The Poetry Marathon

My kind and generous husband

occupies just one wall of the closet

well, kind of—

my clothes intrude even on the back of his closet rail;

then there’s the safe for important documents 

readily available

i swear,

it was there

crap,

now i order a third Social Security card;

hey! here’s the 1960’s

furnace manual from our last house;

i had the idea of creating a morning meditation space

but that idea was abandoned

when i couldn’t get up from the floor

now when did that ability disappear?

was it in my 47th year?;

then evidence of well intentioned attempts at organization

but it’s so overwhelming

i give up

throw the unorganized junk

back into the closet

now even more disorganized than before;

its gotten so cluttered I’ve pushed

my husband to the linen closet as his dressing room

and what type of crap do i have that i

think i absolutely needed?

really i dream of being a

minimalist

but she must exist in another Universe

my generous gracious

husband

now occupies the

linen closet—

thank you for the space

Photo credit: @faithlee @upsplash. Faith Lee, Upsplash

poem ©️ AJ Bostelman, September 2023

a delight when we came upon wooden paths

Nature showing off All Her Beauty

Summoning us through an arch of trees alit

by early morning light

we come across

a circle of deer startled and standing still

when they saw us emerge from the road

mamas with fawns

with big brown eyes

cuter than Bambi

a circle of mushrooms

in the morning dew

a folklore fairy ring

evidence that

magic exists

my eyes cast downward

looking for rock hearts

the tangible evidence

of Divine Creator

we continue to walk hand and hand

on that path they always talk about—

the one least travelled

we gambled almost thirty years ago

married young

statistics stacked against us

at times rocky paths then

ending in smooth valleys

this is what magic

this is you and me

(for my college sweetheart I married May17, 1995 when I was nineteen and he was twenty one  each without a family joined together to bring forth our own that became complete with Natalia Grace eighteen years ago )

What love is

not Cinderella and the glass slipper

rather it’s slipping on the glass and given a hand to stand up;

What love is

not Sleeping Beauty awakened by a kiss after a hundred years of sleep

rather it’s being brought breakfast after sleeping in on a Sunday morning;

What love is

not Belle dancing at the ball with an atrocious but kind Beast

rather it’s the permission to miss the ball and cuddle with that atrocious but kind beast;

What love is

not being awakened with a kiss after biting into a poisoned apple

rather it’s being loved enough to have someone give the Heimlich to cough up

the apple that chokes you;

love is living the real life
with all of the falls, sleeping in, staying in and rescues from the apple chunks
that’s the whole story of love.

Mail order caterpillar specks arrive

like black pepper on a yellow disc

to place in the netted butterfly chamber

we watch as time transforms specks of black pepper
to spring green caterpillars about a quarter inch long

there’s four of them

clinging to the netting

feasting on a sugar saturated paper towel

then one morning we see four cocoons

curiosity abounds

eager impatient hands wanting to

unravel the silken cotton pods

to “help” the butterflies transformation

to speed nature along

curious eyes and daily guesses

at what type of butterfly’s will emerge

we hope it’s the Monarchs

one morning we see wings clinging to the netting

they have hatched!

“can we keep them?

we could feed them sugar cubes since they’re bigger”

no sweetie, I’m afraid not

”maybe they will stay in the yard

and we can keep them as pets

and feed them sugar cubes!”

“well, let’s see how long they stay around

maybe they will stay in the garden”

zips open the butterfly netting

out darts black and yellow butterflies

not the Monarchs nonetheless

the air current swoops them

away to never give a chance

to dwell in the gardens

all those weeks

all that time to nurture

and bring along life

secretly wanting to keep them forever

now released with joy to

share with the World

Symphonic sorrow

sounds of grief

emerges a solo

possibilities of Hope

Coaxing

subtle light

a duo arises

aww,

moments of relief

this poem was inspired by Max Richter’s “On the Nature of Daylight” symphonic instrumental

childhood among the sunflowers

🌻

suburban sunflowers bow

to whimsical wooden swings

bees fly

summer breeze

Note:

(Sunflowers and wooden swings are precious and meaningful to me, my father built me a wooden swing that I spent hours going back and forth pretending I was on a cruise ships with dreams of traveling the world  I grew up, the rope faded and frayed  I was never really a good traveller  so the summer world travels remain in my childhood memories

now sunflowers are a very prominent presence in the present  one year a wild sunflower bush emerged from under the bird feeder  apparently it spread its seeds  the next year the sunflowers multiplied to fourteen  this year there are multiples I call them my suburban sunflowers  we leave them up way past their prime for the bumble bees 🐝 and birds)

the three pictures I added were taken by me this summer  I zoomed in  I wasn’t brave enough to stand that close  notice all of the pollen on his belly  I was informed he is a Mason bee, they are very efficient because they grab pollen everywhere whereas other bees just grab pollen on their legs)

Conspiricies

the Earth is flat

Big Foot

Dog Man

The Royalty are Lizard Aliens

NASA has a huge curtain hiding Planet X from humans

What if,

this can be a what if

Big Foot took Dog Man for a walk

Saw some lizards that turned into Kings and Queens

Gasped when the space curtain fell down

Showing Planet X

At the end of the Flat Earth

If this is true,

then please do,

send me my

tin foil hat

and I’ll spread the word

the Earth is Flat.

There’s a knock at the door

its a quarter to four

IN THE MORNING!

Who will it be?

I don’t know

Let’s open the door

and See

and just like that

the run away cat

pitter pat

the bowl was empty of food

i hope he thought it was good.

awakened by my deadened Soul

a Calling to the Cave

an Icy entry

into a room

set for prayer

with empty benches

The Archer Aims

at moving targets

Myopic in the haze of

smoked bliss

Grasps poisoned

Arrows

the Black Dog Howling with Hunger;

Gollum with his

Golden Ring of Ale

Aimed but missed

falls into the abyss