The Poetry Marathon

Hour Seven

Passion-Pulse quickened-Hearts pounding-Flesh blushed-Need-Desire-Hot-Feverish-Red

Anger-Rage-Tension rising-Words flying-Vision blinded-Fists clenched-Eyes blazing-Hurt-Orange

Joy-Lips curved-Eyes twinkle-Sun shining-Nose crinkling-Caresses tickling-Warm embraces-Home-Yellow

Despair-Tears welling-Gaze darkened-Knees buckle-Chest heaving-Sobs escaping-Hands praying-Drowning-Blue

Hope-Thoughts racing-Maybes-Perhaps-Tomorrow-Heart dreaming-Wishing-Wondering-Indigo

Calm-Deep breathing-Mind clearing-Dawn breaking-New steps taking-Plans arranging-Time slowing-Just being-Violet

Visions (Prompt 7)

Yellow eyed demons

disturb dreams

their spines curve like questions

they dig their nails in open sores

that once contained flowers

These demons drag down spirits that would otherwise soar

Wickedly they unbalance my life

trapping my words in unspoken verses

Sounds become silenced

I can’t move and I can’t sleep

they lay on top of me

licking my ear

unearthly beings

whispering reminders that

these exploding nightmares are my reality

and I am only delusionally happy

Hour 6

Victory is just beyond our reach
close enough to be tasted
and the oceans of pain
have yet to wash over me.
It’s just as well because
I am ready to fight and to win
against these adversaries,
so firm in their beliefs.

Poem #5: In a Fire

In a fire, you stand, read the air and its failing respiration,
move in all contortions forgotten from leisure. The only way
to test your reflexes, in an isolation of self; and your mind has
never boiled to this degree before. Now you know how your
mother’s burnt cookies felt, tossed prior to taste. Burning
a flavor so jealously bitter, mockingly black and sarcastic
of sweet. Oh how all around, it crumbles, like incinerated
flour overdosed with flame. Turmoil the greatest fuel
in this situation. One of many options as the catalyst:
a dream, an intention, a mistake, a crime.
The foundation depresses under its own collapsible influence,
trusses snapping like wishbones, tile and carpet bruised
with black-eyes. And you want to know the time–as if that
will quell the heat. You could look all around, everywhere, but the
blood rustic flicker hewn over the walls you painted only weeks
before belittles the “everything” you owned, shriveled below
the worth you granted it. Your furniture smoldering down to prunes.
Wondering if your eyes are sweating or your body is being sautéed,
if your body could extinguish a path, if survival is more difficult
in moments of disaster, or in peaceful existence.

Tanka [creamy white fungi]

creamy white fungi

grow on lone, leafless branches

of chaos-theory fig trees

in mid-April: spring weather

arrives late this year

Life or death

Crash! Natures clash.

Lifeless liquid with momentum.

Plant bullseyed with a bash.

Pushed to equilibrium.

 

Motionless moment.

Forces cancel briefly,

but are ever present,

battling bitterly.

 

If the next move isn’t death

plant life wins.

It must be…but yet!

Movement begins.

 

Slowly at first, but picking up pace

the moment of danger for plant will pass.

Gravity beats friction and then release!

The raindrop falls off the blade of grass.

One Lesson I’ve Learned Well #8/24

One Lesson I’ve Learned Well

When I was fragile as the bones of birds,
unbroken by the way things go,
I brought a baby chick so tiny and new
but sick and frail and maybe suffering
to my grandmother’s house.
I came looking for her time and tender
fingers that could heal any hurting
with words and attention.
She stared at the small life in my hands
and shook her head.
“Leave it here and I’ll take care of it.”
I was shocked and dismayed. I said “No.”
I began to cry for this helpless feathered
being and wrapped him back in the box
he’d come in. I had no intention of leaving
this soul behind and Grandma knew it.
She reached for my bangs, tucking them
behind my ear, and said with a gentle sincerity:
“Sweet child, not everything in this world
is meant to live.”

“Somebody’s Pet”

The fading sunlight ripples across the water’s veneer.

A magical being emerges from beneath.

Black and green scaley skin.

Amber, diamond shaped eyes.

A single deadly horn juts from its head.

Teeth like razors primed to rip me to shreds.

Yet this beast makes no move against me.

It is docile, domesticated.

Somebody’s pet.

The Artist by the Shore

In the still of the night
All I hear is the slight drizzle by the window
Tiny droplets of rain making sounds as they fall on the ground.

On this cool July evening
Alone in my room
Still can’t bring myself to slumber,
My mind starts to wander
How I long to be in a far away island.

Far away from this hustle and hurried life
Let time stop for a while as I dream on,
Walk bare footed on the white sand and watch the tiny waves playing like kids
As the cold wind sweeps and caresses my warm cheeks.

I dream of sitting by the seashore
Where I can sketch the setting sun in all its glory and beauty
Colorful hues of orange, yellow, red in my palette,
Gentle strokes of the paintbrush as I get hypnotized by its aura
Distant mountains at the far horizon caught my eye
Wondering how could I cross to the other side and be in another world.

I’m gonna play my music, too
By the shore where the sound of the tides goes in rhythm with my heart
Appreciate the beautiful and astounding nature
Created by God, His gift to mankind,
By the shore is all I wanna be
Spending time as I wait
For the sun to finally set in and bid it goodbye as I close my eyes and sleep.

Author/Poet Elizabeth E. Castillo

Nature Walk

A clear-water rill threads over black earth,

salaal, bracken and sword fern

crowding thick from either side.

 

Overhead, the canopy, where evergreens

mesh with maples, a friendly clash of greens,

and bluejays scream, crows caw,

chickadees chicka dee-dee.

 

You don’t like it here.

There’s nowhere clean to sit and

there is mud on your shoes.

You will go no further.

 

It does no good to point out the salmonberry flowers;

you point out the devil’s club.

I say trillium, you say nettle,

I say huckleberry, you say

let’s go back to the car.

 

But look, I almost add, there’s a bleeding heart.

I don’t. You won’t see it anyway.