Running Poetry XXVI

I seem to be going through a lot of stuff when these were written. While I can’t say that I remember all of them, I do remember how I felt back then. Running was fun for me. It still is.

Preoccupation
Tangled mind-heart connection
Limitless playback

Death’s on hiatus
Danger came from all angles
Angels intervened

A hot potato
Burning core, legs, lungs, and heart
I should just drop it

A near game over
No right to indulge sorrows
Blest to be alive

Strength training made me
Considerably less strong
At slow paced running

Effortless could mean
Not trying at all so I’ll
Kill this guilt with sleep

Needed a moment
To vomit last night’s dinner
Restart yet again

A bit top heavy
Feet extended awkwardly
Ended abruptly

Tempo plus striders
Plus intervals plus fireworks
Plus milk equals FUN!

Twenty was the goal
Over-paced on first 5k
Ended with fifteen

Countless pairs of eyes
Stared through the evening rain at
The last bloke running

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Foxholes

The blasts drew nearer
Each one intensely jarring
Both to earth and core
He felt his courage waning
So down he did go
Down to his foxhole praying
Prayed to anyone
Anyone who’s listening
Despite the long years
Of shamelessly denying
He fell to his knees
Relentlessly bargaining
For dear life and limb
Unaware and unknowing
That the Redeemer
Is hope and love unending
Should he meet his end
With conviction a-blazing
And goodness intact
Heaven will be awaiting

Lightning

It was 1 am
Yet a loud buzzing
Woke excitable dogs
And irritable neighbors
On and off then on and off
The power surged unsteadily
As if unsure
A grand light show
Of sparks and glowing lines
Drew screams of horror
From a growing audience
And I stood there trembling
Weakly calling for help
As my life flashed
In tandem with the lightning
Before my eyes at 1 am

Owls

A feather
An owl’s feather
And a memory
Of an urban legend
Of a nightly court
Stalking the night
He remembers his childhood
He remembers his parents’ deaths
He remembers his attempts
At playing detective
He remembers his failure
He remembers his fear

A crash of glass breaks his reverie
Three owls land before him
Not the nocturnal birds of prey
He would occasionally see in the woods
These are men donning owl masks
Men armed to the teeth

He defends himself
Their deadly art circles him
Drawing blood with their talons
He breaks them
Yet his breaking does not hinder them
They shed no blood
These men donning owl masks
Were already dead

He recalls again the urban legend
His childhood fears
His parents’ deaths
His failure
His fear

He shakes off the memories
And steels himself
These owls and their court
They have trespassed into his city
They have trespassed into Gotham
They will pay the price
He will break their talons
He will bring the court crashing down
He will teach them the justice
He will teach them to fear the bat

Death

No confession
No Easter
He said in a thick accent
Sin is death
Easter is rebirth
I nodded without comment

Those long weeks of drought
A spiritual illness
Death holds sway in me
To ignore this is madness
I can’t leave this be
My soul aches for forgiveness
There’s no room for doubt

No confession
No Easter
Sin is death
Easter is rebirth
The words persevere within
Sets fire to a year of sin

Mourning

She thought they had time
Time to fight
Time to right
Time to heal
Time to feel
Time to sow
Time to grow
Time to love
Time to live
But no
Sadly no
His time had ended
Woefully unintended
And now it is time
Time for regrets
From the what ifs
And what could have beens
Time for mourning
Of the bittersweet memories
And forsaken realities
Time for anger
Directed out
Misdirected in
She thought they had time
But all she has now is time