Poetry Month 2024
Poetry, I find, is soothing. With its brief and digestible format, I can read and reread a poem in one sitting, realizing it hits my soul differently each time. The words reach my soul at a depth that’s hard to access. As it often is widely relatable, poetry can be healing. Its lyrical words tend to capture human feelings and experiences succinctly and accurately. Providing other perspectives, poems impart a better understanding of life.
To recognize the importance of poetry and its role in our culture, April became National Poetry Month in 1996 thanks to the Academy of American Poets. Today, it is the world’s largest literary celebration.
Throughout this year’s month of April, we collected poems from PPTC members that discuss both life and running. They are composed in a variety of structures, but each possess beauty and wisdom.
The Run
By dmaddox
A weak morning exhale parts the silence.
Fingers find laces, feet, their places.
A click of the door signals the exit,
Cold morning air, comfort condemns it.
Confidence builds, legs, their drills.
A beep signals go, your enemies know.
Swaying trees cheer, your mission clear:
Challenge accepted, let’s go, my dear!
The drum of your feet, a rhythmic repeat,
A locomotives chuff, your effort, enough?
Stronger now, will your dreams prevail?
You check your pace; you are winning this race!
Streetlamps guide, your weakness now hides.
Your soul is complete, ten miles with strides.
Now you are strong, the run even long.
Your life bold with meaning,
Arms in a “V”, your body, steaming.
The run, your life, like four seasons changing.
SPIN
by DL Newton
The center will not hold.
Sternly admonishing, I intone:
Get a hold of yourself!
while dancers laugh at my fear of falling.
The fall is inherent in each rise;
motion must follow stillness;
a leap lands you on earth regardless;
peace fractures into chaos.
if touch heals
then placing fingers on a body
where it hurts, deep under the skin
should regenerate it to
breathe—
walk—
dream— dance—
even love
again
without pain...
Yet the dancers grimace upon their feet misshapen
permanently, backs screaming:
get a hold of yourself indeed—
they smirk and sneer.
You will have no pleasure nor love without
welcoming torment’s grip
and you know you know this already.
I stroke myself
daring, or desperate
to believe it isn’t futile;
hoping my fingers
won’t bruise anyone brave enough
to dance with me, clasp my waist, lift me into music —
In the center, we pirouette —
spinning
holding it until we can
no longer.
A bug’s view of tulips
Photo by Rachael DePalma
Prospective
By Justine Leichtling
Some things that need learning can’t be taught.
Since moving here, I run a lot.
As I breathe in my new surrounds,
Calloused feet pound the parking lot
Down DeKalb Ave and left on Franklin
Where I boldly run a light
Weaving my way to Eastern Pkwy
Turning right to pass the lot
Of flirting teens on Citi Bikes.
Already now, I’ve done a lot,
But loops of Prospect Park await.
To train, I have to run a lot.
Midway through, I pass a man
In whose magnetic gaze I’m caught.
What untaught principle of nature
Makes my heartbeat run amok?
I can’t stop the loop looms on
He’s heading downhill I run up
Oh God—is this loop infinite?
We pass,
and pass,
and pass,
and pass,
But never meet up on the spot.
Legs taut and sore, I’m questioning
Whether this is fun or not.
I long to fling out of this orbit—
Soar like a shot put spun a lot.
Next time around, I’ll shoot my shot.
Until then, I run a lot.
Poet DL Newton and Katherine running across the Brooklyn Bridge.
Photo provided by DL Newton
WATCHING HOCKEY
by Donna Newton
Filip lets it fly at a low angle
wristed, upper body leaning, skate
blades levitating on
water over ice;
it slices behind the startled goalie
pulsing into where the net’s
breath was held.
Each shift’s purpose is clear.
Put the puck in the goal.
Laden with heavy gear
and the expectations of millions
that are somehow lighter
than your expectations for yourself.
Astrologers say Uranus orbits
sideways — rebel planet
leaning into motorcycle turns —
taunting raw geniuses to spin
a god trick
eliminate the body
so nothing remains
but instinct,
forward motion,
glory.
What else is like this?
watching dancers
arcs your own spine in longing
to sprout those wings, sustain that flight,
sprint this glissade leap into waiting arms
accept gravity, then repel it again;
touch your toes to earth, ice, dizzy pirouette
Can you maintain balance
vibrating between invisible strings?
Can you centrifuge
your burdens of memory
eliminate the poison
spin it off into flight
trick it out past planets, beyond god—
score—
a low cello echo in slo mo—
the net shivering into no noise—
before the screaming starts?
BEGINNING TO RUN
By DL Newton
September 12, 2001
the thin layer of ash, bits of paper,
like radioactive dew in Prospect Park
as the runners — mourning —
horror welling up
loops after loop of tears.
Not enough miles of roads and trails
for its howl to quiet.
But there they were, people
running crying
striken
as if moving this way could be all
sorrow at once with
air,
water,
food,
words, poetry, music,
meaning
arms around our sad heaving bodies,
a mothers’ kiss,
make it stop hurting
make it all better
make it make sense
make us whole.
Magnolias
Photo by Rachael DePalma
Run, Repeat
E.D. Severance
I dreamt I was driving blindly
- backwards
and you in the backseat
the two of us terrified
and then I woke alone
in bed with you
and ran west, through falling snow
I dreamt your hand, soft
along my arm
pulling in in an embrace,
our breath like boxers’
and then I woke
and ran out in the rain
to wash it all away
I dreamt our lives retwined
a hundred different ways,
but a hundred dreams of you’s
a hundred times a wake
and so I woke and ran over fallen leaves
and all these city streets
to a thousand cheers but yours
I dreamt we kissed
then kissed again
but slowly, and in sorrow
as if for the last time
And then I woke to catch the sun’s
faithful greeting of the swans
the road always running beneath my feet
Poet Josh Pesin trail running.
