The Poetry Marathon

Hour 2 (10 am)

We sit quietly
Under the soft moonlight
Giddy and blushing
Like teenagers in puppy love
Rushing through my body are feelings
Of anxiety, excitement and passion
untamed and exchanged
through our fiery glances
We can’t deny the lust
While you caress my inner thigh
I feel your wandering hand reach high
Gently working your way to my warm, wet lips
I straddle you and begin kissing you under
Your navel and work my way up your strong body
teasing you with each kiss’s placement
Using foreplay to make a bold statement
It’s 2 am, and it’s been said that
nothing good happens after hours
But I beg to differ, this is a love I devour
We lust, we love, and sex until we pass out
“Good morning,” you whisper to me
My eyes crack open, wincing at the light
Shining in from the window you’ve opened
You take another sip of your coffee
Before kissing me on the forehead
Returning to your morning ritual
While humming our song
I smile, knowing last night was a job well done

Borealis

I’ll come late
to take you to that frozen lake

by the way of circumstance…clouds will part like one last chance.

We will dance with arrows beating through our sullen hearts:

expose our secrets in a snow-still twilight
proving that love is laid bare.

Soul-struck music will guide our fragile footsteps

to where silence and light reign,
eternal- revolving around the chorus beyond the stars.

Someday, we will thaw and break off like icebergs…
and float all around the sound.

Haiku: in bed with the cat

Poems

Good morning

To be honest

My head is underwater

It always is when I write

Like I am swimming

Drowning in thoughts

Using the breast stroke

To maneuver through

Massive amounts of momentum

Not my treasure island

More like soft moonlight

After hours

A night of drinking

Hung over with ideas

Blurbs in my brain matter

The inevitable crash or vomiting

At party’s end

Sometimes I would love

To see a word

Make it my friend

Let it go

But instead it envelopes me

A sea drowning me

Water encasing me

Filling my lungs

Like a disgruntled lover

Taking over my soul

To be honest

Cheerful mornings

Not my thing

Night is more me

Hell not even soft moonlight

I am like a cloud filled night sky

Exploding in stars

Just out of reach

Foggy and barely visible.

I hold my head, my eyes water

Still drunk

But not remembering how to be sober

Knowing these words

Are just a one night stand

Tricking me into believing

They really mean something

Treasure Island (Poem 2/24)

I turn the pages of my father’s book.

Grabbing my blankets,  I get cozy in a nook.

The soft moonlight caresses the first page.

It smells of old age.

The first sentence grabs my attention and I get sucked in.

It was so silent I could hear the drop of a pin.

Page after page, I kept turning into the after hours of the night.

I didn’t stop until first morning light.

Best adventure yet.

The craziest characters I ever met.

Who knew a book so old could be the best story ever told.

Hour 2

the notion of chickens
meandering through tall grasses
pecking, scratching, foraging for bugs
ambling over to greet you
is far more romantic
than the reality of
six crowing roosters
little buggers
shaking you from your dreams
just before dawn

2015 poem #1 tanka sequence

beneath ceiling fans
marking time like metronomes
I became ‘foreign’
Eastern, not Western
I would never fit again

even where my blonde hair
drew no curious dark hands
where my pleated skirt
looked just like the other girls
I was suspect, alien

that wood ceiling fan
began the process of change
circles circling round
the transformation of breath
the wings that would haunt & lift

Blink

Fall asleep.
Blink.
Good morning.

Begin the day.
Blink.
Good evening.

A child is born.
Blink.
University.

Chase after hours.
Blink.
Memories are fading.

Go back to reclaim them.
Blink.
Catch the soft moonlight.

My children’s children.
Blink.
Grown and leaving.

Fight the darkness.
Blink.
Fall asleep.

---

 

Prompt: Incorporate three of five suggested phrases.
Form: Invented. I’ll think of a name for it tomorrow.

Cycles (Poem 2)

“Good morning!”
I hear you sing
I turn over to look at you
Smiling
Smiling at me
The sun illuminating the room
A kiss on the forehead
I smile again

Be honest
Last week you told me
We wouldn’t be here again
I wouldn’t have to hurt again
Frowning
I turn away
You touch my shoulder
I frown again

I see you
It’s late
After hours
We laugh, we play
You tell me about your day
Suddenly we’ve managed to keep all
the bad stuff at bay
I sigh in contentment
You touch my cheek
I sigh again

Another cycle begins

The Wonder Dog

Our Bandit, my baby
My old baby
Muzzle gray
Eye milky
Fatty tumors on his tummy
Often sore, he doesn’t like to be touched
On his belly
Ears
Feet
He sleeps under blankets – always has
He sleeps with us – always has

He sleeps more and more
He growls and bares his teeth when John works on his eye
He snaps

Fifteen come October
He’s slowing down and full of life
Still stupid around cats
Tries to hump any dog from any angle
(Don’t worry bitches, he’s fixed)

Terrified of thunderstorms
He shows signs of PTSD during fireworks
As a puppy, he was “rescued” and bounced from family to family until he settled with us

Bandit loves long walks in the park
Catching squirrels with John
Car rides,
Bike rides
I hope he still likes bike rides
He tumbled out of the basket the last time we rode.
He doesn’t like his feet wet.

Bandit pees in the corner
We have an agreement
We take a walk if he doesn’t pee in the house
He shook on it
He’s peed in the corner one time since and was chagrined

Bandit thinks it’s polite to drink from the puddle before gingerly walking through it.

He defends us from the murderous postman daily
He protects me from John or anyone else that comes too close to my chair without petting him first

Bandit is always concerned about our diet
Sniffing and inspecting our mouths and food to make sure

He knows when I’m sick or hungover and stays by my side

He’s a wonder dog.

He has his own theme song

Bandit, the wonder dog
He’s a wonder
He’s a dog
He’s the wonder dog!