The Poetry Marathon

Hour 7: I Promise Myself

I promise myself, today

I will not cry

My tear soaked pillow can hold no more

My scratchy throat can sob no more

My blood shot eyes can burn no more

 

I take a deep breath

I promise myself, today

I will not call you

Just to hear your voice

Just to apologize for sins that are not mine

 

I delete your number

I take a deep breath

I promise myself, today

I will not read your old messages

The ones where you say you love me

 

I delete the messages

Every last one of them

I take a deep breath

I promise myself, today

I will not put on your old shirt

 

I pack your shirt away

Along with every tangible memory of you

I put you away

I take a deep breath and

I promise myself today

Hour 7

August

 

Sunflower boon.

The perfect alchemy of light.

 

Soft touch of summer dusk.

August’s leaving grace.

 

A swing set for one.

A setting made for two.

Mine

Since I saw you,
I read your texts,
I laughed with your
ideas,
seen your
cold blue eyes,
I realized,
I want you
with me.

Your strength
is mine,
your charisma
is mine,
your dilemma
is mine,
your skin
is mine,
your lips
are mine,
your body
is mine
and I am yours.

Hour #8: Clear Moonshine

While in the south

when we were young

before computers

we asked around.

 

We learned of blue laws

while in the south

We were so young,

we wanted moonshine.

 

We met new friends,

living in a trailer.

While in the south

we found moonshine.

 

We drank together,

becoming quickly smashed.

Drink lots of water

while in the South.

Hour 7: Mortality and Moonlight

What I Know for Sure About Mortality 

 

Is that there is no age limit on backyard games because will all become ground, tree, or grass and it is always kind to get to know your neighbors 

 

That nothing hits the soul quite like moonlight on water because it is to witness a great force as seen by the one it pulls upon 

 

That we have already discovered time travel because knowing the past is as close as we will ever get to seeing the future

 

That there is a big difference between starting a call with I love you and ending a phone call with I love you but that both hold the same fear for a dial tone 

 

And if you watch a full plane in turbulence it looks just like the swaying crowd of a concert pit because in both hold the same freedom from anything else that matters 

 

That Mary was not told her son would die because women have never been trusted with knowledge, but have always been trusted to hold others’ pain 

 

And finally, that a grand final act can be a sip of orange juice or a smile because the small pleasures are all we get 

 

Because the small pleasures are all we ever need. 

That girl.

See that girl,
The one with the smile?
Do you know she’s been hurting for a while?
She was the butterfly who had her wings pricked
She is the rose that burned
She cried herself to sleepless nights
Just wishing it would stop
She watched her heart in pieces
Watched them chisel away from her
She watched her hands bleed
From all the cuts and tear
She just wanted a warm embrace
And someone to wipe her tear.
You see that girl,
Who keeps everyone smiling?
She’s the girl who lost her smile.
Now she’s standing beside the window,
Playing memories of
How a mere five year old
Lost her happiness.
Now she stands here,
Trying to voice the voiceless
Trying to speak for people called weak
Those who are ridiculed everyday
The ones who have nothing to say.

Prompt 4 Tá Brón Orm

Tá brón orm –
The sorrow is on me.
I’m sorry sounds so much better in Irish than English.

Tá brón orm.
I started this marathon late.
My house had some flooding last night.

Tá brón orm.
The cable guy is repairing the signal and I can’t access the internet.

Tá brón orm.
I’m drawing a blank on words and ideas are not flowing today.

The sorrow is on me

Tá áthas orm –
Joy is on me.
The sun rose today.
My leak wasn’t too bad.
Someone helped me move boxes.
My cable is being fixed.
I have cellular service and can type from my phone.
I’m meeting friends for dinner.

Tá áthas orm – Joy is on me.

Own It All

Nobody really likes Monopoly–
not even the winner.
The promise of lighthearted capitalist competition starts off seeming like it will be fun.
The players pick the pieces that will bring them luck in this game of chance.
They all start with the same amount of money and the same probability of owning it all.
All
because being satisfied with having enough lacks showmanship.

But the drama drags too long, and that’s why
nobody really likes Monopoly.
The banker gets bored with the endless trading, borrowing, and mortgaging.
After a while, the sad faces of the poor become exhausting to look at,
And the banker leaves the game an hour into his shift.
Insults turn personal as an underhanded player fairly buys New York
knowing that the other two orange properties belong to an upwardly mobile opponent.
Accusations of rampant greed fly as a housing shortage ensues.
The railroad owners side-eye the utility owners.
The boardwalker stalks her Park Place with heavy lids
knowing that with three hotels, not a soul would announce his visit.
Three hours in, players get hungry but don’t trust each other enough to leave and get a snack.
One-by-one the destitute escape the clutches of this “game” and walk towards sweet freedom,
leaving the successful players to fight among themselves.

It’s lonely at the top when playing Monopoly.
People lie and plot.
No one rejoices when you rejoice or weeps when you weep.
The illusion of riches wears off too soon after the win.
Winners learn that it was never about community; it was only ever about a chest that exists only in theory.
The winner is left surrounded with paper and plastic, but
no one to share it with and nothing of substance to show for it except
empty hotels, a toppled dog, and deeds that no one cares about anymore.
Winners have to pick up the wreckage in this game of chance.
This is one of the only game where winning necessities an apology tour, and that is why
nobody really likes Monopoly.

Too Much

Some days feel like too much.
Some days not enough.
Some days are easy breezy.
Some days seem extra tough.

Some days we dance on waking.
Some days feel like too much.
Sometimes the only difference.
Is the feel of love-warmed touch.

Some days we wish were shorter.
Some days we wish would never end.
Some days feel like too much.
And we seek comfort in a friend.

Some days are full of sunshine.
Some nights are lost in loving touch.
We must cling to those sweet feelings, because
Some days feel like too much.

Prompt 4 – Together to Alone

Unions I have known
attempted conjugal paths
hammered and etched
of steel and glass

Blissful beginnings
torturous lessons
dragging one or the other
off course

Promises of better
blink in the headlight
while hope from the past
fades in the rearview mirror

Rage against loss
of what was only
a potential
unrealized

The shiny blink
Beckoned to me
and a hundred others
Eventually fading away

Alone now
learning to love
the only one
I can trust