The Poetry Marathon

If you please

do the Swiss seek out

American cheese?

It’s true: I love you

Take my hand—we’ll navigate

This life together

by this light held slowly

the universe opens up to the heart of all that is

in the soft hands of darkness

waiting for dancing to stop

so the fullness of this moment can be realised

for those who have forgotten that

when we slow down the songs of crickets

they sound like opera

and when we hold the light of fireflies

they show us the universe.

r. l. elke

Rolled in her favorite blanket

Cozy and dreaming with an

Occasional yelp and yip

She sleeps not ready to

Greet this warm morning

I could start her day early

Call her to the kitchen

Almost time to walk the yard

Relieve herself and take a sniff

But yet she sleeps beyond

Just a pup though patient

With my hourly scribbles

She’ll never know how sacred

Her presence has been to this

Tired old gal writing more

Poems

Where are we going? How are we getting there? Who are we and how did all this happen?

These are the questions that Philosophers have been asking for centuries.

I, however, was more concerned about my beer bottle opener. I was sure that if those same learned gentleman were here today they would be asking the same relevant question. How do we open the beer?

Imagine questions about universal truths taking second place to a bottle of beer. But the practical realty of the situation, recognized by all informed gentleman, was that a thirst must be quenched before world issues could be tackled and that required the opener. To any practical mind that truth was elementary. And thus another agreement was reached that transcended the ages.

My bed is the portal to adventures anew
Where I travel to worlds
I never knew that I knew
Time has no meaning and space holds no fear
Dates are irrelevant
Once I am here
Falling in gaps between words on a page
Scrolling across gadgets
In this more modern age
Or voices implanted direct to my ear
All story telling helps me simply … disappear
Under the duvet snuggled up tight
Conjuring visions
Deep into the night
Sleeping with excitements
Rifling my brain
Lost in weird dreams until daybreak
Then tomorrow night … it’ll start all over again

The smile

which she once wore

has gone unseen so long

even she has no clue where to

find it.

(A cinquain is composed of five lines with a syllabic count of 2/4/6/8/2.)

As i sweep the rooms , water splashes around, leaving a trail. I follow it around, a dog at its tail. There are no fine bone china to be broken by bumping on to a table, i curse my good luck as i mop away the trail of dust lingering under the chairs. There is no way this ends well. I bend down to look at my reflection in the water now drenched by all my dust. Cusping my hands into a wish, i dip it in that which held me so freely. Splashing it over my now blood-shot eyes, i find the tears i was looking for.

Night Thoughts

The walk is both short and long

One moment still part of society

Next lost in the world

Water rushes in the stream

The stars shine overhead

And I let myself think

Away from the noise of the world

I walk to where the wind turbine is

The only piece of the world here

I watch it’s slow spin

My mind matching its speed

And I know that it is too late

And too early to be here alone

But when else should I come here