The Poetry Marathon

I’m already gone

Bold steps mark my wake down this chosen path.

A path that few do take, yet fewer ever last.

Fear and doubt guard either side and wait patiently.

For that single slip of rejection that comes eventually.

 

This path is harsh and filled with peril.

No soul escapes unscathed.

Yet without such pitfalls and obstacles.

No reward could be worth made.

 

So boldly I shall step and boldly on I’ll travel.

Knowing that each step could be one last stumble.

Yet rejection and denial do not mean the death of dreams.

Though it may take many years I’ll have them eventually.

 

The toll is great on this long lost road.

Hidden by the overgrowth of time.

But hidden treasures now unfold,

On the road less traveled by.

 

Boldly step on the road less traveled by!

Gluttony

Food is my lover

It’s my best friend

Sweetening & buttering me up

Foodie until the end

Knows it’s a betrayer

yet goes on with its charade

Satisfying my cravings

Throughout the day

SALIVA springs up

Taste buds desire flavor

Eating whatever I want

The scale is signifying

Obesity

Which comes with lil regret

YET depression

And the perfect pick-me-up

Is ‘One more plate’ or ‘another cup’

Consuming salties and sweets

Once I said ‘no more’

HUNGRY yells, ‘you’re not for sure”

 

Hour 13

A difference

Graze upon wisdom, feast on prudence
And gather vows of condolence
Diminish differently sought understanding
And answer desires demanding
When difference sprouts here in
Defy all rules, betray all kin
And restore again your reign mighty
And let your words be known rightly
You know not yet for there is a time to come
To come is a time, shattering the will of some
Where the wind will change routes
And the wait will bear sweet, sweet fruits
Where time shall stay and observe
As war replaces what you deserve
Where the difference will strike such indifference
And the wise will defy admittance
They will surge and flee, fight and loose
For time will bring a victor to choose
A difference will bring the refuge sought
And thoughts unnoticed will form a noticed thought
And all because a difference rebelled insurgent
And fought all, challenged all, to be different.

Perfection

When I think of what “perfection” means to me, it’s always the same image;

A circle of dough, cooked just enough for its crust to sing;

A layer of sauce, tart enough to be interesting, but mild enough not to burn;

A layer of cheese that flows between the crust walls as it should–but that few wizards outside of New York City seem to know how to manifest;

Pepperoni made from pork and beef, not “pork plus don’t ask”, scattered lovingly over the cheese blanket;

This is pizza;

It fills the belly and nourishes the soul;

Like love, when pizza is at the top of its game, there are few sweeter pleasures;

When it isn’t, there are few greater disappointments;

But tonight my thoughts are not on philosophy, but the matter at and in hand;

Mangia!

-30-

SnapS

Crispy
Too Crispy
That’s what they invented milk for
To De-crispy the cookie
Not that it’s a cookie-cookie
Because it’s a ginger snap
Rather, they are ginger snaps
Extra emphasis on the plural: snapS
They don’t really snap though
They are much too crisp
Not crispy
Crispy means crisp-ish
Or crisp-like
Something similar to crisp
If it were not a snap
They would probably call them ginger crisps
But old people and children might lose teeth
Thinking they meant crispy when they said crisp,
And bit in expecting the cookie to crumble
But it isn’t a cookie at all
Which is why they call them ginger snaps
Because if not for milk to soften them up
That’s what your teeth will do…SNAP!

Haiku for a Love

I love a woman
A rare flower in the sun
My inspiration

Maui

There are a few things

They never tell you in the guidebooks

Things they don’t want you to know

About this paradise we call home

They don’t tell you about the three inch flying cockroaches

That fly by night and hit your window glass

with a large thunk

Or the clicking sound the geicos make at night

When you try to sleep

They don’t tell you they poop everywhere

That they glide up your wall

And they own you house and home

 

They don’t warn you about the cane spiders

Six inches across

That glare at you and then run

Way too fast to be caught or killed

They haunt your dreams and steals your calm

The first time you find one in your bedroom

 

They don’t warn you about red dirt

Blown through open windows

How it gets on everything

You dust and it comes right back

Like it never left and how after a few weeks

You let it win.

 

They don’t tell you about the trades

That blow sand on you on a beach afternoon

Blinding you, beating at your skin

Or the blistering sand that burns your toes

If you dare to take off your slippers

 

They don’t warn you that so much perfection

So much beauty

So much perfect weather can eat at you

Make you pray for rain

Or Snow

Or a colored leaf to drift from the tree to land at your feet.

 

They don’t tell you that one day

That fantastic rainbow

Swept across a sunlit cloud

Would become almost ho hum

That after the thousandth perfect sunset

You don’t seek them out anymore

They don’t tell you about the rats or the mice

Or the small cockroaches that fall out of trees

They don’t talk about any of that in the guidebooks

They don’t want you to know the truth

They want you to come

To spend your money

To wander the beach

And savor the rainbowed sunset

To feel the trades caress your face

To feel the warm sun kiss your skin

If they tell you about $10.00 milk

about $4.00 gas

About rent so high it hurts to pay

You may not come

They sell you the hula

But it’s just a dance

The luau is just a meal

Ah Maui, you are seductive

As tempting as any heaven

As hot as any hell

I would hate you if I didn’t love you so.

Hour Fourteen

What do you want for dinner?

Food.

Seriously, could you be more specific?

Edible food.

Really?

I don’t know, what have we got?

And so begins the ritual…

Listing every ingredient, the endless contents of cupboard, fridge, freezer, shelf.

Bantering possibilities…

Chicken? We had that yesterday.

Spaghetti? I’m tired of spaghetti.

French toast? We’re out of bread.

Tuna casserole? Not now, not ever.

Burgers? Hot dogs? Mac ‘n cheese? Pasta? Soup? Rice and beans? Fish sticks? Pot roast? Tacos? Stew?

Doesn’t matter, honey, I’ll leave it up to you…

A nightly debate about something so simple, until at my wits end….

I order a pizza instead.

Pardon My Grief

How does one grieve for a living soul

Whose eyes are open

Soul closed

Ever shrinking from the light of knowing

In a cataract blurred reality of who of what of why

 

Capped Ice pursuing life pushing down life

Polar darkness pilfering all pulmonary exhalations

Can life survive down there?

In the cold, suffocating abyss that presses

O’ Cryogenic geriatric! Are you there?

 

Held suspended ever shriveling ever shivering never seeing

Through the swamp of failing fluids

Choking down memories like cough serum

Seeping bitter dregs strained past their taste

How can life survive being thusly alive?

 

Can I grieve at this while you remain un-here unheard?

I do not mean to demean such suffering.

This is my grief in stasis.

 

 

by Karen Sullivan

Form: Elegy

 

 

 

Poem14/24 “My Favorite Food”

Im not choosy in regarding to food

As long as the old people eat it

I will eat depends on my mood

Sometimes I’m not hungry a bit

 

Leafy green vegetables

Are my favorite soul

It contains a lot of minerals

And vitamins

 

It is a very good medicine

For high blood pressure, and heart

It is easy to cook

You can boil, blunched nor mix with a little bit of meat

 

“Malunggay” is my most favorite

Blunching is a better taste of it

Sounds so different

But try, to taste the scent