The Poetry Marathon

Dust, Wind, Dude

All we are, is dust in the wind dude.

From ashes we came, to ashes we will return, why not in the mean time, try to spark something?

Why should we be ashamed of the light we exude if we are all responsible for lighting each other’s way.

No light, no matter how great or small, is without importance.

We’re all in the dark somehow.

Whether it be because of doubt or uncertainty, we all need a little light.

Because before ashes are reduced to their final state, they are at one point embers.

All of us dancing in unique patterns, following the wind to our own melody.

So light a fire wherever you go, spark within another the burning drive to never quit wanting to learn and grow.

For if we are all one day reduced to ash and dust, why not help another find their way home?

Haiku

Treetops sway slightly

As winds trickle through branches

bringing flames closer.

We are..

Fate comes
Wait accompany

Words die
Hearts beat

Time stops
Life moves

Day strives
Night arrives

Doors close
Eyes open

Dreams break
Faiths shake

Light shines
Dark rules

All this time we remain fools…

Daisy

You asked me to tell you my favorite flower.

Daisy, I said

I can’t look at a daisy without feeling happy.

 

Wanting to make me happy,

You picked a bunch of daisies and gave them to me.

I looked at them and then at where they once grew,

And I was sad.

Specter

Spicy whispers, intoxicate the room.

A sultry aromatic breeze continues to loom.

Candles lit, steamy desires, intense, hotter then any fire.

Silhouette should have been her name, oooohhh what a frame….

Silken skin,

Worn natural with no shame.

Primal intuition yearns to find its freedom.

Hungry to be fed.

Seeking to be indulged by spirits of sweet nectar.

Only to realize the object of your yearning is merely a specter.

 

 

 

#9, The Fire Tetrahedron

There’s a fire. You rush out of bed and take another layer of rubber off my already bald tires. I wonder what you would do if the tire blows. Probably steal your brothers bike to get there.

Fire-fighting hero. Can’t get enough of the rush. Come home smelling of peoples burning lives. Houses in ruin. Possessions turned to ashes. You have been lucky. No burning bodies. No death smell on you yet. I dread the days to come.

Your soul is beautiful and tender. You’re my sweet, beautiful love. I don’t want to see their corpses reflected in your eyes. I am selfish. They don’t matter to me. You do.

I tell myself that when we have children you will keep your promise. You will quit. I know it isn’t true. You are brave. You have to prove it to him.

Father.

Fire-fighter.

Fighter.

Fire.

Failure.

 

But only to him,

Never to me.

That’s all it takes. Fuel, heat, and room to breathe.

Hey, Joe

I could use a cup of liquid alertness:
That mainstay of diners
That elixir of truckstops
That centerpiece of the
Family breakfast table where it once,
Rich and dark as grandma’s bedroom suite,
Competed with printer’s ink
For olfactory primacy.

Conduit

I am a conduit

For the Light that flows through

Another node

In the connection of All.

 

I am instrument

Of universal energy

A carrier of Love

That flows through all.

Awake

Fairies trip across her dreams,
Wizards cast spells,
Magical creatures cavort,
Good always wins,
And love never ends.

When a child,
She believed, really..
Believed.
Even when it wasn’t logical,
She just knew.

And then she woke up.

Ninth Post: Not Tea

Not Tea

I’m English, we solve everything with a cup of tea,
I joke with a smirk as I pick up my drink.
I breathe it in, and then frown a little,
For this drink is not my tea.

Darker, stronger, but just as hot,
Pungent smell and aftertaste.
This I have tasted before –
But this is not my tea.

Another breakfast drink,
Not English by a long shot.
Full of flavour, energising for the day,
But not always my cup of tea.