2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 12 Contest // Sponsored by: Mark Toney
( 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.
It’s pumping…
What’s pumping?
It feels like it’s exploding.
Why?
How?
Nothing galvanizes me anymore.
The atmosphere is calm,
conducive
but not in my mind,
where thoughts sprint like fugitives,
and I cage them behind a silent smile.
I hide under the pretense of joy,
while the weight crushes me slowly.
Night comes too fast,
and the day… it stops smiling.
I keep trying my best,
clinging to the fragile hope
that one day I’ll see the light
the light they swear waits
at the end of the tunnel.
But is there even a tunnel?
I’m not sure anymore.
Perhaps it’s just darkness
disguised as a promise.
Still… I’m hopeful.
If not today,
then maybe tomorrow will be better
for me,
and for you.
But sometimes I remember
it’s all in my mind.
Just thoughts…
spilling out,
loud enough to drown me.
In buses, on bikes, as passengers in Ubers
Faces blur and deeds collide.
Sprint down streets, stuck behind the slow,
always in passing I see stories unfold.
Quick check behind in case of cars,
None in sight but there's a beep.
Cyclists are invisible to pedestrians with places to be.
Taxi beeps at taxi and beeped at hops out
To harass the beeper with a wagging finger.
Apology, apology, I demand apology!
Delivery driver on a monster truck e-bike;
Near miss with a clueless tourist.
It's all too much for one man to keep.
I try to write them as they happen
but seconds pass and the moment is gone.
Passing, always passing, these moments with people
that we'll never know
but for a second,
laid bare on their face is themselves
whole and complete.
Each day has a second to be remembered.
Gather them, pick them, stuff them in your pockets.
Each day has a second for us all.
ever really knowing
if I'm coming or going
meanwhile
what am I to do with you
as somewhat akin
under the skin
yet now quite skint
but taking a sprint
and just for fun
making a dummy run
if I may say
it's leave or stay
quite the conundrum
of all things the sum
but when it's said and done
of the be and end-all none
for should you ever think of me
tho' unruly I could be
there's more to life than this
and banter's what I truly miss
not so much the rinky-dink
as everything including the kitchen sink
Late at the airport, in haste we arrived.
Rumbling plastic wheels rushing in unity,
from tarmac to marble to carpet;
the shuffling queue dispersed, finally.
Luggage swept away, adorned with labelling.
Black and white tags mark a future, awakening.
A marathon sprint to the gate, a race against time
but a man dressed in opaque black approaches
and with regret explains
how just one seat remained,
a voice I'd never forget.
You spoke longingly of your mother's dearest day
and I swayed,
watched as your shadow boarded
naive that I had just sealed our fates.
Now I sit, staring blankly
at your unopened case
wondering if we could've opened
a different timeline in a different space.
If only we'd chosen to stay, chosen to wait.
Regrets waft through the cy air,
a melancholy echo of what could've been,
remnants of a longing to a love unseen.
It's easy to find those who'll sprint,
To the end, with a heroic gleam,
But to run the long race,
With a steady, patient pace,
Is a rarer and more noble dream.
Pink hue flamingo it must be due to all
the carotenoid pigments feasted on
algae and crustaceans
An elongated neck spirals
and filters such sensations
Sharing color is Okinawa salmon sushi,
bolster lobster and shrimp scrimp
Graceful qualifiers primp poised tropical dwellers
balancing effortlessly on one outstretched leg,
A ballerina’s pirouette in fuchsia tutus’
Statuesque stillness in shallow water
Rosette feathers flair flamboyance
Passionate plumage, blushing boas
Webbed feet tap and stamp below,
an aquatic burlesque show
The flamenco dance named after you
Rose-tinted creature tranquil, wader
Hook-billed blackened lamellae
sieved nobly, an intense look in a print
Cluster buster of pink with lengthy legs that sprint
(Prompt: Wisdom is not enough to calm your fears.)
The kinetic world is on a great sprint.
The silent seer stares at with a squint.
He feels distressed for the occurring harms.
With a solemn demeanour, he alarms.
Identity crises among nations
Contending with insecure relations
Keep their voices go with sonority
For comfort and self-based priority
Within countries, separatists conspire
Catastrophes are adding fuel to fire
Forcing uniformity – a threat
It's never too late to change the mindset
Creative destruction is invited.
Creating mess is to be indicted.
Agape love can alone wipe away tears
Wisdom is not enough to calm your fears.
