The Poetry Marathon

Hour 4

** She’s so clear **

The gently piano keys play.
The green fern leaves compliment the glossy blue piano.
The wind blows making the leaves dance.

Teenagers dance to the beat of the music.
The parents with mason jars of alcohol.
Camouflage shirts and cowboy boots.
She is standing in the background.
Hanging withe her friends talking and laughter going on nonstop.

He sees nothing but her in his eyes.
Even with a crowd of people on his left to his right.
Everything is blurry but she is so clear.

The only light is that one dim lantern
That brings out her bright blue eyes.
The view of her is more beautiful than the beach scene in the background.

~April Sue Kraniak~

Then I was none

My mother told me
I was a twin:

Once
upon a time
there was
a little girl
and
a little turd.
The little girl died.

Hour 3

The page opens to snow on a field: boot holed month, black hour/ the bottle in your coat half vodka half winter light./ To what and to whom does one say yes?

My next line:

Slowly one reaches in the coat pocket to take a longing sip of the vodka.

Hour 2

**Broken and Sacred**

She’s on her bed listening to music.
Crying.
No one knows why but she is.

Broken and scared.
She saw a glimmer from your closest.
She opened the door.
There’s a little girl holding out her hand.
“Grab my hand I can take you where you belong.”
“What?” She said confused.
“I know you’re alone, confused, and depressed I can take you where you belong, but you have to take my hand.”
She takes the little girls hand.

Broken and scared.
Her head phones left on the bed.
With her soaked pillow.
Her mom comes in.
Sees that her daughter isn’t in the room.
She checks the house isn’t anywhere to be seen.

Broken and scared.
She’s following this little girl.
In this deep darkening place.

Broken and scared.
The two girls were never seen again.
Ever again.

~April Sue Kraniak~

Hour 1

**Days**

Bright mornings.

Dreary nights.

People are sleeping.

While I’m awake on this longing night.

~April Sue Kraniak~

Unwelcome Intruders

They were arguing on the walkway in front of my house.
I was in my home, but I felt like an intruder,
So I closed my door so I couldn’t hear,
I only watched through the front window.

Still a voyeur
I was ashamed of my spying, as if I were in their private space
Instead of my own living room.

He screamed and pointed and rubbed the rubbed the back of his neck.
She cried.
He turned his back to her and
That’s when he saw me watching.

I froze.
The anger drained from his face and
He turned back to his wife, embracing her and
Guiding her back down the street
Back from where they came.

They were gone, but the anger, embarrassment and shame remained.
I closed my drapes to keep them out
But they came in anyway
And lingered.

Unwelcome intruders.

 

Gathered in Thought

Hour 18 – 11:00 PM

 

Somethings about to happen

I put so much in writing a classic

Stick to my guns of what I know is magic

Emphasis on bad behavior and over dramatic

Scenic photos of the East Coast and Mid-West tragic

Metaphors are never real life accidents.

They keep us gathered in thought; rather then action

– J.C.  ©

 

a depressing poem

i have built a wall around me

and i am living from within

wrapped myself up tight in the busy recesses of my own mind

set myself on auto pilot and i’m slowly checking out-

waiting for the walls to crumble.

tired of air seeping in

but dutifully and uncontrollably i inhale it-

tense, sweet, stifling-

i breathe anyway-

sometimes holding the exhale as long as i can

before i have to draw up again-

suck up that cool breeze called air-inhale the life i need so desperately-

i breathe anyway.

i have tried to contain the demons marching around my heart

calling me into the darkness-

i have pulled myself up out of the mire many days

and resurrected the smile i used to carry-

keep in my pocket like a ray of sunshine and hope

but the tide came too far ashore

and pulled the sand out from under my feet

now i sit contemplating how high this wall has grown-

how deep this pit has become-

but i breathe anyway.

i have tried to call in the calvary-

to claim my stake with the romeos of the past

but each one faded into the sidewalk and got covered over

with busy lives and untold schemes;

carrying in their backpacks little pieces of my heart-

some owning bigger chunks than others-

silently retreating to their own guilded corners of the world.

did they care at all?

do they even know that i’m inside these walls crumbling piece by piece?

oozing into the deep dark earth like time-

disappearing way too fast –

and i breathe anyway.

i have looked to friends-

to the faces of my sister/friends who think i am the life of the party-

who keeps them laughing when i’m broken inside;

i have screamed it from the rooftops-

gone banging on doors in the middle of the night

crying for my sanity-

pleading for the calm quiet to begin

but the peace snubbed its nose at me and waved its middle finger-

and look at me-

i breathed anyway.

holding onto a psychotic illusion-

a fantasy gone wild-

living under the guise that one day i’ll be happy

and free with no need to breathe at all.

Centerfold

Hour 17 – 10:00 PM

 

It’s a centerfold for real

A life among stars, stages, and spliffs

Where we get confused who’s real and who’s a gift.

Touchable in our presence, captivated by the moment

We are unique in a sense cause we own it.

More precious then precious metals, more sacred then gems

Underlying is a sense of being on top till the end.

– J.C.  ©

Nightmares.

I scream my name out to the canyon walls. At least, I believe it’s my name. It’s been 2 months 3 weeks and 5 days since anyone said it.

But it’s not like I’m counting.

It bounces from the rust-red rock and twists its way through the night air, startling a flock of birds from the trees and getting lost between the sound of their squawks and flapping wings.

Even they can’t stand to hear its jagged sound.

Night seems darker when you’re in it alone. Like the light of another human being can scare aware the looming presence of the nightmares hidden around each bend.

But the nightmares come.
They always come.
And I’m the only one left alive to come for.