The Poetry Marathon

#13 – The joy explosion

The joy explosion

Is at the end of the road

That never ends

 

Everybody knows

But nobody says it

We all keep walking

 

And even we run

To reach the end

To reach the explosion

 

The bliss of this deflagration

Is gently rubbing your toes

And your siblings nose

 

You are in the land

Where nobody ever

Comes back from

 

You are on the sand

Of the last beach

You’ll see in your life

 

No, you are not about to die

That would be too easy

For all the shits you did

 

No, you’re going to go to jail

For half of your life

Until you die, exhausted

 

Nobody can change it

You know, justice has given

The verdict about your deed

 

You’re going to rot on your feet

In your stinky cell, lonely

And forgotten by all

 

Nobody can change it

Even your angels let you down

And all your hopes drowned

 

In the deep giant ocean

No chance of any explosion

And not even a road to pretend

 

The joy explosion

Is at the end of the road

That never ends

 

Everybody knows

But nobody says it

We all keep walking

 

And even we run

To reach the end

To reach the explosion

 

 

 

 

 

 

final poem!! (poem #12) ~

I come from suitcases
from generations (three) of packing tape
lately book boxes from UTotem
filled with the detritus of a dissertation
Each move a chance to clean house
begin a new life unencumbered
a nautilus w/out her chambered shell
I am throwing away my childhood
the early years of love & marriage
stitched into linens from Hong Kong
teapots from Korea
and bronzeware from another life
Flipping to another page within a book
I haven’t written yet
the story of a woman and a man
and someone else’s baby
I tell myself:
It’s only one more time
One more house to make a home
One more map to learn
And one more utter dislocation
You’d think I would adapt
but something there is that doesn’t love
this kind of change
the suitcases the boxes the move
the goodbyes and the distances
that feel a bit like deaths
and send me in to mourning

Hour Thirteen

Angel, demon

Sinner, saint

Light, dark

Wicked, pure

Day, night

Black, white

Love, hate

War, peace

Heaven, hell

Evil, innocent

Absolutes?

Choice

To do right

for wrong..

being nice

to rude..

Staying happy

not sad..

of walking

or sleeping..

you have to decide

on your own..

to do

is to get..

doing nothing

leaves you the same…

Hour ten

My moon

As long there’s a moon
There’s always you and I.
—by Meriyen Marquez
Inspired by Socorro Villalba

Two worlds diverge

Spanish

Familiar, Understood

Comforting, Soothing, Flowing

Parents, Students, Teachers, Administrators

Learning, Misinterpreting, Growing

Difficult, Irregular

English

Hour nine

Goggles

The cadavers jolted, conducting prose.
Typewriters twisted, screeching, clashing, bound
To crush, to twist, to scream, squall, squeal, and grate
Under moonlight, grinning, sadistic beast.
Crashing: “Ick” and “eck” and “eek”; ’twas sane, thus.
Terrors tremble and cackle and grind grins.
The wretched beasties should be put down to rest.
But death frightens grins happily jittered.
Troves potentially store soiled matter.

First Love

You slipped from memory to remembrance

too slowly to be easy.

I knew it would be that way when we met.

Youth carries it’s risks like a coat

over the arm.

I cannot trace time backwards to

your door anymore.

The trail is cold as a deep river stone.

Sometimes I swim in that river and wonder.