The Poetry Marathon

#3 an untitled conflict

internal

battles

like scars

no one

can see

and worse

no one can

hear me

screaming

at me

for mercy

for freedom

for grace

for second

chances

at a twist

of fate

I am stuck

in the channel

of seas and

oceans

hoping for

new life

that wasn’t

left coping

from pain

of plea

bargains

and flea

markets

discounted

fees

setting on the

ice chest

in the summer

heat trying

to stay cool

yet no breeze

blowing smoke

and the truth

is tainted

canvas is ruined

look at the lies

we have painted

stains on the

heart of circumstance

fade to black

fade to loss

of a budding romance

times are hard

change is good

finding the road

to self discovery

while lost in the

woods of

shoulda

coulda

woulda

and maybe

we can whisper

and lower our

voices and

wipe the slate

clean and paint

pretty pictures

of life

loosely lived

and to right

all the wrongs

and find it hard

not to forgive

myself

 

FJ original 2016

Before Darkness, Poem Tres

The maudlin in me is brought up, dredged from

the many consumptions that plague us,

honey-sweet or bitter, burning slow down sliding

through my throat like a blessed ague.

I’m sick, baby, didn’t you know,

I’m tormented by demons you’ve never met.

Give me that bottle and you’ll see

I was never Heaven-sent.

I have my share of scars too,

I’ve been bruised black and blue.

I’ve crawled up from the depths

and I won’t be turning back.

You try to push me back

but I’m not going nowhere,

you gave me that bottle, baby,

and now you gotta sit down and listen

why I’ve done myself wrong

and how you can’t put it right.

Before darkness, there’s no fixing

we’ve got a hint of magic,

a taste of tragedy,

and a whisper of the forbidden

amongst the many living

and innumerable resting dead.

When the End Came (2)

When the End Came

I forget where we were
When the end came

Was it Paris?
Or Milan?

I forget

Where were we, when the kisses stopped
And our hands no longer reached for each other
Across time and space, instinctively
Like moles burrowing underground?
When toes no longer curled like ribbons and
Joy packed its bags with a wave and a rueful grin?

I forget where we were
When the end came

Maybe Maui?
Maybe….Venice?

Maybe
Home

 

(c) Davita Joie 2016

Before Darkness

 

 

A ground surging wind from above

Striking lightning from a distance

Outward sign of despair and destruction

 

Obscure signs of times

Yielding in unexpected places

Animosity among living things

A humanity in its resurgence

 

Looking for new dimensions

A gateway for undertaking

Moving in unexpected direction

 

Illuminating light extinguishing

Ever flame be lighted up

Indeed before darkness

 

11:05 pm PST 13/08/2016

© ROY MARK AZANZA CORRALES

 

Another Boring Conversation

(more…)

Summer Passed – Prompt Two

Time fades as he forgets

Holding onto his love

In hopes of memories

As summer passed

In time forgotten

 

Going Up

Rising to the fourteenth floor of the posh hotel
in the center of the cold city,
the beep of each passing level took me back
to the screams of life giving machines
that doled out survival with sighs and repeated
tones, monotonous and vital.

Here I am ascending to a place in the sky
you will never experience.
I’m looking at city lights and animated gestures
that strangers below exchange–smiling, linking
hands and hearts this side of the eternal.
I am comforted by the faith that you
have moved to a castle above it all and
wish this rising room would open its doors
and reveal the place you now call home.

Awakening

Awakening to the freshness

I come in fully and with heart open

to this new day

giving giving giving to myself now…

this is good…

 

THREE

I am here to return the bowl.
The door is never locked.
The house does not smell of cinnamon.
“Sketches of Spain” not on the turntable,
not in its red-yellow-black sleeve.
Sermon unfinished on the desk,
map open on the sink.
The closet is not empty.
The bedroom light glares
behind its square of frosted glass,
bedside floor polished
by knees and prayers.
The cat sits on the windowsill.
The window is open,
shade a yellow tattered scroll
raised halfway, or lowered.
The crow, itself a shadow,
is not in the cedar tree,
not on the clothesline
with its sagging bag of pins.
What have you given away?
The bowl is filled with apples.
How can I forgive your absence?

© j.i. kleinberg

“For you I have so many words”

that bang around
in my head
batter themselves
against the walls
of my head
silent violent screams
exhausting all
I wish I could say

(Quote from prompt song Ben Howard – “I Forgot Where We Were”)