The Poetry Marathon

21~18

(Just be still

And listen~)

To the sound

My heart makes

When it flutters

At the sight of you

 

(Just be still

And listen~)

To the sound

My heart makes

When it beats faster

Only for you

 

(Just be still

And listen~)

To the sound

My heart makes

When it sizzles

From your touch

 

(Just be still

And listen~)

To the sound

My heart makes

When it skips a beat

Worrying over you

 

(Just be still

And listen~)

To the sound

My heart makes

When it cracks 

Finding out about her

 

(Just be still

And listen~)

To the sound

My heart makes

When it weeps 

Over losing you

 

(Just be still

And listen~)

To the sound

My heart makes

When it heals

Without you

 

(Just be still

And listen~)

To the sound

My heart makes

When it rejoices

That you are gone

 

(Just)

 (Be)

(Still)

And

~~~Listen~~~

 

To your silent life

Without Me in it

Hour 19 – Self Portrait (text prompt)

I am

Or at least I try to be

Magical, not ethereal, but rooted deep in time;

Turns out some of those routes are buried deep

While others are blocked permanently.

I have

A deep love of many things;

Cats and writing and wastes of time

And games and gizmos and water color –

Though I lack skill in most of them –

Love deeper still for thrills and creation which hones a skill.

I sculpt

And shape

And crush

And reshape

More often than I’d admit

My own perception, and your exception

Within my mind before they ever reach paper.

And perhaps my stories would be better worded if unhinged from fear.

But the fear is juicy and

Well I love juice

And take solace in twilight

Alone on a crowded shore.

 

Hour 19: Self-portrait (mini)

(A mini response to the prompt. It’s interesting and I definitely want to get back to it.. but not today.. I might start crying **sigh**)

SELF-PORTRAIT

Crooked nose, duck lips, gap teeth
Loose clothes, with flabs of cellulite beneath
Average height, stubby fingers, short nails
Gave up on make-up after all the diy fails
Yes, that’s me, huddled between books, chips and candy
Also, more than wine, I like brandy.

Just Be…Hour 19

Use this image and/ or the line it contains “…just be still, and listen” as a jumping off piece. Full credit goes to Shlokla Shankar.

( This whole experience of being tired and yet inspred beyond belief has ellicited this message expressly for you and only you. Read carefully for the words contained within the lines below are powerful and true. Meditate on the meaning and all will be done.)

Just be still, and listen.

Listen for the “kokoro” of your heart.

Listen to your soul.

It has a name that is quiet and true.

When you listen. You receive the answers you need.

Sometimes you shush it away. Afraid of its voice and accuracy.

Listen and you will learn the calling of your heart.

The song of your soul…

Be still and see if a world of wonder does not open up expressly for you.

Almost out the blue you will find what you need at the appointed time.

The right call, the right everything will fall into place if you’re steadfast and true.

Do not get distracted by false prophets who mirror your journey. You hold the key.

This is a solo journey unto the uncharted territory of you. Be still. Listen…

You will believe again in magic. You will know again what if feels like to be whole.

Let the words spill from your soul unto the page.

Let the canvas reveal all that you love and desire in one breathe.

Take time to discover the sweet reveal.

Like now, can you hear in the dead of night when the world is quiet prayers are answered and dreams may begin to reveal.

Find your rhythm, uncover the path.  A way is being prepared for you. Be patient my love. Listen first to you and then all your desires one by one you will see come true.

As you write the words on the page it is happening as you create, and sometimes that creation begins with you.

Quiet..be still and listen.

It will be done.

It is so.

Yes.

Hour 17

Had to nap for a little while. But I am getting caught up quick.

 

Books After a Quote From Neil Gaiman

 

Getting lost in words upon words

Was always better than getting lost in eyes

Words had an end

A certain plot to follow

And a story had to wrap up with some good

But people and their eyes

You didn’t know how that was going to end

Could never know if it would end well or not

Can never skip to the last page and check

They can hurt you forever

So yes I would walk through forests of words

Before swimming in depths of eyes

Hour 19 Self Portrait

Its late

My portrait is bleary eyed

I look old

My hair is unruly

I am cross

Discouraged

Distraught

I need sleep

I need rest

I need to be comatose

I am a computer

And a lamp

and a phone of video games

I have handed in my sanity

For two ibuprofen

And a bottle of water

Cat is restless

Husband is quiet

I am my own enemy now

These are the hours

The longest ones

Of the whole year

Counting down

Until my portrait is me

On my pillow

Sound asleep

 

“Paradise”

“Paradise”

Ah, my bed!

I’ve missed you.

It’s been a long day,

Have you missed me?

 

The sweet release of tension,

As I climb beneath your sheets,

The way you caress my head as I close my eyes,

And drift peacefully off to sleep.

Now if only,

I could get the boyfriend to do the same.

hour 19 reflections

i am a jar of mixed beads

filled with odds and ends

hoping for the needle to find a match

when i string pieces of me together

to make images in glass

fit for ceremony

Ribbons

I can’t breath
For the gauze stuck
in my lungs
Inhaling streamers
Exhaling tissues
It comes out of me
and hangs about my head and face
Even if you can’t see me
It’s a real miasma
The coursers of ribbons
Stuck around my face
Get stuck in its glue
It will get stuck to you
You’ll be saying it too
I can’t breath
For the gauze stuck
in my lungs
What a pretty sight I’ll make
When you cut into my lungs
Captive to you
You’re nobody’s friend
Invisible invader
Slipping asleep
I hear a far away voice
Over the wheels of the bed I’m on say
Between coughing
‘Oh Doctor, Please Save Her’
I’ve lost the will to fight,
I can’t cough anymore
Too many ribbons have been packed down my throat
What I thought was my last night
It’s the will of medicine to save me
I’d be on my knees if I was able to be

sacrifice – 19 of 24

she says she is sorry
while she digs her grave
medusa-thick with
clever snakes

she has six mirrors in every room
so she never looks at you
every day, she wakes up,
cold-blooded and picks
at her scales

she knows the doom
and has forfeited love
time and again
so that she only turns herself
to stone. if no other
woman wakes up beside her
enamored and available,
she only has to
worry about the
hardening of
herself