The Poetry Marathon

SPIRIT GATEWAY

 

PROMPT #1 – Hour 1

One way in, one way out

The cries of my family echo through dread forests

filled with rough graves

If I step on the road I will have to walk in

One way in, one way out

To leave is unlikely, many never

for those who are in, barricaded and staunch

listening to mortar pound their apartments

reducing to rubble cities of the ancients

In an effort to commit genocide

In an effort to wipe out all culture, all language, all men

Tanks rumble on the road of my family

I am stuck, gatekeeper of souls

As they try to leave I arrest them

weigh them against a single feather

and watch them fail.

#Prompt 1 – 2023

Troubled Wings

A darkness of ravens
Harbingers of evils
Past and present
Encircle the night
Battling archaic enchantments
Awaiting a new dawn

[Inspired by the image]

Survivors

He saw me
He saw me with scars over my eyes
Gauged by those who would keep me down
He saw the hemorrhaging from a thousand cuts
He saw the weight of a life in service
To a band of emotional thieves
He wrapped a cloak of healing around my battered being
Listened with great intent
And stayed because he could see the layer beneath
In time I could see the outline of a man with a looming past
Aching and reaching for his soul’s lifeboat
As the waters of doubt swirled and threatened
To take him down at last
Paddling together, We reach the shore
Of a partial island with scarce supplies
Only enough to sustain what life was left

1 soggy

rain again brings up

metal roof tappings

muddy moments near the door

woodchucks moved away

 

overgrown green madness

visiting flowers now seen

leaves reaching and waving

over windows this new view

 

tall lean pines appear sad

as lower limbs lose color

hoping for a new year

with sunshine lasting

An Anaphora for Frank

“The past draped about us like a cloak.” Diana Khoi Nguyen

I don’t want to fall out of love with you.

A chapter of my life

I don’t want to end.

It’s over

you’re gone

and all I have is this empty page.

My emotions spill across these lines

like blood spewing.

Ooze out my metaphors

as my heart races.

With a syringe of similes

I can express my secret crush

now public.

Your body now disintegrates

inside a box in the ground,

but your spirit is everywhere.

I wake and vision your face

deep eyes and thick hair.

Closing my eyes

hear the sound of your voice

raspy fresh as this morning’s dew.

I don’t want to fall out of love with you.

This letting go chokes me,

I resist tears.

The hardest part of greatness

is it’s ending.

The most difficult ending

is said without a goodbye.

 

 

For Chana

You look so pretty,
even unconscious.
Your life has been been complicated
by choices
your own
and others you depended upon.

I am hoping heaven’s gate
looks as welcoming as this image.
leading you home with a well lit,
clearly marked path.
Some of your life
seems to have not had a clear path.

Childhood was interlaced
needs unmet
by fragile parents,
and foster parents
you were unprepared to trust
or befriend.

This image would give you the
“just for you” entryway
that might appeal.
Go into that light, trust that heaven
has a crowd of loved ones hiding
because Jesus will hug you first.

The Past

Do we
Can we
Drop our past
Let it drop
Like a cloak
Silkenly
Silently
To the ground
Shed our skin
To be reborn
cracking out
Of our dry and dusty
Layers
Do we
Can we
Become new
By ridding ourselves
Of old.

Coming and Going (poem 1)

One goes,

Another comes,

Life goes on,

 

A seed sown today

A plant grown tomorrow

A memory from the day someone was lost

 

At the edge of a field, kneeling down in the grass

A form of remembrance on his death anniversary

As mother and daughter shed tears on their yearly visit

Grief

I
now know
what heartbroken means

Ireland
my seventeen
year companion passed

In
my arms
breathing her last

Eyes
unseeing no
longer sparking life

I
clutched her
to my breast

I
cried tears
my heart breaking

Her
lifeless body
laid to rest

Ireland
forever in
my heart – RIP

(Hour 01) 10.30-11.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: adapting a line/image from Diana Khoi Nguyen’s poem “Selkie Weaning Young (Redux)”

finding them hiding

i don’t know how Rueben
knew they were there
but he did somehow sensing

he’s always been good
with live things
bringing home frogs & birds

& countless other creatures
to the safety of his heart
before always … letting them go

awkward realisation
when did my little bro
become my teacher