In honor of Poetry Month, this April, the blog is featuring poems written by our club members. Their works brush words into art as they discuss their love of running, nature, art, and others. Our hope is that you find quiet meditation and rhythm in your breathing and your reading and running. This the first compilation of poems.

Melissa running a loop around Prospect Park
Photo provided by Melissa Castillo

Three Haikus

Melissa Castillo (she/her)

1.

I ran to you then

circling the world. You were
my imagination.

2.

Every loop I pause

free the brain of my clutter

breathe us in the air.

3.

I wonder how long

I can keep running like this

Now I want to sprint.

to be a painter

Sidnee Denson (she/her)

what use to him is a painter?

still, i’ll do what good i can

i’ll draw him an open threshold

i’ll put a lit torch in his hand

beauty in its most completeness

is never found in a single body

but is something shared instead

between more than one body

cosmos — same as it ever was

will be, forever

it was all

it was nothing

it was more than enough

‘cause that’s all the life of a painter is

RISE/SET

D L Newton (she/her)

Did the sun rise yesterday morning or set

when I met the white stripes in the road

running out of time, lungs bursting regret

wondering if something in me will explode.

When I met the white stripes in the road

the pink sky slipped to slate in less than a minute.

Wondering if something in me will explode,

ricocheting all the desolation within it.

The pink sky slipped to slate in less than a minute.

Overlapping days and years, time bubbles

ricocheting all the desolation within it

stinging wounds never healed; songs of troubles.

Overlapping days and years, time bubbles

each hour shrinks with every dreamless night

stinging wounds never healed; songs of troubles

Still - if we go faster - we might touch the light

Each hour shrinks with every dreamless night

when I talk about running, I imagine this yet -

we could go faster - we might touch the light

the evening sunrise and the morning sunset.

* * * * *

(inspired by the lake in Prospect Park)

(The pantoum is a poem of any length, composed of four-line stanzas in which the

second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as the first and third lines of the next

stanza. The last line of a pantoum is often the same as the first.)

Disclaimer: The following poem discusses a heavy but important event.

Please be mindful when reading and we implore you to put your safety

and well-being first.

HARBINGER

D L Newton (she/her)

Though I’m unfinished

and I have no ears

I know you’re coming back

I feel you, hear you

before you arrive

the tempo of your feet

as gently, twigs give way to your weight.

Though I am just the outline

of my true self, the harbinger bones

of what will be

I long for your visits

to be seen through your imagination.

You’re running toward me again.

You approach me as if I am your church.

Not your church, no –

as if I am the home you would build

from all the faith and love and trust

all the music, all the reverent joy

of church. I imagine you in your Sunday best,

your hat respectfully held in your hands, stepping

up to my open doors.

I want to tell you that you are beautiful.

That you are welcome;

that you are home.

You whisper hello to me;

I am filled with the music of trees and birds.

Today you wear your running shoes, no socks,

your strong ankles bearing the full measure of you

a man in deed, still becoming a man.

You look for the light.

You step over my threshold

placing your finger where you’d place the switch

that would illuminate entering

the place where you feel safe. Proud.

The doors that aren’t here yet would close

and you would be inside me.

You come to me at different times of the day

seeking how the sun sets, how it rises,

where I might let its warmth and light in best.

In your mind, you map out my arteries and veins,

the nervous system you would fashion for me,

if I were yours;

If we could live together,

sensing, appreciating each other,

filling each other up with music, trust, faith, love,

and light.

No one else ventures through me like you;

they think of me as a pathway to profit.

I fear what they would hide inside me

what would grow in their shadows.

I fear it is the opposite

of the seeds you bring to me.

I wish I was closer to completion

I wish there was a way you could climb

to the very top of me

We would look out at the horizon

together.

I wish I was becoming more like

how you imagine me. I am loathe

to let you go.

Yet

you’ve filled yourself with enough of me

today to power you on, to dream

while you run, my veins and arteries

the paths to your heart.

And so you depart; you silently whisper

see you later

twigs give way to your weight gently

the tempo of your feet

harder to feel, to hear

you’re running away from me again.

You think you’ll tell your mother about me,

describing how the sun would warm

the breakfast nook; when the house

would fill with tiny, dancing rainbows.

Everything starts to darken

as the essence of you fades from me.

Something is terribly wrong;

the tempo is off: arteries strain to breaking

Rainbows snap and disappear with

shouting,

an explosion.

Clouds block the light.

No bird calls.

The twigs hold their breath.

Though I’m unfinished

and I have no ears

I fear you’re never coming back.

* * * * *

(Ahmaud Arbery was studying to become an electrician; this poem is written from the

point of view of the house under construction he visited on February 23rd and on

previous runs. I was inspired to write it after I read the Pulitzer Prize winning

article in Runner’s World about Ahmaud.)

Poems by: Melissa Castillo, Sidnee Denson, and D L Newton
Produced by: Rachael DePalma (she/her)

PPTC is a diverse and supportive team. We want to celebrate the
diversity of our club and membership. We welcome and
encourage everyone to share their stories with us.

PPTC Poetry Collection I

Three Haikus

Melissa Castillo (she/her)

to be a painter

Sidnee Denson (she/her)

RISE/SET

D L Newton (she/her)

HARBINGER

D L Newton (she/her)