The Poetry Marathon

Rachel

She died,

Clinging to memories and thoughts of a sisterhood that never had a chance to unfold,

15 years old,

ambitions,

hopes,

dreams of a better time,

halted by the end of time–

Sisters who work in the garlic fields together,

A team of children living in poverty,

Struggling to eat each day — then —

we

became

me,

I reach out to you on nights when I wavier and you come to me,

Memories,

Rememeber the time when we sat down on a rock and talked about what we have never told the parents?

Your arm was bleeding,

scrapes and cuts so real that I see them today,

No one knows but me,

You asked me never to tell,

and I haven’t,

You fell off your roller blades, right?

15 years living,

15 years gone,

I celebrate every birthday,

Take off every death day,

and I remember you,

Memories,

Remember when you tried to sneak out of the house?

You came running back in,

“Someone is out there, watching me,”

Next morning,

A single sweater was drying on the clothesline,

You sweated that night, fear,

and blushed in the morning, embarrassment,

You never got those boots you were saving up for,

A letter in your hand writing,

Returned to me after grandma passed,

I re-read your thoughts all the time,

Stay close to me,

Memory,

I write a poem about my sister,

Her letter next to a picture of her and grandma,

Those were happy times in the struggle of life.

-End-

Paradox (themes on “the end” prompt 1 hour 1)

Paradox

 

Beginning at the end…

a snake

eating its tail…

moments circle

brightly

through my mind –

twirling, red-hot tipped sticks

just pulled from the centre of the fire –

clicking through a roulette wheel of

memories

and

the

pin

stops

at

that empty chair

in my former classroom…

the one where

he sat on that Thursday

for Social Studies

but

vacated that Monday

for English

and every class after that

ad infinitum.

 

His funeral,

the following Friday

was beautiful –

as beautiful as a Friday funeral can be

for a 16 year old

bright-souled, impish boy.

 

That end nearly brought

my end –

but for the living.

 

I realise that…

I remember that,

in the shadow of a new end:

the smiling and waving goodbye

(while my heart breaks and wails)

to my eldest child,

my first son,

as he travels

half way across the country

from me

to seek his fortunes…

I remember that

endings

are beginnings,

too.

(c) R. L. Elke 2016

Clueless One

I never read the instructions.

If you really need to know it, they will repeat it

Ever since Grade One

I was the Clueless One.

My alarm tells me the Marathon is ON!

Wow!  Wizzer!  How do you do!

Here I AM!  Where’s the Friggin Prompt?

Whatever that is, for corn sakes.

I NEVER  read the instructions.

If you need to know it, they will repeat  it,

or pin it to your shirt.

Maybe the prompt is in the bag with my lunch.

The MaRathon is ON ON ON!

Once again the clueless one

Will have to make my own Rules.

They didn’t say it had to be a GOOD one.

That FIRST one.

That Poem One.

Even the alarm quit.

Nobody’s here to ask.

Hmmm.

(What do they expect on two hours sleep?)

Dang it.  Where’s that friggin prompt?

WHERE’S THAT FRIGGIN FIRST FRIGGIN PROMPT?!?

As of crafting verse wasn’t hard enough at friggin DAWN!

And nobody else has the grumps and sleep IN THEIR EYES!

Well, here’s that poem, cheerful ones.

I wrote it, Nyah!

I ARE A PARTICIPANT

And by MY  rules……………

(Ahem)

Clueless Won!

!

PRS 1.0 2016

Pen to Paper

Pen to paper,

It begins.

Words flow.

Mind seeks.

Doodles sprout.

Perfected phrase

And rhythm found.

The marathon begins.

The blank pages

End.

 

New Day

The earth is quiet as I wake

She holds all her songs upon her tongue

She’s waited through the long cold night

To watch the silent dawn.

 

A new day comes with gentle calm

No grand announcement marks her birth

But all below immersed in light

Baptized in the newness of a rising sun.

My soul in awe tiptoes before

The way the dawn makes all look strange

And fresh

and brilliant

and full of magic scattered through

the day.

 

My soul has been re- born again

Splashed clean in the earliest rays of day.

I’m glad I woke. I’m glad I paused.

To watch the silent dawn.

Hour 1 – Signals

The red light is at its stubborn best
The nagging pain demands a rest
The tired mind feels under duress
The night urges to let go of stress

The road breaker warns to go slow
The broken road affects smooth flow
Every diversion propels a new choice
A chance to listen to the inner voice

The palette of emotions is same for all
Unique pictures decorate each life’s wall

The End Is The Beginning

In the beginning there was darkness
Not darkness as in the absence of light,
But the thick, velvety, primordial darkness of creation
The darkness that gives birth to galaxies, suns
The dark chaotic cacophony of the all-that-is
The deep black soil from which life draws it’s essence

For eons,
For time immortal,
The darkness oozed, encompassing everything
It’s expanse unopposed,
The pregnant Void stretching boundaries of infinity to wrap back around and swallow itself whole
No juxtaposition, just a closed loop,
Mobius
Ouroboros
The endless Celtic knot

The darkness, Erebus, Kek, grew tired
Grew tired of it’s self-consumption
Grew tired of itself
Grew tired of the endless expanse of blackness
Grew tired of containing all the answers, all the mysteries
Grew tired of being so utterly full and so utterly empty,
So utterly connected but so utterly incomplete

Tired of a solitary existence for all eternity,
The darkness collapsed upon itself with such immensity, such pressure and power that the all-encompassing-all-that-is imploded with a force that illuminated everything

Illuminated the complexity,
The juxtapositions,
The  dichotomies,
The dualities,
The reign of primordial darkness ended
With the advent of Light

Hour One – The End of Drought

Sun shining across my shoulder.

Three potted plants struggling to live.

I expected them to flourish and give

Color and brightness,

Wisdom and lightness

To the space where I write.

Alas they are brown, no green in sight!

Cactus, grass, flowering mass …

I’ve killed them all, withholding a glass.

Perhaps they’re my measure

Of health, wealth and treasure.

A mirror of warning just in time,

To drink, drink water and rhyme!

Hour One

To begin, I go shopping —

coffee and tea and several

extravagancies — as if

one could lure the muse

with dark chocolate and

a cider-scented candle.

Love

A heart so badly broken

every beat brings pain

tears that flow are calling

to never fall again

 

scars all on the surface

run deeper than the eye

a wall has formed around it

higher than the sky

 

A brave one sees the tower

and venture in they must

and soon this mighty wall

is nothing more than dust

 

The heart is beating wildly

afraid that it might fall

but the brave one holds it gently

and proves love conquers all