Best Runner Poems
(my part six entry into the crown sonnet started by Debs)
Ahead the bear in sudden motion stands.
I want to turn and run, but this is not
my way; I grasp my knife in trembling hands.
This fight will be like none I’ve ever fought!
The beast is greatly wounded; I can tell
by how he weaves, and I must take his life!
His neck I’ll strike. I breathe in; then exhale. . .
With all my might, I lunge out with my knife.
My free wrist he has clawed, but I am good!
Again and then again, I thrust and thrust.
Blood gushes from him as I knew it would.
I willed his death, for in myself I trust.
His warmth I’ll take by scraping fur from skin.
I bow before the bear to honor him.
Wile E. Coyote
would wear Acme “floatie”
wings so he could swoop from mountain bluffs,
but always crashed below to silent puffs.
The Road Runner,
like a tail gunner,
would down Wile E. into the deep
valley floor with his trademark “meep meep!”
September 5, 2021
Cleritoons Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Perched on point of rocky beach,
Leaning into salty wind I reach.
Stretching my being's limited cry,
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky!
With my soul these waves pound and scream,
Surging, splashing, crashing, against a dream,
Let the Heavens know my spirit's nigh,
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky!
Reach out beyond the blackened cloud,
Covering my stars with ripping shroud,,
Peal asunder fate’s hopeless sigh.
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky!
My spirit surges on tide and wave,
Foaming 'round rocks of dreams I crave,
Pealing, appealing, He will hear us by and by.
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
For Contest sponsored by Dr. Ram Mehta
There was a little boy so blue
amongst the pain of life he grew
He wondered where he'd be one day
so Satan helped to lead the way
He longed to walk home in the sun
but evil forces made him run
The Fallen Angel's sick revenge
was to employ children to avenge
He made those bullies cruel
"persecute this child to - and - from school"
No one to trust to teach him well
so evil led his pride to swell
There was a little girl as well
who grew up in a different hell
She was abandoned by her mom
her life was anything but calm
She was adopted by a rigid pair
but she longed for love and truth to share
Nobody seemed to fit the mold
consumed with lies that she was told
Satan also grabbed this chance
she ran through life without a glance
A player she could not commit
her soul-mate had to be legit
Now he's my husband I am his wife
I finally took that chance in life
For I was ready to forgive
but he had never learned to live
How ironic that these two should meet
I'm ready to ground he runs in defeat
Now here I sit back at the start
while my "soul-mate's" going to break my heart
He's still a runner and I'm here to stay
two people can't grow if one is this way
He promised his soul to me
but I am still one in this unity
When the heart feels the
weight of unvoiced verses,
as the verdant embers of Venus
follow the frozen warmth
and the permafrost flickers
of persimmon and cinnamon,
like poetry slipping through
tortured time,
I stand at the cusp of
withering wishes,
like the silver of Luna phasing
above the lamented lighthouse,
cemented with mistrust,
embedded with uncertainties,
afraid of the crashing crystals
cradling my claustrophobic psyche…
O silent scribblers,
scrolling through words of woe,
forgive my impulsive ink.
I’ve long been a runner,
fleeing familiar fickleness,
exhausted and drained
in the midst of melancholy
that lingers across forlorn pages,
like coldness amidst a summer breeze,
like darkness dwelling
in the driftwood dust
of dawning dreams and rising roses,
rinsed with regrets of musky musings.
I race through miles of solitude,
chasing nirvana,
escaping the shackles
of black-thorn springs,
where breathing seems
like a miscalculated
step to misery and interrogation...
I am a misread flame,
entwined with forgotten footfalls,
reveling in solitude,
where sonnets of love
and elegies of sorrow
no longer pierce my soul,
like rusted steel.
I drown in syllables of zen,
alone but not lonely,
silent but not silenced,
anchored in the aesthetics
of self-love and serenity,
hypothesized by
the hesitant galaxies,
as if I am the conceited constellation
that wanes when
storms stir my senses.
But I refuse to pull the stars
into the hellish arms
of vagueness,
so this is me
saving you from
sweltering soliloquies
while homing
fragments of lucidity on
my own astral avenue…
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!”
I am an amateur athlete running a race.
In earnest, I try to speed towards my goal,
My feet embracing the earth I tread
My legs aching, but careful not to fall.
I encounter many obstacles in my course
But I keep covering some distance day by day,
Seeing every hurdle, a challenge to jump over,
Conquering every trouble that comes my way.
Is not our life a race from birth to death?
Through rough and rugged roads, I run,
My face to the wind and my back to the sun.
Until I reach my destination, my journey isn’t done.
I am in no hurry and wish to run at my own pace,
Knowing the race starts right where it ends.
I focus my eyes in front, that I won’t trip,
And look up to God that a helping hand He lends.
In this ride towards my destined goal
I often stumble, but as I cover each mile,
Though with difficulty and hardship,
I feel like a victor and have reason to smile.
I strive to take each step as a rhythm in motion-
An attempt to push forward for a goal to reach,
With the pulse of energy coursing through my veins,
Not giving up, not allowing any breach.
_______________________________________
Never mind, you don’t achieve all your goals,
Or the winner’s trophy, you may not flaunt,
Keep running with all your might
That’s all what matters, I can warrant.
