The Poetry Marathon

Cathy

Despite your current battle

with the dreaded big ‘C’,

you continue to amaze

not only me,

your courage is inspirational,

your joy is a surprise,

you’re very good at hiding

the fear behind your smile,

honestly my friend,

you’d be well within your rights,

to be a little selfish

and focus on your fight,

but your overwhelming instinct

is to help others where you can

where you get that strength from,

I can barely understand,

I find myself almost grateful

for the journey you’re going through,

for it’s dissolved all the walls

and we see the true you.

 

tactile

metal bones will ache you
he runs his forefinger across the
spine-length scar and you cringe at
the first touch of recognition

Blonde

She was blond

Held a camera

Was beautiful

Her face like a movie star

Or a model from the 70’s

She was interesting

She was smart

She was new to me

She was new to you

 

I feel gutted

Hiking through the woods, I use exercise to help heal a wounded heart.
Sweat takes my mind on a vacation from useless rumination and pain.

I stop for water.
Right before me, the earth has shared her scars with me.
Yet I see only inspiring beauty.
I plop down to ponder.

I feel gutted is one of my favorite British descriptions. So literal.
So powerful.
I study the huge reminder before me. A gaping hole from previously hard-packed stone.
If Mother Nature could get better, I can too.

I plow on ahead…
hoping I will be Mother Nature for the next observer in need.

The Ballad of Meowleen the Airship Pirate, pt. 2

One day Meowleen and her crew
Heard about a lab all new
Top-secret project of the miceSo it must be something really nice
“Fire up the engines, raise the steam!”
Was the pirates’ order from Meowleen
She waved her tail, looked at the sky
This heist would elevate her high
Among the pirates of Kittentown
Oh, if only she had known
What she soon will come to see
And everything that’s soon to be

 

 

The Quiet of the Church

As I sit and wait on the others

I wonder Did I miss the email?

Where are my fellow writers?

I know it’s summer…other plans?

Some are out of town

But there’s nearly 40 in our group;

So I sit and wait

Then pick up my pen and start to write.

Half an hour goes by

Still I’m here alone;

I start texting them

“Where are you?” I ask.

I pick up my pen again

Get involved in my storyline;

What?  Another half hour?

The time has flown by.

The texts start coming in

Different reasons, same answer;

Yes, I miss my writing friends

But the quiet of the church…is inspiring.

11. Someone else’s father

Someone else’s father

 

I took a road trip once, with Death

trying to hitchhike in my sister’s car.

A broke-back Chevy, neon orange

from its former life, highway patrol car.

We should have turned right. Taken

the exit to Annapolis. But the maps

to that life were written somewhere else

and we took the turn for nowhere.

 

She drove us down a guttered street

no lights, no houses. Boarded windows

like blind eyes watching. Listening.

Stubborn as only two sisters can be

we kept on going. Drove to the end

of the road. And with our backs against

the wall, we spun 180.

 

Too dumb to be afraid, we did know

to be careful. So we pulled over

stopped at the familiar golden arches.

The tired man my father’s age walked

out to the car, showed us the way home

and warned us: white girls don’t come around here.

Go home. Death, that sly bastard, rolled his eyes.

Found someone else to ride with.

Thank you, someone else’s father. Thanks.

 

Ten times a man

You embraced me when you knew I’d given all that I had- and triumphed.

You gave me your precious time, unequivocally, when you realized I didn’t expect it- but needed it.

You encouraged me when your friends shunned me as inadequate.

You understood that I needed a friend above all else, and offered me your friendship.

You confided in me, because you suspected you could.

You are so clever I am frequently awe-struck; in the next breath you are just my friend again- yet you claim to be lacking in humility.

You value the love others give to you freely- helplessly, and bother to show them that you do.

You care about the whole world- genuinely care!

You have inspired so many by having the courage to be you.

You are brave and honest about your emotions even when you know others might ridicule you on account of your sexuality.

I hope you know, I wouldn’t change a thing about you.

Higher Self

Hour 11 – 4:00 PM 

 

I’m more then a poet.

I’m more then a friend

I’m elastic, a listener, something to transcend.

A higher self I’m in search of in the end.

Have mercy on all these who have just began.

– J.C.  ©

City Haiku

Dark roads, wet with rain
Ships pass me, music floats by
Dawn will never come