One hundred-year-old Jimmy Carter
Loved nature and in Georgia Conservancy a charter (member)
He vetoed the damn for the Flint
Some people's dreams left at a sprint
Slow and serene could I walk at the jheel
If wore on my visage a pleasant smile,
Relaxed to core, deep-set laity to feel,
When weary thoughts were left behind to pile.
A seed of joy within sprouts peace and love,
What a perennial source in life it is!
But not for me in rush, ever on move,
Ever on rise a buoyant sea to seize.
Life’s leisured walk, a sprint nor blindfold race,
If to reflect I opt for peaceful pause
That puts me in prime touch with inmost face,
Where’s joy in chasing a gossamer gauze?
Too bad, it dawns to me on a late day
That there's no way to joy, joy is the way.
_______________________
Sonnet |03.08.11, revised January 2025| joy, journey
Poet’s note: A jheel (Hindi) is a shallow, sprawling lake.
(To the tune of “Jingle Bells”)
Dashing through my tasks,
In a cubicle so tight,
I hear the coffee slosh,
Another deadline fight.
Bells from emails ring,
I can’t ignore the sound,
Oh, what fun it is to sprint
Through tasks that come around!
(Chorus)
Single spells, single spells,
Typing all the way!
Oh, what fun it is to pray
For lunch to save the day—HEY!
Single spells, single spells,
Bosses want it fast,
Why did I say I’d stay this late?
This day will never pass!
A week ago today,
I thought I had it done,
But then the boss exclaimed,
“Redo it, just for fun!”
I clenched my teeth and smiled,
(That’s what professionals do),
Then daydreamed of my holiday
And flights to Timbuktu!
(Chorus)
Single spells, single spells,
Typing all the way!
Oh, what fun it is to pray
For lunch to save the day—HEY!
Single spells, single spells,
Deadlines never end,
Guess I’ll sing this little song
Until my sanity bends!
Life is a dark labyrinth,
Every inch of it is a myth.
It is lighter outside,
Experiences say it is much heavier inside.
Welcome to the world of uncertainty,
Dilemma and chaos take place between reality and eternity.
Perplexity rises until death,
It does not consist of a single quiet bed!
I am a sojourner in this damp maze,
Slipping is my passionate habit in my eternal shape.
I will not live forever,
Neither anyone nor even prophets are constant saviours.
I just wish to live while I am alive,
This labyrinth causes me a severe headache.
I just don't want to live in this dilemma,
To me, the afterlife is more than an enigma.
Allow me to leave this labyrinth,
Wherever I wander, I am in a constant sprint.
The light grows darker day by day,
Lost in the haze, I drift astray.
Wars are wage for victory
Victories are achieved to create history
in the end history always wins
Hidden deep in those pages of history;
Draws a giant bigger ten-times the sky
Perhaps in the face of the future
Efforts were made as the giant approach
Today we ought to surf!
For tomorrow we won’t be here
Now! heard voice of myth
Every memories has hundred years of life
Tomorrow will be a nightmare
Mealies comes in it’s great discomfort form
Something that never forget you never leaves you
The new world runs by the old wars
This is our story
It will go on forever with no end
By the end of the dawn, our flickering lights arose….
Come on come together;
The tears, if happiness in the eye that comes from a wounded heart
Tomorrow will be a nightmare
Even after we achieved victory by completing the sprint
Is our destination still left to be reached?
This is our story…
It will go on forever!
Loving someone is just like running
You two try your best
To get used to each other
You make every effort to run
It's okey for the first lap
You keep your strength at the second
What about next
Life is not about sprint
It's like long-distance running
Let me ask you how far you can run
I want to tell an old saying
Take a rest if you feel tired
If you are tired to run, then walk
Watch the scenery and have a chat
It would be much better than
Forcing yourself running.
When I’m driving.
It doesn’t matter how much I’m trying.
I never expected to crash on Main Street.
After getting an ice cream as a treat.
We get out and there’s smoke all around.
I grab paper off the ground.
He gives me his number.
Then there’s thunder.
He says he can’t hear it.
Then away, I start to sprint.
They are.
Taking their car.
Three friends.
Laughing like when they used to play pretend.
It doesn't matter that he hit the brakes.
His two friends start to shake.
When I’m driving…when I’m driving…
We were both driving, something, something…
One of us was left shaking, while one of us…not.
One of us had our last thought.
He gave me his number, so I tried to call.
But some places don’t have reception after all.
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