Best Marathon Poems
My fingers ache—
muscles weary, spent, and sore.
Sweat soaks through my singlet.
Eyes grow heavy, begging for sleep,
to repay seventy-two hours denied.
Yet each piece I write ends in his bin.
The sponsor never seems to tire
of casting them away with mean regards—
a cross my restless heart must bear.
Would it not be better to run the race
on a track,
not behind a screen?
I could have run twenty-seven miles
in under two hours—breaking the record—
instead of these seventy-two with no glory.
There’s a method, even, in this my madness:
twenty-seven contests in a row,
each confined to forty-two lines,
echoing kilometers run on marathon tracks.
Yet my ink has dried, my paper stays blank.
I restrain my heartache deep within,
lest it spill its ache across my face,
where anger and disillusionment dwell,
hidden beneath facial creams and wry smiles,
till after work removes their weary veils.
Each day, each burdened weekday,
and each weekend, each joyless weekend,
I do my laundry, eat my meals,
beside the stubborn silence of this paper—
still waiting for its first word.
So tonight, I beg you, Sleep:
take away this sleeplessness.
For poems are better written in dreams.
Leave me there till I craft a masterpiece—
one no sponsor could ever deny of glory.
Today the New York Marathon's
Become a non-event.
The runners' opportunities
To race both came and went.
At first the mayor said it's on,
Despite the storm's destruction;
And then, last minute, pulled the plug
And gave a new instruction.
The racers coming to New York
Most likely were confused;
And those who paid for flights and rooms
I'm sure were not amused.
It's sad that all that training
For this race has come to naught,
The miles of pavement pounded
On each sneaker that was bought.
But certainly the mayor
Could have hurrried his decision.
His turnabout last-minute call
Has earned him great derision.
The city wasn't ready yet
To up and celebrate.
The mayor should have known that,
But discovered it too late.
10/20/2023
Those tanned, shapely legs of mine,
where have you gone?
No longer have I the ability to run!
Nor feel the glorious, salt water spray,
from my beloved, San Francisco Bay!
That kissed my sweating, dawn face.
Those foggy morns, the busy hands of
time have erased.
Some other body now, in its place?
This ghost of a runner,soulfully does state.
Who took away my youth in a dream?
If so, nobody heard a scream from me,
For now…left with joyful memories.
I am sitting here, composing soulful poetry.
Is this really how my life ends?
Stationary, on an internet device?
Prefer to be the woman on the run.
Than enduring ….no earthly fun,
Return me, please, to the “Bay to Breakers Run!”
With takeovers bankers are set
But Capital One's is a threat
Owning Discover
As surrogate mother
Makes Visa and Mastercard sweat
2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 7 Poetry Contest// Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Contest Judged: 8/15/2025 5:31:00 PM
( 2nd Place )
Written: August 10 , 2025
The morning fog low over the empty streets,
soft as a whispered promise.
My shoes slapped the pavement in steady rhythm--
each step a heartbeat counting the miles.
I had yet to run—and those I’d left behind.
Streetlamps stretched shadows across brick walls.
Long, crooked shapes that seemed to shiver.
A dog barked somewhere—
sharp, sudden—
and I remembered even echoes can run far.
I passed the river, silver in the first light,
leaves drifting like tiny paper boats
carrying laughter from summers I can’t hold anymore.
Each puddle mirrored my worn determination,
the uneven steps of a life I’m still figuring out.
At Mile Seven, my legs shake like a leaf
but my brain knocked around a long way—
to faces I love, faces I’ve lost,
half-light I trailed too heavily,
mornings I never perceived.
My hair was windblown.
Mixed with the scent of rain and earth
and the faint hope that keeps moving me further.
I ran—not for medals, not for applause,
but because every stride stitched the fragments
of life into something that felt whole.
When the horizon caught the light--
it wasn’t a line at all.
It was the journey itself—
miles abaft me, ingrained memories,
and the quiet truth.
I ran just find myself
and somehow--I did!
2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 12 Contest // Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Contest Judged: 8/31/2025 8:56:00 AM
( 2nd Place )
Written: August 29, 2025
I did not come here to sprint.
I came to gather the pulse of the road,
to feel the gnaw of silence
against the bones of my resolve.
Each step is a revolution
against tiredness,
against the voices that murmur quit,
against the burden of what I once carried.
The horizon never hurries.
It waits, steady as a metronome,
marking time with the breath of dawn,
reminding me: endurance is a kind of prayer.
What is a marathon if not memory
unfolded across distance
the faces that hailed,
the hands that let go,
the griefs I refused to bury?
Still, I run.
Not because triumph is certain
but because the road demands witness.
Even the broke beg a compass.
I anchor my heart to the road,
woven mile after mile.
The finish is not some banner
it is the hour I see
fractures still hold weight.
And so I move,
one breath louder than surrender,
forty-two kilometers of fire
coursing through my veins.
If I falter, let it be forward.
If I fall, let it be on the line
where the road has already
turned me into flame.
2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 6 Poetry Contest// Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Contest Judged: 8/13/2025 9:42:00 AM
( 7th Place )
Written: August 10, 2025
I run the miles deep within,
a subdued race, an unspoken intent,
devoid of spectators-- no finish line,
just breath and heart, both entwined.
The shades lengthen along my path
but still a soft dawn finds its way turning into gray.
Stage by stage a tale, flaw, and goal,
rushing, steady flow.
The road stretches far, but I endure—
a counterfeit concealed, strong and pure.
through storms that howl, nights that weep,
I keep the pace, I am awake.
With each mile that challenges my thoughts,
I find a surprising wellspring of strength.
not in the roar or triumphant--
but in the stillness, I transformed!
A marathoner not of feet,
but of the unflinching heartbeat,
so when the world drifts apart,
I run the internal reach.
