The Poetry Marathon

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Each night I go through my routine
Check Facebook, play Candy Crush,
Wait for my man to kiss me goodnight
And sit in the dark, waiting for sleep to approach

The darkness envelops me
Unless you count the numerous nightlights,
The red glare of the tv’s on/off button,
And the glow from the LED bulbs that never seem to fade

They just glower above me
Looking down on me, letting me know that they see
They see, those three lights, what the darkness tries to hide
They see, those three lights, what my mind avoids during the day

Sleep doesn’t come but my prayers do
For you see, those three lights also remind me that Another watches as well
The Great Three-in-One, those three lights, aren’t as harsh
As the other lights that constantly seek to dim my shine

It’s a Frost-y night, and just as he had things to do
Before he could even think of entering the evening’s rest
My miles to go, my promises to keep
Must be traveled before I too can sleep

After Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Miles to go before I sleep,
lives to run before I close my eyes.
I see the mothers, they weep
at their children’s bedsides.

The day has come to an end.
Why fix what was not broken,
you take my life for granted, not for what it meant.
But our conversation is over, you have spoken

words that gutted out my vocabulary
and I have cried the tears like spears,
does this mean you are my adversary?
Listen to my words, don’t you hear

the sadness that looms behind the corner?
Are you like that horse who thinks it queer
to park afar from a farmhouse? The farmer
disagrees, ploughing the fields without a soul near.

You want distance,
I wish for you to sleep in my bed.
You tell me to stop my resistance,
but now my pillow is all soggy and wet.

Whose woods these are I think I know
or do I?

I’ve always loved this poem.
It’s the only one I remember from grade school years
and can quote lines from even today
though I found it on my own.
They didn’t teach poetry at my school.
The gentle rhyming
the sing song nature of it
speaks to me.

The imagery takes me to this forest
these woods
and I am solitary and at peace for once
taking a break
watching snow gently fall and build
like I used to at my grandmother’s house.

I loved to see the deer make an appearance
in the field that lay before the trees
as they watched and searched for food.
I hoped my uncles didn’t maim or kill them.
They seemed like such gentle creatures
only wanting to live.
And I just wanted to pet and hug them.

Whose woods these are I think I know

my friend Candy

posted her
Not for sale

sign here

ten months before she died

i should have known,

that evening of our twentieth high school reunion

when she didn’t show up

and no one knew her address nor number

that I could have looked behind

the ancient beech and oak

on

the banks of the Delaware

on Riverside Drive

The Trenton historian said

that that oak was the

Last Rebel Standing

one of the few remaining trees

that witnessed

General Washington and his troops crossing the river

for the Battle of Trenton

the birth of our  nation

Little Candace, with her five year old clairvoyance

picked the rebel tree for her rebel heart

hid there, placed her Jean Nate scent there

And cried her eyes against the ancient tree’s arms, it’s shedding bark absorbing her sweat

She didn’t just die in her sleep in an inner city tenement

she is there—within the wings of  the guardian owl
sentinel of the lone canoe

content warning: none! just a nice pleasant little diddy about the stars :3

I know little about constellations
but their stories are, in some ways, also mine.
It is true that across all the world’s nations,
the stars in the sky align.

The world spins, and the constellations change;
season by season, north and south divide.
With each new season comes a new range
Of constellations each hemisphere eyes.

If we can equate constellation with connection,
then perhaps we can reach out to each other.
Sometimes all a lonely soul needs is affection;
in old poems and songs, every man’s a brother.

So to all my siblings, near and far:
I see you and I think I see the truth.
When you look to the sky and see the stars,
know I’m looking at them too.

Enamored of the woods long before
I came to know, love Robert Frost

As a boy I knew contemplative pull of
woods ‘lovely, dark and deep’

I had trod same, worn paths in summer
not until I was well an adult did I discover

The seductive, enveloping character of
winter woods, watch them fill with snow

Monochromatic pine-green and white
quiet cacophony of flakes fluttering, landing

Listening to your own breathing, seeing it –
wisps of you becoming one with the woods

Those woods remain in mind lovely, dark –
deep in nooks of memory, lodged in my psyche

As always, they have their promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2022
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

The moment before the sun rises.

The second before …day breaks open your all.

Thoughts that ring true.

The moment the clock strikes 12.

Moon signals.

Noon signals.

Smokescreens.

I no longer look for time. Time seeks me.

So connected to the screen our eyes are now fraught with seeing double.

Angel numbers pop up if as if our eyes are magnetized in pairs.

11:11… 1:11…2:22…3:33…4:44…5:55…

It’s now all about synchronicity.

Whether you believe or not evidence is there.

To be seen and not heard. It’s absurd.

Yes we see it all happening in real time.

Sunday T. Saheed, the author of Rewrite The Stars, a recipient of the Nigerian Prize for Teen Authors award, 2021, is a 17 year old poet and reviewer. He has his works published/forthcoming on Rough Cut Press, Brittle Paper, Salamander Ink and elsewhere. You can reach on Instagram @poetsundaysaheed

My friend, do not fear what lies ahead of you
Do not let nightmares of impending doom
Mar your sleep of the just,
Let not the world’s disdain and disowning of you,
Become a dreaded refrain, whispering in your ears,
Remember
Between the woods and frozen lake,
Between hell and highwater,
Between the good and bad,
Between love and hate,
Between possible and impossible,
Lies possibilities; simple and stark
Primal and like wisps of golden-tendril dreams
Remember between date of birth and death
Lies not just an immaterial dash, but
Golden balls of opportunities
Go, grab em; all that you need is
Courage to look beyond those wild woods
And the stoical frozen lake
And your heart in the right place!
__________
Credit: 6th line from Robert frost