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My Dear Poet Mar 17
/Seven start the running
at the shot of a gun
one faulted behind
six continue to run
six kept the running
till another starts to stall
tripping over shoelace
two clambered to a fall
four kept the running
four running strong
come the first hurdle
three running on
three kept the running
till a cramp came along
two kept the running
two going strong
just one look behind
cost one the finish line
one kept the running
past the cheer and cries
one kept the running
only one won the prize
I'm running.
I'm running out of patience
I'm running out of time
I'm running from myself
And All I do is cry.
I'm running on empty
I'm on autopilot now
Breathing has become a labor
And I just don't know how.
This pressure is so suffocating
I can't seem to smile
I just want to run
To Get away for a while.
But these chains, they bind me here
I can't let them down
But I can't save myself
I need you now.
This emptiness is killing me
I don't know where to turn
And so I'll run into the sun
And Away my soul will burn.
Allesha Eman Feb 20
We run through golden drops of sunlight
with reminders tied around our wrists
memories in baskets of woven wind
Tomorrow chases us
as we chase yesterday
The synchronicity of our steps
becomes the rhythm of time
lost in the streets of reality
while navigating maps of wonder
our lives are repelling forces
that now face the immobility
of our desire for freedom
so what's left? Besides you
running toward this morning sky
and me, sinking in a shallow sea
of words and puzzles, that time built for
you and I
Brian Turner Jan 27
Running at night
Guided by a torso mounted light
Stepping from the the pavement
Into the darkness

Into the wood
Scanning the forest floor
Looking to avoid the trip
Looking to find the way out

UFO lights turn out to be neon lit dogs
Jumping up steps, jumping over logs
The full moon provides more light
To guide me into sight

Cool air hugs my legs and face
Warm sweat heats my torso
The dark park is silent now
I smile as moisture drips from my brow
Notes from my winter runs with a chest mounted light.
Darel Rex Finley Dec 2021
Tornado sirens’ firin’
Gives your runnin’ shoes the news
That stay’n inside is such a slide
To be fit you pay your dues

Feel the ground a-poundin’
’Neath those skies of green so mean
Inclement weather lives forever
But you will quit, like a machine

Slanted rain’s a pain
Soaks you to your skin so thin
In this world, so brave unfurled
Only bright for those who win

You get no bornin’ warnin’
Of the times to come so glum
’Tis a mission for magician
Strike with lightning, then succumb
Andrew Rueter Dec 2021
They tell us to see the sun in the winter
get your gun to get your dinner
there's only one who can be winner
so have fun as a sinner.

A ******* bullpit
echoes the bully pulpit
cracking a bullwhip
as a cruel gift.

There's a royal decree
in the soil we seed
wearing oily greaves
we boil and bleed.

The pinniped's frigid bed
dwindled when the cynic said
his withered glen is more important than
the arctic shed and hearts that bled.

The highlands seem endearing
when islands are disappearing
and the godmen are hearing
no reasons to be weary.

Some run to the hills
some run to the pills
others turn to the thrill
of the blood we spill.

Our only answer is running
from our controller's cunning
it's almost like they're hunting
by not solving this one thing.
Chris Thomas Oct 2021
I see you glancing at the brush,
But our bristles don't hold paint the way they used to
And for all the folly in our atmosphere, I am sorry
I know I'm the one who exhales the most

Remember, your father told you,
"We run the most standing still,"
But my stars are perpetually frozen
And my love stopped blushing your alabaster skin

If you cinch the tourniquet too tightly,
To summer's dismay, I may not heal by autumn
And whether you whisper treasons of the universe or not,
My anchor's still aweigh by first light

Trust me when I say,
Broken words taste as bitter as you would imagine
It's becoming clearer that you were the road to Arcadia
But, as so often I am prone to do, I derailed us both

I see you glancing at the brush,
But our bristles don't hold paint the way they used to
And for this achromatic atmosphere, I am sorry
I know I'm the one in black and white
Brian Turner Sep 2021
7.30 a.m up
8.15 a.m out
Water in hand
Ready to stand
As a marshall at the parkrun

At the park
People and dogs come together
Conversations, chat
People thin, people fat
Ready for the briefing

Allotment corner
Here I stand
Radio, safety kit in hand
Welcoming the first lap up the hill
Well done Madame, well done Bill

Well done dog
Well done man
Well done second lap
Diggin in with the last energy on tap

Thank you Marshall
Thank you Marshall
My pleasure
My pleasure

Tail marshall comes through
Thats the end of the run
Gathering cones and job well done
Fellowship, friendship and some fun
Notes from park run
Elaenor Aisling Sep 2021
First,
dress yourself in all black
no bright colors
that draw wandering eyes.
Wear the only baseball cap you own
position your pony tail
so the brim shields most of your face
but you still have enough peripheral vision
to look over your shoulder.
Move the ring you have worn on your right hand
since you were 16,
to the left ring finger.
You cannot tell the difference
between those who will leave
when there is a shadow of another man
and those who will see it as a challenge.

Second,
arm yourself.
Tie your small pocket knife into the waistband of your shorts,
last resort first.
Clip your keys to your bra
and tuck your mace canister
in the space between your *******
along with all the promises
of men who have loved you
and promised to protect you.


Third,
text your sister
tell her where you are going
and ask her to check on you
if you have not replied in an hour.
Keep one earbud out,
and do not get lost in the strains
of Tracy Chapman's voice, no matter how beautiful.
***** up your ears
the way you have seen a deer's twitch in twilight,
You both know what it is to be prey.

Fourth,
begin.
In your apartment complex
as you run across the green space,
there are children laughing,
and you feel safe enough.
Do not let this last.
When you reach the road
feel the power of your thighs beneath you
as you sprint across,
controlled sinew and muscle
you always wanted them to be strong enough
to kick a hole in brick.

Fifth,
slip your mace out of your bra
and into your fist
while you sprint through the wooded drive.
In your mind, practice screaming
FIRE! HELP! GET THE **** AWAY FROM ME!
until your vocal chords are in imagined shreds.

Sixth,
Pace yourself.
You know if you are too tired,
you cannot outrun someone.
Your lungs will give out before your legs do,
breathe deep, and pull your shoulders back.
You have never swung a punch
at another human
but you imagine what it would be like,
the bones of your knuckles
breaking across a zygomatic arch.

Seventh,
When you pass others
do not meet their eyes, do not smile.
Under the imagined safety of your hat brim
keep your eyes on the sidewalk and their feet,
in case they turn toward you.
Remember where the parents with children are walking
because they will be a safe haven to run to.
When there is no one in front of you,
look over your shoulder.


Eighth,
On your way back through the wooded drive
when Judges 19:25
the news reports of gang rapes on buses,
Kitty Genovese, and the voices of all the women you know
who have been harassed and *****, flash through your mind
run faster.

Ninth,
text your sister that you are safe
only when you are back in your apartment
and the door is locked,
and you are sure no one has come in
while you were out.
Kiss the salt from your skin
and thank your body
for its
strength.
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