The Poetry Marathon

No Bread Crumbs, Hour One Image Prompt

No Bread Crumbs

She brought us out here yesterday,
we still do not know why.
Our plaintive cries echoed, lost, alone,
among the trees so high.

My phone had GPS, mama once said,
but no signal could be found.
We stumbled through the cloying fog,
our paths criss-crossed, round and round.

At last a clearing opened,
yellow lines on an asphalt road.
A beacon of light in the distance beckoned,
a strange and quaint abode.

Why did she leave us out here,
alone in the fog and cold?
No answer would be found within its emptiness,
no found drama would unfold.

Late Night by Pams

Late Night

When the moon is up

your sleepless voice wafts from

the little churchyard

I turn away

from the cold sheets to find

your warm letter lying still

beside me

the last one you sent

that April before

you died

and after those years

I opened the envelope again

and your sleepless voice

fell out

and burst into life

from the cold earth

blooming like Dafidils in the spring

to remind me of how you were

so full of life when I

pressed a Daffodil in your book

Hour 1

Maybe the darkness holds answers to the questions you have been searching for in the light.
Darkness is not scary… it is just absent of light.
You bring your light and accompany me in my darkness.
We will build a house and call it friendship
somewhere along the way one of us may mistake it for love.

Misunderstood or perfectly clear
our chaos dances as light and dark unite.
Blending in,
respite and care.
Love and forgiveness.
a dance of the souls
a revelation of the heart.

We get each other, we should be together

Alas, we are just friends.

Hour 1: Doom-scrolling an epiphany: the room rises to meet me

Doom-scrolling I nightly travel without moving
Wishing time away
Wishing myself away
Wishing me to be any me but ME
Doom-scrolling I saw a tiny house in the woods
Wishing myself elsewhere
In that place, that time, that life
That life – that me that would never be *me*
Doom-scrolling I saw a writers hut
Wishing myself in it, worthy
In my mind, my heart, my soul
Doom-scrolling I saw it rolling easily towards the house
Wishing things were straight and easy
In a place made to fit, made for ease, made for understanding
And in that moment
In knew
Desire and Rage and Sorrow and Hope
Longing and Envy and Sadness and so SO much grief
For that which
Is not
Was not
Could not be
For the shape of that which never was
All crystallised in the idea, the image, the video-reel, of of a writers cabin on rails
Taking itself home at night to a place that was prepared for it
And I pause and weep brief silent tears
And breathing in
Let out, let go
And scroll on

THIS IS HOW TIME ENDS THEM (hour i)

Oh, in these times of
multiple crossroads, the blind
now sees through the fog

In this cacophony
bouncing echoes of babble
the deaf hears afar

And they act like ghosts
slitting through the commonwealth
as visible ghosts

Yet, in these mean times
their harvests drain into seas
their foolery bare

As thoughts and wishes
actions and providence rise
to reset the norm

*Inspired by the text prompt

2023 Poetry Marathon — Hour #1 — Dawn

A shift oozes into the darkness

the gentle blending transitions quickly

illuminating forms and shapes

the darkness hides behind anything it can

It shrinks

But never disappears

A glowing orb stretches across the horizon

and blinds to look at it

It makes everything seen.

In the Woods

Later than we meant to, we pulled into the campground,

the lights from the guard gate glowing,

bright yellow lines painted on the roadway guiding us.

 

At first we thought no one was there;

then he lifted his sleepy head, chagrined,

and signed us in.

 

Quietly as we could, we crept to space D17,

our usual space having been taken by an earlier arrival.

Right on the lake, just as promised.

 

Pitched our tent in the dark;

peed in the woods – the bathhouse was too far –

unrolled our sleeping bags and crawled in,

faces toward the open flaps.

 

At last.

We were sleeping under the stars again.

 

Gena Williams

 

Pause (1 hour)

Life like love is on us if we let it be

It happens to us and never leaves us

If we let it, it can be never-ending

or it can press pause.

 

Love like life is on us, if we let it see

It inches on us and dwells with us

If we let it flow, it can unite oceans

or we can press pause.

I. gate in the dark

there is no one here,

in this gloming dim,

for me to ask of her or him,

where the road leads next,

why those leaving have left,

just mist-laden pines

full-circumspect,

whispering,

psithuring,

silent

and

still.

Early Dawn

The early dawn today

with almost no hint of light

is met with

slamming doors

binging truck

revving engine

reverberating motorized boat

cawing crows

squawking jays

croaking bullfrogs

roaring jet plane

inkling smoke

quieting worry