The hunter hunted; the past comes stalking,
breath now visible, I quicken my pace,
dusk has fallen, nature is now talking,
autumn's chill causes my heart to race.
My eyes scan dense forest from left to right,
I stop, gain my footing in the thicket,
only branch and crimson leaves in my sight,
owls call out, and prey upon the cricket.
Voices seem to speak from the babbling brook,
cold stones, worn smooth, waters of countless days,
eyes are everywhere, yet nowhere I look,
something is near, I cannot get away.
Struggling, my arrow kept at the ready,
my once stealthy hand, is now unsteady.
This was my original entry for Debbie Guzzi's contest - "A Crown of Sonnets"
(This is also the first sonnet that I had ever written.)
Incredible in nature, diverse in settlement
a home to the big five beasts
and a constant retailer to glory takers
of distance running in the global games event.
The scrolls of its historic make up
are chaptered by the hunter-gatherer groups;
their replacement by the agropastoralist Cushitic speakers
from the so notably called Horn of Africa;
then the Nilotic-speaking pastoralists
and finally to the migration of Bantu speaking farmers from West Africa.
Significant is the archeoastronomical sites
in the west side of Lake Turkana and in Migori county,
the awesome wildlife of the migrating great wildebeest,
the notable event of Princess Elizabeth’s climbing of its tree
just to come down from it as a Queen;
or the scary tale of two mad lions in Tsavo
are interesting outlooks even in its present day existence.
Tourism, flowers, Tea and Coffee are the beautifiers of its kitchen
yet gross poverty, child labour and prostitution defecate in its corners.
Sadly typical of a geography attributed to the dark continent,
but hope lingers, never giving up, with plans to hit visible strides
conspicuous three decades after the new millennium
setting a systems international unit for a crying baby continent
to become a competing healthy looking Adult.
It was rainy afternoon
We met at cafe
With our wet clothes on
Drank a cup of Latte.
Made a loud noise
Everyone stared us
We even didn’t care
How they looked at us.
So I grabbed my pocket
There was none
We saw ourselves silent
Decided to run.
We stood up on a table
Smiling around
We ran out from cafe
Whining at town.
We laughed stupidly
Though we were chased
Like those crazy kids
Who run in a maze.
April 21,2015
scarlet runner beans
twisting high in tree branches—
hummingbirds visit
Ó April 18, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Sweet Flowers & Hummingbirds (HAIKU)
Sponsor Sidney ~ LeeAnn
http://www.seedlibrary.org/catalog/?seed=scarlet_runner_bean
It’s been too long since I sang the song
Of the runner down the road;
Losing cares to wind in the hair
And a river that always flows. Winding
And wistfully, like a lover
In the dark; aorta racing, footsteps
Pacing ‘round the park.
Stirring up old memories
Of fitful, youthful years;
Despite the pounds and pounding now
I’m grateful to be here. Able still
To find a rhythm, a cadence in my bones;
Though older now I feel somehow
Much younger running
Down the road…Tomorrow’s
Not quite here yet and today’s
Not disappeared;
But the sunset I see running free
Is enough to help me steer. Home
In the right direction where
I lie down and rest;
It’s been too long since I sang the song
Of the heart beat in my chest.
If ever a frailty should be rued,
then my emotional resistance of
those who hold my affection dearest
to them, is the sin that equates my soul
with the essence of a Hitler, and condemns
my name to the highest degree of infamy,
While my heart longs to be understood, my
fear of abandonment dictates my legs to gain
distance as each loving gesture is offered in
repetition, Persistently they reach, only to be
disregarded, and embody me within my shame,
Friends and family alike, endure the coldness
of my introverted haven, staring into my eyes
in hopes of disconfirming the projected emptiness
that flows from actions, words, or lack of both,
As they hurt from me, I scream for them in silence,
A deafening continuous stream of soundlessness,
that elevates my withheld pain from ache to harrowing,
Yet they can only assume the contents of this confession,
For my words go directly from mind to paper, and
never see the eyes of those who need to know this tenderness,
To express such powerful statements and risk the familiar
sting of neglect or abandonment once more, is a fear that
surpasses every shameful tear, haunting my thoughts as
a reminder that lives on insomnia, thus I remain devoted
to a faithful vow of solidarity that keeps me sane and sheltered,
Moving at a constant pace, racing against my own fright, holding
every term or phrase of endearment within, and running from a
past that will not be relived by my decree, Alas, with mortal lungs,
mechanical legs, and a heart that lies somewhere between the two,
I run,
for and from,
the feeling I desire most....
Life Runner
Life the kite,
The kite in sturdy wind
Of life game to win.
Wind of life,
The kite runner calls for
To fly high and soar.
More games of gripping,
And loosing line
To soothe the endless –often uneasy– journey
To strongly live the game.
Last night, I awoke drenched in a cold sweat..
At the finish line, a lei placed around my neck.
The cameras clicked, oh, how the crowd roared!
The joy, rumbled to be once again, adored!
I had ran hill and dale, to be at the top.
Tired of wheelchairs, this just had to, stop.
The winds of the Pacific, cooled my brow.
The past was dead, the time to live was now!
12/27/2021
Panagiota Romios