Photo provided by Josh Pesin.
Trail Running in the Greenbelt
By Josh Pesin
When I run through the trails of the Staten Island Greenbelt, all of my senses become heightened and my body and soul become one with nature. Any worries and anxieties that are on my mind melt away as my body glides through the woods. Immersing myself in nature through a trail run does this to me.
Running on the trails feels effortless due to the softness of the earth beneath my feet. Looking at the trail in front of me, I see a path that seems to go on forever and this opening in the woods becomes so inviting; I feel it’s there just for me. The oxygenated air produced from the trees around me makes it easier to breathe as I run. This air is saturated with the moisture from the transpiring plants that provides natural air conditioning during my summer trail runs. During the winter, the leafless trees can hold a coating of snow and paint the Greenbelt white as it turns into a winter wonderland that becomes magical to run through.
The meandering trails that I travel through create an adventure full of forest surprises as my body zigzags through them. I may come across a deer or two, an eagle soaring overhead as it searches for it’s prey, or a downed tree exposing a very intricate root system that displays it’s own natural beauty.
Running up and down the glacier-carved inclines and declines of the hills and valleys throughout the Greenbelt reminds me of a roller coaster ride that gives me thrills as I traverse them, only my own body is the roller coaster and the trails are the tracks.
After I am done with my run, I feel that not only is my body cleansed, but my soul as well. Running the trails of the Greenbelt does that to me every time. As I exit the Greenbelt and enter the civilized world yet again, it is only a matter of time before I make a return to where I know I rightfully belong. People are essentially animals after all, and nature beckons us to come back soon and disconnect ourselves yet again from the modern society that we are forced to survive in.
7:57 February am
by DL Newton
My morning run is done;
the last mist over the lake is clearing
trees now see their reflections
in the grey, still surface
the slow wake of a duck ripples
two lines, growing farther apart
till they fade.
At the shore stands a beautiful man
dressed for a late winter journey
in steady, solid boots, parka,
hat and gloves. His grey, still eyes
gather the faraway, filling his skull with it.
Why does he hesitate?
Men needn’t;
with each step they may forge a new life,
if they want one.
There is nothing and everything to see
facing the water.
Is it everything turning into the ash
of nothing that holds him, heavy,
cold, at the water’s edge, unable to
stride down the path toward the future?
How long will I delay my own journey
waiting to see what he will do?
I, too, love beauty, promise; I,
too would stand by the lake listening
to the almost music of the birds, breeze
wondering when orange shafts will pierce the clouds
sun warming our faces,
waiting for a clear signal.
The beautiful man puts his hands in his pockets.
He doesn’t see me, or my reflection.
He shakes out a cigarette, brings it to his
perfect lips, shocks a spark into flame
with his gloved thumb. Inhalation
fills his lungs with seeds of tar
blue smoke snaking through
his hesitating veins; exhalation
obscuring his whole, beautiful, head.
All that I’ve ever run from
he breathes into himself; my head bows,
to appeal to the sun–
please do not let the poison kill him.
It is time to go.
I run away through the nothing air,
the near and far away ashes of everything.
Swan on Prospect Park Lake
Photo by Rachael DePalma
NINE INTO STEP
By DL Newton
i.
Cadence, breath,
cadence, breath,
propulsion.
rhythm.
movement.
ii.
though we have been in conversation
for as long as I have been alive
we have finally begun to understand each other,
this body and me;
listen to each other,
allowing deep truth to well up —
accept it — in
cadence, breath,
as we run.
iii.
a place you can’t reach inside yourself
a furnace, between your navel and spine
the nuclear power of you.
will there be an inevitable explosion; all of your flesh
insisting upon bursting through your skin?
Convince it otherwise:
Run, as far and as long as you can
to survive heartbreak,
to survive.
vi.
I was broken; running said
no, you’re strong.
This hurts, but you’re strong.
Yes this ankle, this Achilles, this shattered
heart pains you at every step but
you are alive.
Live. Let your lungs open.
Breathe the cadence, breeze scented through trees
feel your feet echo in their roots
v.
every language comes together in breath
every runner understands another runner,
regardless of mother tongue.
Falling into step next to each other,
breathing in rhythm, striding together,
pace,
cadence,
breath.
vi.
i slip deeper into myself at the start of a run now.
I stay inside myself longer, luxuriate in me.
It took years to develop this comfort, the acknowledgement
of the mind and body in exertion that leads to harmony
there isn’t time anymore to regret I didn’t find this sooner
there is only the doing, the running,
the cadence, the breath.
vii.
six miles, eight, ten, thirteen point one.
fifteen. eighteen. Twenty, twenty-two, twenty-six point two.
Done. Twice.
Six decades of life preceding each marathon.
The next morning, the body says: That hurt, but we did it.
We’re strong now.
Let’s be sweet to each other,
let’s take a walk; let’s nap together, breathe together,
let us be one.
Cadence.
Breath.
viii.
six years of ballet, five of modern,
music, movement, dance,
poetry with no words, the body
speaking from within, in cadence,
breath, understood by all
shapes sculpting the air.
ix.
Cadence, breath,
cadence, breath,
propulsion.
rhythm.
movement.
forward.
Let me run.
Let me run.
Let me live
at last
to my last moment,
my last step.
Thank you, poets for sharing your words! Happy National Poetry Month everyone. :)
Intro text by: Rachael DePalma
Poems by as noted: dmaddox, DL Newton, Justine Leichtling, E.D. Severance, Josh Pesin
Produced by: Rachael DePalma
Photos as noted
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.