The Poetry Marathon

Majesty

I am trenches in the ocean,
Deep sea breath,
All black and brine, no rot,
There’s nothing there to rot.
I am storm clouds out at sea
Mountains unimaginable
Trailing wind and waves,
Titans but mere tales to me.

I am lightless monoliths
I am the heat
Older than your landyoung fire.
Older than your whisper songs.
I am moonlight glinting
On the waiting weight
Of water, breathing tides.
You are fledgling.

I am darkness in your wake
Cascading,
In the dusk between the surf
Returning, like a dream
And if I die,
I am island-building.
I am mester stoor worm
And I am majesty.

Face

I never planned past the 1st hour
Time keeps moving until it STOPs
Public admonitions of public thoughts
when every little Twitch is a riddle.

Muscle memory forgets what it’s chasing
while the conscious mind is just making up stories.
But the hive keeps everything
in its proper place.

whats real whats real whats real whats real whats real whats real whats real whats real whats real whats real whats real whats real whats real

Snow

I feel nothing.

Pain subsided.

Numbness filled instead of heat or cold.

I want to sleep.

 

The Headwaters of Hawksbill Creek

The Headwaters of Hawksbill Creek

The creek, hidden in a low valley high in the Shenandoah Valley,

Is a place of seclusion and ambiance made especially for me.

I watch the hikers clad in t-shirts, shorts, suntan lotion, and sunglasses

Amble up the well-worn trail to the summit of Hawksbill Mountain

While my fishing gear and I bushwhack our way down to the secret spring.

The journey, filled with thorns and pickers not to mention a few slips and falls,

Was well worth any discomfort for both the silence and beauty are immense.

Slowly, I step into the cool, crystalline water and watch it move around my feet.

As I tie a Mr. Rapidan Dry size 16 on the line of my fly rod and adjust my

polarized sunglasses waiting for my eyes to adjust to the shade,

I watch the water and soon spot a Brooke trout calling my name.

Hour One : Reflections (A Nonet Poem)

 

 

Reflections

 

I feel her eyes upon me, her gaze

so intense it invades my soul,

searching darkest corners for

skeletons forgotten,

secrets left untold

lies to expose.

She seeks to

destroy

me.

 

****A nonet poem is made up of nine lines, where the first line is composed of nine syllables, the second line of eight syllables, and so on to the final line, which consists of only one syllable. This gives the appearance the poem is slowly vanishing.****

Women of your dreams

Hour 1

 

A Mouth full of lies,

A soul full of covetousness

Tending to block your screams
Hitting your flesh
Pushing you to the ground
Compelled sentiments
Soul chained up with emotions
It Could never be love
that left you traumatized
Giving up looked easier
As the escape route had traps
But Proving them wrong
Seems essential to break bars
the moment you stood up
Gave love to your soul, it deserves
Dragged them away
Those who obstructed your dreams
Disappeared every abuse
that used to break your heart into pieces
Moment you terminated
regretting their negligence
Unapologetic for being strong
Transforming your fear into sparks
You fixed your crown
You became the women of your dreams

– Aditi Dixit

Mexico’s White Nikes – Hour 1 Prompt

The air is wet

But its not really raining

The parking lot is a still lake

Dampness seeped into his shoes

“Why would anyone want to live here?”

Shouted to the clouds he knew all his life

Water

Drip. Drip.. Drip…

I must’ve left it open: the faucet.

Awake, yet asleep. Must be my mind-set

Immersed in water, still not any cleaner.

From the drips emerge a flood, wave of emotions clouds my mindset

Maybe because I’m soaked, I guess.

 

Drip. Drip.. Drip…

I hear it clearly

I’m nobody, but I’m everywhere

Anybody home? Ahoy there!!!

Still no response. Now reality births fear.

My words flutter weightless through the air.

Still, I refuse to fret.

 

Drip. Drip.. Drip…

I should turn that darn tap off

but…that was 2 hours ago.

I’m in a body of water

Aching, wading through a mist of uncertainty.

Craving for a state of ingenuity

Yet, still not wet enough.

Could this be just water?

Mountain Stream

As the world continues to burn
our rain has been more
than abundant
The run-off ditches on
my woodsy, walking route
have been full
and once altered the foot path
as a reminder of water’s
resistance to human design
The troughs filled with swaying
bright green grasses
triggered memories when
I used to backpack and
hike a trail
that would often parallel
a free flowing
stream and I felt
at least for a short time
I belonged to that
moment

Hour 1 -Selkie’s Lament

Hour 1

Write a poem about being in water. It can be about swimming, the shower, a bath, the rain, etc.

Blub… Blub… Bubble, Burst

Rising to  the surface

With water all around

It’s difficult, like fighting syrup

To keep your head above ground

The pull of cooling water,

the current, the sound,

The peaceful nature of its pull

Follows you around

To the point that when you leave

You can hear it still

Blub, blub, bubble, and burst

A ripple and thunder,

But that’s not the worst

Someone saw you as you left

And stole your silken suit

The fur which made water friend

You can no longer go down deep

Blub… blub… bubble, burst

To the depths of Selkie’s song

To fight the witch’s curse.

You’re stuck above with human hands

Captured by an ignorant man.