The Poetry Marathon

Hushed and Haunted Rhythms

There is a certain nightly hour when an eerie hush cushions the earth.

All becomes dormant, all becomes quiet

Except

The little sounds thrive and grow and pulse and move and shake and quiver.

Close your eyes, turn off all the lights and listen to their stories.

The manic march of the wall clock; tick-tock, tick-tock

The determined deep vibrato of the refrigerator

The soft subtle “swooshing” of the ceiling fan; still on a focused mission to drive away the heat

But listen closer; go deeper within

Cup your hands to your ears

Beyond the heavy footsteps of your boldly beating heart, listen for the other rhythms.

The ones you usually ignore.

The cacophony of caffeine cruising through your veins at dangerously high speeds

The brawling beasts in your belly; escapees from a banned mosh-pit

Your long laboring lungs like violent waves crashing.

The longer you listen, the louder they become.

Harder to ignore

Sometimes sneaking into your waking world.

 

 

 

Miss Havisham

I read her name

At fourteen years

and I thought she was

A fool—crazy.

 

She stopped the clocks

The night her heart

Shattered. Wore lace

Everyday. Insane.

 

But now, it makes sense,

Why she would want to live

Waiting. Wishing. Wondering.

I finally understand.

 

My clock stopped

September 9^th.

I’ve finally “Crushed all hope,”

As you told me to do.

Solitude

Solitude is something I crave all the time,

a perfect chance to stop and calm my racing mind,

too many people create too much noise,

solitude helps me to hear my own voice,

it helps ground me to the things I hold close,

books, writing, my cat, and my home,

all essential elements to have by my side,

I don’t require much for my solitary life.

Writing in Solitude

1AM

I’m here with my pen

waiting to write

waiting for ideas

and inspiration.

Looking for a word

to start writing.

Something powerful

and pretty.

It’s late, or early

my brain is tired

the gears are still working

just slower

til the sun rises.

 

measured

i just can’t let go of the teeter totters the times when they were out of balance because you left and i flew to the ground because even gravity doesn’t know what to do without you for a moment in time you balance me and the weight of the world is alright

Wind chimes

Eyes closed,

lucid with the flirting sound off wind chimes.

Climbing our spirit’s lattice,

weaving healing from the inside.

Wind engaged, teasing,

encouraging between the two, a light fandango.

Sweet rhythm’s, each one conduit,

Brings with each melodious note,  new breath rushing through it.

Songs of the angels,

Lullaby our ears.

Bring about joyous resonance,

releasing with its presence, blessed tears.

 

 

Silent
You fancy me mad
Because I find
Words

Too precious to waste on small talk

Trapped in my mind
Words

Live to be written

They breathe
Walk around

Forming mountains
Commanding armies

Still you fancy me mad

~.%

peace or not?

I sit by myself.
Quietly.
I feel my breath move in
and out.
I want to shout.
To scream.
To feel emotion.
To feel something.

I look over and realize he is asleep.
Sound, fast asleep.
How can he do that? And so easily?

I’ve never felt so lonely
yet people know us as a couple.
A happy couple.
Who laugh and share.
What a joke. (on me.)
This makes me laugh out loud.
My giggle does not wake him.
Did I want that to happen?

A couple of years earlier
I would never have dreamed about this situation.
Either wanting it or being in it.
How did I get here, anyway?

Now I am trying to find a way out.

The Knockers Club

Oh yes! We all have a knockers club

Some knockers are real and others

Found in our minds called the

Voice of self-doubt

 

Life is a sequence of choices

Do we listen to their negativity and put downs?

 

Or do we rise above them?

Do we let fear take control?

Or do we take the first step?

A tiny little one at first

Then a wobbly first walk

Until it turns into

A running stride of confidence

Where no Knocker

Can catch you!

As you strive towards your chosen goal

 

Don’t be disheartened by the Knockers Club

For they do indeed

Serve their purpose

 

The voice of self-doubt

Both real and imagined

It’s the fuel, the steam

You use to reach your hearts desire

 

Thank you to my Knockers Club

If it wasn’t for you

I possibly wouldn’t achieved

What I have today

 

You bring a smile to my face

And a sense of achievement

Each time I have the opportunity and

The reason to prove you all wrong

Both real and imagined.

parenthetical

(s)he wants a lover
he wants a friend
but h(er) parents do
not know
what to call h(im)
at family dinners
at Sunday brunches
or on field trip attendance forms
all of h(is) friends think that
(s)he was so pretty and that
(s)he could have any boy
that he wanted
if (s)he wanted him
but he just wanted
a friend
to hold
h(is)
hand

 

__ar.

(poem on transgenderism. needs much revision. was just a concept, i didn’t fully draw it out)