The Poetry Marathon

Two Roads

Two roads
Such a difficult decision
One should make

A war between
The unknown
And the one
Familiar with your heart

Two roads
Look quite alike
The only difference…
One you will take on
Immense pain
And the other
A profound joy

Which should you choose
The road
Whose ending
You are aware of
Or the road
You have no clue

Two roads
A decision one should
Make
The time is ticking
So choose before
All time is out
And the universe will choose
Your fate

-Angelica Villarruel

Perspective

Perspective
Virginia Carraway Stark

An ant crawling
Up the side of a cottonwood tree
Doesn’t mind Me
I should feel big staring at him
But I feel as small as this ant
The sky is a bowl
Of vastness
The clouds are mountains
Towering above me
How vast can this world be
Even this cottonwood towers over what is see
I am a mote
And the horizon
Is large as the sea

Not Another Love Poem

Yet again here we are, words which met love on a page.

I turn to you and grin, whisper words which only you hear,

and your groan, swatting me away. “Not another,” you grumble,

and with your eyes I see it. Potential. Pain. Pleasure, the

vulnerability that is us, the fragile link of communion, which

ended in an exclamation.

When you were gone,

ohgodohfuckwhythehellwasIgiventhisblessinganditwastorn,

and you go to Heaven,

and take my words too.

Afterlife (9:00 PM)

She was a stunning one, wasn’t she?

Her skin just dripped of glory.

Behind her steps she left a trail of

many men adoring.

Her milky hands were as

fragile as tears,

she handled them like lace.

Her smile was radiant,

her laugh was contagious,

a sound that can’t be replaced.

But she kept to herself,

that graceful girl,

the lady who died in white.

In life she possessed such

unmatched beauty

even death to her is kind.

poem #10 in the beginning

In the very beginning there weren’t words.
There was the swirl of constellations without names.
There was fire and ice and the elemental signatures of metals.
There was no one to notice or care.

Somewhere time comes into it, although no one can explain it.
When does time start? Is it back w/ the very beginning? Before the words?
Is it after the clash of gases?
When does what never was become what is?

And time passes, because now we have time.
We have a thread w/ the pearls of moments hung upon it
and we call that pastpresentfuture.
And there is still no one to notice or to care.

But later (as time goes, much later) the people
w/ their troublesome words and names come.
And that may be when it all begins, really. With people.
Troublesome words and names. And time.

Hour Eleven

You see, life has no guarantees

Wishes aren’t granted

And dreams seldom come true

But then how does that explain me and you?

Hour 12: Half Marathon Complete!

She peeks into my room
afraid to disturb my writing….

Mom, can I show you what
I’m packing for Chicago?

Sure, I say, and sadly she is surprised that
I’ll actually stop and look right now.

Shirts, skirts, shorts, leggings all laid out,
alongside her plans, hopes, and dreams.

Does this look ok? Will I look older? Did I choose the right things?
It’s been a long time since I’ve been there.

Leaning in, I see her worry unfolded, wanting to be sure of choosing correctly;
part of me thinks it’s not just about clothes.

I say your choices are great – are they a comfortable fit for you, do they make you happy?
I hope she hears I’m talking about more than clothes.

Just remember, dear one, take your dreams with you too,
don’t toss them into the pile of rejected sweaters.

He is every spoken word and every belief that he said he was against. A monster consumed with what can be bought, consumed with what shines in the light and is unseen and unheard of in the dark. He is everything I’ve loved and everything I now despise. No recollection of responsibility or meaning or means other than self-indulgence runs through his veins. He is cold, he is here and he is my biggest fear and regret, my purpose and my need all at the same time. He will never know what my words mean, how I cry out of fear of walking away to live happily without him. He will never know what it means, what anything meant. He will never know how I felt, how I feel, why I fight, why I cry…. He will never know because it can’t be bought. There is no price on my thoughts, no bartering on my heart and no trade on my feelings. He will never know whether I am here or I am gone.

Hour Ten

That smile…

The one that reaches your eyes,

The one that makes my heart swell,

The one I seldom see,

The one you only show to me.

That smile…

The one that you hide so well,

The one that brightens my darkest mood,

The one I would walk across fire for,

The one you don’t see, that’s only meant for me.

That smile…

The one I first saw so long ago,

The one that takes me right back there,

The one that makes me forget I’m angry,

The one that turns back time.

That smile…

The one that keeps us young,

The one that reminds me why I love you,

The one that makes me feel your love,

The one I want to see for the rest of my life…

That smile.

 

NAS Prompt 12

NAS Prompt 12  Moving

 

Moving on my own, determined and excited,

thrilling new adventure taught me

all the basic things new brides learn —

take charge of many household chores.

 

Moving into a home of our own

a two story home gave us lots of room

so we filled it with babies, every year or so

a home that the children still love.

 

Moving  on, as in divorce, I did that once.

Misery and grief — survived and grew stronger

Eight years later, wounds had healed, kids had grown

chose a better match.

 

Moving through the familial losses —

Happy losses to marriages; I approved of every one.

The sad losses were in death;   Mom and Dad and little Mari, too

Celebrate their lives, and let them go; to whatever Heaven holds.

by Nancy Ann Smith