The Poetry Marathon

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.

Remembering the Room

Her long, brown hair lies flat against her right-turned face;
hands, arms, feet, neck, swollen.
Her hospital gown, wrinkled and dirty,
it had been draped on her for days.

She’s propped up against the headboard,
the dull hospital-room lighting casts shadows
that make it hard to tell she isn’t breathing.
It’s ok, I don’t really want to see it anyways.

Staring at her hands, so soft, yet so cold;
the rigamortis hasn’t set in yet.
Her nails look like tiny pins in sausages,
the thought gives me a feeling of disgrace.

Through the darkness of the room,
I can barely make out the pale color of her skin.
I try, but I can only look at her hands,
I am glad for the poor lighting and the hair in her face.

I recall those hands petting horses’ mane,
picking chicken’s eggs for breakfast,
and teaching me to sew.
They were always my favorite pair of hands.

My heart is pounding,
I am terrified to me in this room.
I just want to brush-back her hair,
but I can barely glance at the strands.

“You’re gone,”
I hear a voice that I imagine is my own.
There is no response.
The silence plunges the heavy feeling into my chest.

I am now so much older,
but I remember my urge to flee the room.
Honestly, the emptiness is all I truly remember,
I try to forget the rest.

(Hour 7

I’m alright, okay?
What else can I say,
you continue to pray,
and say how dismain,
I appear to be,
when will you see,
that this is me.
I am happy is this place,
not looking for a race,
or another lying face,
destroyed by the void
they call self pity,
a drop with no bottom,
but you brought then
with glee.
When will you see,
that this is just me.

#7

rain drops
falling onto the glass
sliding downards
slowly
and fast
catching up with the others
forming patterns
and lines
a race to reach
the bottom of
the window
and still you say
there is nothing
to watch

Hour 7

The Sun in my Eye

Radiant rays slide silently through
All sensations of warmth running anew
Piercing the shadows dark and cold
Stands its path proud and bold
Reaching to alight all in its way
Flickers of gold dance through its elegant sway
Lightly, gently caressing me
A sea of intense passions running free
Lifting my spirits in gleeful servitude
Fighting my shadows unaware of its magnitude
Yet too soon it leaves to continue
Lighting the life of a friend new
And I wait another day
For the sun in my eye

Stealing Love (hour 7) Visual

Dancing in the moonlight
she embraced the sweet caress of his lips
as he ran his fingers through her hair
she melted in his arms like butter spread on bread
the dew was wet on the grass
the bugs singing in the dark
the smell of fresh air as
the wind blew through her hair
then it suddenly hit like a rock,
he did not belong to her
they were only stealing love
on a bright summers night.

The thought to let him go she just could not maintain,
the pleasure of his manhood was all she could entertain.
the intense pleasure was like a light dancing in the dark
How can I keep my stealing lover for ever?
How can I let go of such romance?
Their love is like a river as it flows
down stream you can hear the water trickles
like the blood rushing through their veins.
The sand over their bodies is like velvet
as they caress on the shore, stealing Love.

Top Climb

Broken down
Sound bound
Earth shakes
It molds and makes
Quality Beauty
Golden duty
Of a solider

 

Twice in October

A window faces a harsh blow from the rock
the moment of impact, a bundle of white streaks stretch violently
like sun rays in solar flare
radiating outwards
and in between each finger concentric loops connect
suspended for a moment
then in a cascading rush, the fall to the floor
each shard, each row, each crack
release and tumble into a glowing heap of diamonds

This was me when you abandoned me once. Shattered glass you could scoop up in your hand and let trickle through your fingers like smooth, beaten river pebbles. Shattered, but all of my pieces still here, alive and shining brighter than before.

I’m glad to have you back again.

Post #5: Trust

Trust

You made it, and I’m so proud
look at the way you handle the now
You faced me with all you had
and now you see I am not that bad
Once you see I am another part of you
you’d never question what I do
I’m here to show you ways to feel
and how times you just have to be real
There are rules to life that are a must
for happiness, feel, allow and trust

@ Renee Avard-Furlow
June 13 2015

NAS #7

Birthday rose

the color of purity, or brand new, unused cloth diapers,

(I remember those days so fondly.)

The green leaves are the same shade

as the grass my sweet husband mows.

Standing as tall as 150% the height of the vase

(I don’t really love math,

that’s just keeping those skills from getting rusty.)

Each day on the way to #64,

it opens a little more,  gently,

as carefully as we open the door

when we KNOW April 1st is hiding a trick somewhere.

The fragrance is subtle, but oh so pleasant

so subtle that it can only be sniffed deliberately

and worth the effort.

by Nancy Ann Smith