The Poetry Marathon

Stardust clouds
my mind when I contemplate
beginnings and endings. Both seem impossible
from where I stand,
in the middle.
Unable to imagine not existing
before or after this self I know now. Will I remain
and know who I am? Or forget everything
and dissolve back into stardust?

the silence and stillness
crisp, cold air skims
the blank slate
everyone else still sleeping
no footprints or dirt beneath
revealed by shovel or sled
a cover of snow
guards the momentary peace
at the dawn of the day

whisper light intention
a cup of tea delivered bedside
remembered dates
kind words in the shadow of disappointment
forgotten mistakes, transgressions overlooked
details remembered, small gifts retrieved
during separation
a hand extended
as breath gets heavy and tears swell
a gentle touch

the sudden gathering of darkened clouds
end the casual meandering of the afternoon crowds
a clear day interrupted by an unexpected shower
people scatter for shelter under flimsy jackets,
folded newspaper, storefront awnings
except for one girl who stood still
watching raindrops hit her clear, plastic umbrella

she pushed through the double doors
and made her entrance
every head  turned to see her arrive
dozens of pairs of eyes
glued to the bodice that hugged her ribs
her thighs embraced by thick velvet trousers
the air stirred, electrified and tense
a steady pace as she strode down the center aisle
leapt on to the stage
turned to face the audience with an effortless pirouette
a tip of her top hat and a gentle bow
brought the gentle roar of applause
and she shouted with a flourish of her gloved hands,
let the show begin 

the light and constant roar of the highway
backdrop of sound, inescapable and unstoppable
the wildlife that has adapted and is over confident
squirrels, adrenaline junkies playing frogger on every street
the deer, looking bored and unimpressed as you pass them
along the trails
you can’t hunt them within city limits and they seem to know it
the less glamorous and more timid wild residents wait for cover
of dark
surprised to see you, if you’re out late
darkness is never complete
street lights leave clouds glowing orange and purple
in place of true darkness
the metro rumbles by at too slow of intervals
another search party or important person flies by in helicopters
that disrupt the old school TV broadcast signal
planes criss-cross the sky with contrails
power and hustle fills the streets downtown
while ineffective politicians let sinister ones chip away at justice
parades and memorials greet tourists with wide pebbled paths and pale, marble palaces
of knowledge and bureaucracy
tent cities fill in empty spaces in parks and under bridges
majestic, tragic, divided
a capital city reflecting everything wonderful and terrible about a country
encased in a fractured diamond of filled-in swamp land

the goat cheese vendor brought
three baby goats to the farmer’s market today
a crowd huddled around the little pen
set up in the parking lot
a young woman asked if she could hold one
the answer was yes
she could not contain her excitement
flustered and squealing, she handed
her friend her phone and took Luz
into her arms

Claiming to be misunderstood,
the legendary Roc speaks out for the first time
to set the record straight

journalist: so, why is it that you’ve come forward now?
the Roc: I am just so tired of the propaganda and the lies. I want the truth to be heard.
journalist: Do you not block out the sun with your wingspan?
rhe Roc: well, that is true.
Journalist: Have you not lifted an elephant high about the ground and then feasted on it’s broken carcass?
the Roc: This is also true.
journalist: It sounds as though you are merely confirming the legends.
the Roc: typical. you are twisting my words. I never intentionally killed an elephant.
journalist: why lift it off the earth?
the Roc: I like to be helpful. There was a wide river, I was trying to help the elephants across. I will admit something no one knows about me.
the journalist readies pen and paper with excitement
the Roc: I am a bit of a butterfingers. Or maybe I should say butter-talons.
journalist: Are you saying dropping the elephants to their death was…
the Roc: a complete accident. yes, yes, I am. And I only ate their carcass clean because I hate to waste food.
journalist: 3,258 accidental droppings?
the Roc: I haven’t counted, But if you say so.

You’ve heard it straight from the beak of the Roc. Not only is he a murderous monster, he’s also a liar. 

the impact of my efforts begins to show
staring into space more than anything else
not sure what i feel
it’s not physical labor
yet, I feel my energy has been sapped
I am delirious and feel my mind in a fog
can you tell me what time it is?

paper lanterns
hold their fine skeletons of light and air
growing in the garden
network of veins
a structure, delicate and brittle
allowing space for magic
seem close to death
brown and crackled
headed towards decay
yet, paper lanterns
carry the recipe for rebirth