Short Marathons Poems

challenge ignites me
muscles rebel against me
marathons no more...

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Dedicated to the Boss, Bruce Springsteen
Song writer of greats like Rosalita, Jungleland, and Bobby Jean
Still working on a dream, forty years strong  
His amazing, live shows like marathons more than three hours long...

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Like the marathons of my
  forgotten youth

I now shy away from the 
  longer poems

Sprinting restlessly anxious
  through the waning light

New moments explode
  —the old voluminous tomes

 (Flight To Las Vegas: January 22, 2016)...

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Good morning little Jail Bird
The Sun’s about to rise
Locked in your room, bars still up
Sleeping away your life

Run marathons everyday
But haven’t stepped outside
Life is crazy, beat you down
Rubbing your dry red eyes

Lay your doubts at the door
The darkness comes and goes
When our faith is tested
Our endurance grows...

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My husband ventured out today,
His virus on the wane.
He only took the briefest walk
But didn’t much complain.

For he was thrilled (and so was I)
To see him well enough
To leave his snug cocoon and have
The strength to strut his stuff.

He won’t be running marathons
And this I underscore
Because, in truth, he wasn’t running
Marathons before....

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One of my favorite movies         Is probably a bit obscure        They Shoot Horses Don`t They       Dancing marathons for the nation`s poor         Hours turn to days       Round and round we go        Stop and your out        In this motion picture show       Not a western           As the title would make you think          Watch and be told         How far the human spirit can sink...

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I may not always be at your side
but I will always be on your side;
I may not be there to protect you
but I will always defend you;
I may not always walk with you
but I will never run away from you;
I may not always understand you
but I will never close my ears to you;
I may not have the speed to sprint with you
but I will endure in your life's marathons -  
you will always be my friend....

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Allotted Time
Miracle Man
4/6/2024

Audible days have become as whispers,
and nights often resemble marathons.
Where once his days seemed to be etched in gold,
time’s ravenous appetite rendered bronze.

Like fruit, from a bud man starts to ripen,
taking life for granted his days descend.
Viewing hinder he encounters “what if’s,”
but his time once spent he cannot amend.






...

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The bones are loud and heavy
they don't like exercise anymore.
The treadmill chugs along
while vertigo topples unready toes.
Nothing can push these bones along,
time has filled them with concrete,
the rubble of marathons once run.
A young woman sprinting effortlessly
beside me smirks my way
as I stumble through a flat-footed mile.
Maybe she cannot see her future yet
while mine is clearly
painted on a wall I will soon hit....

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A seed has been planted in the minds of man,
Where comfort's blanket is taken, & no longer the plan.

Confidence, now shaken, seems fragile to the core.
Lengthy marathons are but a memory, not like before.

Schedules & venues, blown to bubbles now, how can it be?
While performing in solitude, less the crowd & family.

While short-lived, there's a residue, leftover & unseen.
As players test those filters, wondering how they're clean....

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My pen's been on a long break 
A needed long break
To rejuvenate 
To cultivate 
To gather 
In preparation of the soil that is the heart and the mind and the body 
The soil, that is the whole
Long journeys to remember 
New people to love
Forgotten members to laugh with
My writer's pen is ready to run marathons
My writer's pen is ready to go for morning walks
My writer's pen is ready to stand and breathe all the fresh air coming my way...

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I will win this race I think forgetting that my body does not run.
I will dance my jeans off I believe forgetting I have a torn meniscus.
I will do a double triple quadruple skate move at the Olympics I brag.
My ankles groan, they are filled with arthritis now.

I will climb that mountain so high!
My lungs laugh, reminding me of our asthma
I will win all the marathons in the continental USA
Unless this frumpy dumpy flesh body holds me back....

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A policeman named Abele Bibka
Never ran marathons in Korea
   Won Olympics in Rome
   Took a gold medal home
His country then named, Abyssinia



________________________________
You can't make up a name like this...
Abele was in the military guard of
then-Emperor Hailie Selassie. He
won the gold medal in 1960, back 
when most Olympic athletes were
true amateurs, training in their 
'spare time.'... Do you know what
Abele's country's name is today?!...

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Think about the exertion
The schedule insatiable
The orgasmic rounds
He has to make
Greasy, idle hands
Come calling
Sleazy wild glands
And their sweet appallings
Every night
Every day
The sordid sprints and marathons
In every indulgent way
How many tits
Can one guy fondle
How many cocks
Can inspire a rondle
The King of Sleaze
Has begun to wheeze
So grant him respite
Before those horns of plenty
Fail to connect or sustain
His wicked signal of sin.

(2/16/19)...

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