September
Sapphire
Evenings
Peacefully
Trusting that
Everything is
Miraculous.
Love Believes and
is Empowering.
Restore faith.
“Two sides of the road”
Along the quiet, Of quite a night... I see a light in-between, That keeps the two sides of the road alive. Somehow, it seems to nod us to go, Perhaps, a stranger’s “Hello”. It soon becomes clear in a vision, A tiny house all alone. In the middle of nowhere it stands, Without a fright, under the moonlight. The blinking yellow lit just enough, To give us fuel for a deep cuff. Like climbing a mountain, An Upscale terrain. But we’re not there yet. We’re not yet at the beginning, But sure nearing the end to start anew.
#PoetryMarathon2023 #HOUR01 #24HRSCATEGORY
Hour 1 – Checkpoint (image prompt)
Checkpoint
Taking turns sleeping and driving
the cool darkness is welcoming –
foreboding
thrilling
Tall pines shadow the road
shadow our escape
shadow our past, passing
around us
As we slip beneath the radar
freeing, finally
Until
The Checkpoint
Its warm light deceiving
silent already, we hush
holding our breath against hope
Minutes are hours, our
documents now
in the hands of fate
Hour 1 Poem – Scars
Inspired after Diana Khoi Nguyen line – The past draped upon us like a cloak
They are hidden
They are pain
They are words
They are lies
They are truths
They are secrets
They are protected
They are you
Scars
Uncloaking
“Uncloaking”
the past draped about us like a cloak*
heavy and wet from the years
the smell ~
both of home, and the strange scent of fear
of letting go
of change
laden my shoulders
with a weight I can no
longer bare
slipping it off
*line from Selkie Weaning Young by Diana Khoi Nguyen
The Dark Abandon – Hour One
The Dark Abandon
He lives alone in the dark abandon
Dim lights and trees surround
An empty shell of a heart in tandem
With grief and loss abound
He cries at night, although none can hear him
No moon, no stars, no sky
A mute, alone, an unwitting victim
Of a long, painful goodbye
He stares outside in the dark abandon
The fog obscures his view
The mist around flooding in to dampen
Every memory he knew
Alone, he longs for a different answer
An alternative path to trudge
But here it is, a terminal cancer
To be the Devil’s judge
He rests alone in the dark abandon
And prays his soul to keep
Yearning for some way the Lord will stand in
Bringing his soul to sleep
One day, there will be a light before him
As the cherubs welcome him home
But now, this test in the dark abandon
Prevents his sweet shalom
Dark, Darker, Darkest
A spiffy ranger station
centered on the entry road
(inky trees looming over
what should be theirs)
glows with artificial light
welcoming and reassuring us
human interlopers —— though
no one in charge is present
at this late hour.
Poem for Hour One (1/24)
Lazy revolutions at thirty-thousand feet,
Waiting for news of lives since past,
Catching only whispers of scent through carved bone.
Long since considered a monster,
With great, black cloak,
And death reeking upon odd, bald face.
Ugly thing, sitting like plague across deserts,
Lurking in wait for some unfortunate end,
Poaching the stories from bone.
Each grim reaper with flesh-tearing intent,
Respects duty and questions not moral optics,
Apprehensive only just at the sight of a carcass, alive.
Cowards remain ignorant to this stewardship,
Fragile humans quaking under fear of mortality,
Continue cycles of hatred toward things un-understood.
The grim reaper rids the growing world of disease,
Finds a thankless welcome for necessary work,
Unbothered: gratitude feeds not the stomach.
Perfectly suited for orderly profession,
Paving the way for the world to reclaim its carbon,
The Vulture remains unchanging,
Stoic,
and beautiful.
The past draped about us alike a cloak, after Diana Khoi Nguyen
1
the past draped about us like a cloak after Diana Khoi Nguyen
poems breed poems, as we breed children of our own and throw them to the future
as we hide ourselves in the accumulation of story, of facts and images assembled and assessed and sewn and knotted to camouflage confusion and intent
as we invent ourselves again each day in the old knowledge of speech and touch and scent and self justification
as we stand together and alone at the edge of an empty platform, toes and noses over reach the yellow line
as we throw ourselves into tomorrow, and hope
P cherrett
Starting late
Hello poets- just logging in now. Hope this late start doesn’t set the tone for the whole gig!
have fun.