Thursday, April 15, 2010

NaPoWriMo ~ Week 3

Week 2 started strong, but then seriously dropped off. The poems were longer, more noticeably structured, and located firmly in New Orleans, sights and recent experiences. But then, nothing. Or perhaps I should say, too much. Too many thoughts swirling inside my head like a carousel, but no gold ring to grab hold of. It's times like these when my pocket-size notebooks are really handy to jot down snippets.

DAY 7 ~ Genius in My Living Room

How long can I be content
being just a genius
in my living room?

I know, pPublication
is a secondary concern for writers
after writing.
But validation, admiration, respect?
Love? Who doesn't want love?

But if love can be won,
I haven't won it yet.
Plenty of admiration though,
some respect, more copious eEncouragement, yes,
some respect, and even admiration. And yes
a bit of plenty of head-wagging.

But love? Really
I should look elsewhere.

Validation, admiration, respect...

To feel a part Of It All.
Not just feel it, but believe it.
To look outward
instead of

CTo sit, crowded at the table with the
other VIPs
with the the other, hungry young celebrities, all of us
scanning the ballroom, looking outward
instead of in, anxious to see
and be seen, anxious for someone to call
our names.



~ The Final .2 Miles

A marathon is more than 26 miles long.
To be precise,
it's 26.2. The .2 added
because a young queen
wanted to greet
runners of the first modern marathon runners
at the gates of her palace.

At the line-up there are 26 thousand
of us,
hopping in place with excitement,
under the falling sky flowers
of the opening ceremonial fireworks.
Speeches I don't hear. I eat
my first handful of Cheerios.

At the mile 6 marker, I am holding steady,
happy with my selection of moisture-wicking socks,
my feet falling into that pleasing rhythm
I recognize from training, when that barefoot Ethiopian
who soon will win won the race was
is already returning,
grinning as he passesd me in the opposite direction,
flat feet flapping on the blacktop.

And when I finally see saw that 26 mile
marker for myself, my momentary
upsurge of pride,
elation, and relief was are swallowed
by the realization of
.2 miles
yet to go!. Oh no!

But everything I brought
to sustain me for 26 miles
I had have used up already,
all my good intentions gone,
both water bottles empty, and I had
consumed every
bite-sized bit of energy bar
consumed, plus and all the Cheerios.

My physical stamina was is long-since depleted,

and I ran run solely on emotional energy now,

and that too wanes. was waning. fast

My right IT band was is tearing away
the knee, and my stomach
was is
painfully bloated
painfully. What fuel was is left
that I could can use?

A tiny voice inside me whispers, Rage?.
Yes, of course, why not rage against the dying light?.
Like so many other times before, Wwhen all else fails me,
can carryiesd me over what felt feels like
the final .2 miles of my life.
Whatever works.

No one can ever take that away what I have accomplished
so far,
from me, nor the understanding body certainty
that long distance goals
are really short distance goals
when taken daily,
further divisible into
one step at a time,
and then
the next.

I have am not finished yet. I earned am still earning
every painful step of these final .2 miles
before I can be greeted at the queen's gate of an ancient queen.
I still run the marathon, and know that sometimes
just maintaining
forward momentum has got to be enough.




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