The Poetry Marathon

Too little…

“Running out forever,

It was never truly enough,

Very precious time.”

Crystalline Leaves – Hour Fifteen

Icy clear and heart shaped too
These special leaves speak me and you
A perfect pair through imperfection
Providing moments of reflection
The humble start that we embraced
The difficulties we have faced
And like the pair, we still stand tall
All for one and one for all

A focal point, with white beneath
The leaves themselves serve to bequeath
A life of memories in their wake
Of hopes and dreams and steps to take
A glimpse upon a future’s past
Of journey’s laid barren to last
With no facades and no regrets
Brought to light lest one forgets

The crystalline leaves before us now
Shine brightly filled with light and wow
A prism ’round their edges shown
The greatest times our lives have known
Icy clear and heart shaped too
The leaves reminding me of you
Beauty and poise, pristine and pure
Despite the climate we endure

Prompt 9th Hour Cream of wheat

Mama poured her inner sweetness into it

she was intentional in creating warm memories

she added just enough sugar and butter

to give it the perfect taste

I loved cold mornings in elementary school

It didn’t matter cause even when her heart was breaking

she took care of us

providing us with combed heads, clean clothes and something warm and tasty to eat

She grew us up right

Never letting us leave her sight with an empty belly

Firestarter

??? – Hour 14 Prompt

What the hell is that?
I’ve never seen anything like that, have you?
Take a picture of it.
It looks wet.

Touch it.
You touch it.
Get a stick.

Should we call someone?
Did it just move?

What the hell is that?

Strength

Her strength

Lies in her fortitude

As she seeks

Resolution

 

Her defiance

Is fierce, if not

Considerably peril

 

Her determination

An innate ability

To stand in her conviction

 

Her virility

Is her potency

Hour 14 (2022)

I saw a spider
crawl out from a hole
next to your headstone.
It was probably venomous.
It was probably you.

Pet Fish of the River Umpqua

Here fishy, fishy! Come here, fishy…
That’s right. Over here, babycakes!
Aw, so sweet, and slimy,
curled up against my leg.

Pretty little fishy…
want to be my dinner?

On the edge

Hour 8

On the Edge

the walkers on the edge
balance the turns

they are the stilt walkers
chair builders
aerial ribbon weavers

they make joy out of chaos
make mundane magical

the audience watches
the impossible done daily

when the impossible flies
the walkers on the edge

are the transition from tricks to magic
when reality fades

magic is born
making joy out of chaos

Not A Gigan Hour Eight

Having never heard of the Gigan
form of poetry,                              Naturally I had to contact old     Professor Google                               See what this was all about so                 I could try

Regrettably and with the deepest  distressing humiliation,                              I must now bow out of Gigan hour number eight with numerous numbers and widgets that sound like           docents or couplets

Or strings of numbers repeating         then each reversing                   Confusingly twisting my mind can’t do it having Dyscalculia