Very brutal by nature my mind can confirm,
Poetry marathoners need a cap laced with wisdom,
To grace the desired seats of battlescarred warriors,
The skillet must still burn hotter than Hades.
Surely Marathons are run with endurance and persistence,
So is this one, for my goals are lofty.
Though I lack great speed, power, and technique,
My oak must stand deep-rooted through the storms.
My drafts litter bins as torn scraps of junk,
Haters blot the ink of my masterpiece.
Negativity weighs on my frail shoulder,
Yet my resolve stands steadfast on aching feet.
But no one can deny good poems their glory.
Like smoke they escape all traps and dissipate,
Clutching throats to make their presence felt.
All I need do is write—and hope.
The songs that masterpieces sing
Are heard by the deaf and sung by the dumb.
Their rhythm washes away the dust of imperfection;
They heal the soul and soothe the mind of sorrow.
So, my pen, fill yourself with ink of perfection.
Write on this paper I lay before you—
Another poem no sponsor can deny the top prize.
Write before the last drop runs dry.
MARATHON DROPS
marathon drops jazz
over leaves, roof and human
spray awhile but later flood
oozing lightning rush
like smooch bearing tragic trance
nature's warn to mankind faults?
(c) Olive Eloisa
9:08 pm
September 19, 2014
***This a tiny poem describing one condition brought about by typhoons to our Country: Philippines..
Sponsor Dr.Ram Mehta
Contest Name Choka Me
6rh place.. :)
Are you ready, set and go
Never look back just go
The way is rough
And the journey is tough
Sometimes you cough
Because the air is not enough
Sometimes for your survival
As the world is waiting for your arrival
The journey is far
Like the distant between the earth and the star
But step by step you overcome them one by one
Turn every stone
They will start asking what have you done
Some will say you are crazy
But in the end they find it amaze
Today many lines you had cross
To be the boss
Was your goal in every race
by increasing your pace
To overcome the first person
To last person
To overcome the last person
Was your mission in every season
Today you are shining like a gold
Your story will be told
For generation to come
You will be welcome
In their heart and soul which hold
You, where you wild never get old
As among the greatest
And the best
Your name will be in the history book
For generation to look
As their inspiration
To do their best for their nation
Many years ago when we were all young, we dated looking for a mate. Two weeks after high school, my best girlfriend was getting married. She wore a beautiful white satin wedding dress, I was in her wedding in a pretty pink lace dress. The next year I was in a beautiful white lace dress, she was in my wedding in a pretty pink dress. Then came a fall wedding and I was wearing peach, the bride once again was in a beautiful white satin dress. I have been to more weddings than I can count, many pretty dresses now hang in the closet. Each couple could not make it over the finish line,when things got rough~they just quit. Here we are with another anniversary on the way, it has been a marathon race to the end. We will not quit, we will finish to the end or to death us do part.
Date Written: 6/26/2022
40th Marathon For 70 Year Old
Almost in disbelief, I reread the headline of this one particular online piece of news….
A 72-year-old Retiree Just Ran His 40th New York Marathon, screams the title of this news…
Reading on, Dave Obelkevich, he has done the most consecutive New York City Marathons…
For his 40th milestone run, he professed his training has been less than ideal ahead of this marathon..
For this sprightly distance runner, even a hamstring injury and a calf injury were no deterrent…
He aims to again complete the world’s largest race, this hugely popular New York Marathon run..
“I won’t run fast but I know I can finish”, he simply declares soundly his mission in this latest marathon…
Being realistic, he hopes only to finish within a set time to extend his streak of finishing marathons……
The visuals that backed up this news article showed runners amassed in numbers, nothing fake…
Of all shapes and sizes, the news article did state, runners local and foreign, they are here to participate.
Smiles aplenty, hands waving and high fives were in ample evidence of how times have changed…
From little band of dedicated runners to one of a huge big family of athletes and of amateurs….
Reading on, Mr Dave kindly elaborated, today the runners are in running more for the finish…
A great many more are there just to be in the running, never mind how you finish, so long as you finish…
I could feel the exhilaration and the stupefying elation of a successful run should I be there to finish…
I should think the exhaustion pales in comparison to the euphoric sensations when the run is finished..…
After 40 marathons and miles after miles of pounding the tarmac, Mr Dave is still a sensation…
With his spirit, zest and thirst for marathon runs yet unquenched, he awaits for the next edition..
How I wish one fine day, I too can meet Mr Dave the Marathon veteran of 40 New York Marathons…
Like he said, everyone wish to be there and to take in the sights while running the NY Marathon…
I know I will not be able to keep up with such a running veteran, never mind his ageing years…..
But just to run beside such a veteran over a distance, wow, what a privilege to be there….
Just a tribute to a genuine running man
http://www.star2.com/people/2015/11/03/a-72-year-old-retiree-just-ran-his-40th-new-york-marathon/
Morning; I awake
with stiffness in my
lank legs.
Yesterdays long run
has taken its toll
on my
ungrateful, ageing
body.
Limerick : Once a Time-Keeper at race Marathon
Once (a) Time-Keeper at race Marathon
Decided to keep time on the run
He kept looking at watch
Runners forgot to watch
Ended up in Tower of London.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
He approaches me with want in his eye,
“Didn’t we just do this?” I bid with a sigh,
I contest that we ventured a marathon mile,
His gleam is so perfect with a downward smile.
How can I resist such a simple request?
The joy beats deeply in his quivering chest,
It is me who he chose to share private time,
My fruitless resistance is a borderline crime.
Excitement is growing as I no longer fight,
I rise to the occasion and turn out the light,
His tail and wet tongue provide doting talk,
I grab the red leash as we go for a walk.
……………………………………………………………
Contest Entry: It Was a Beautiful Affair
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
Results: 6th Place