!

Last night I surely enjoyed the smell of the gentle rain;

I am looking forward to hearing, and breathing it in sometime today once again!

Sliding into Base

Red sand coats my legs.
My knee stings and may be bleeding.
I think my hip hurts too.

My hands are dusty,
And my shorts are dirty.
But I made it to the base.