The Poetry Marathon

Hello fellow writers, poets, and word whittlers!

How exciting, staying up all night to write!  Something like being a kid and watching the Jerry Lewis Telethon.  Looking forward to it.

JL

journey

unending expeditions

drawing you down

pathways into an exciting future

passages

The bracelet

Jewelry not one of your things
But you appreciated the effort to keep you safe
I gave you the bracelet for your 76th birthday
To show your allergy to penicillin
When I gave it to you it had a picture of Elvis in it
A young man leaning against a car…he hadn’t’ even died yet
You wore the bracelet every day since you weren’t welding anymore
It wouldn’t get in your way driving the bus.
It might someday keep you safe from a doctor

I wanted the bracelet back and got it that day as mom slid your wedding ring onto her finger before we drove out to the cemetery
The family asked me why
I told them it was for the child
Your bracelet in pocket for later
I rang my finger across the cold metal as we stood near you grave
Back at the house, I gave the bracelet to the child
I’m sure she doesn’t remember
She probably doesn’t even have it any longer
But since she was also allergic I thought she could use it or just keep it to remember you
As I do now.

backing cont.

Backpacking to Colorado

A summer break was time for adventure.
Equipment rented and over packed,
thumb sticking out we hit the road.

A semi truck cab bouncing wildly
across the southern Dakota
barely able to read the Burma Shave signs.

Camping at KOA didn’t seem like roughing
it enough while we walked across the highway
to go dancing in the honkytonk.

But the station wagon with a family of five,
homeless and searching for work
the tale to be remembered and told.

And the bronc buster who drove us
south the next day traveled the plains
ranch to ranch breaking horses.

dropped off on the edge of a little town
no campground So we splurged a motel room,
prepaid with no refunds, no A/C

no hospitality returned with
a gift, meat to spoil in the radiator
We learn as we moved on.

“Where you heading?
Get in you big dumb Norwegian.” he said.
“Your big square head gave you away. ”

A short ride to the edge of the mountains.
The foot hills fading green in the summer heat.
A book of poetry to carry his wife we receive

Then the canyon walls so steep
you cannot see the sky
riding in an RV for the climb.

Living in the greenest green,
hiking JD’s land
until we’re chased away.

Organic tuna melts
in the only restaurant
in town with no stop signs.

More hiking in elevations too high for your blood.

Then south to Coors
in Golden and
chili five ways in town.

Denver ahead, a total let down.
Restrictions and lack of transportation
pushed us back out onto the plains.

Storms in the distance but dropped off at a Y,
no water, no ride, as hours go by.

We walk to the house with the well in the yard.
No one is home but rattles greet us
at the pump handle we let them lie.

Finally as the sunsets a truck slows to us
and offers one in the cab and one in the back
as his oxygen tank lay on the front seat.

I opt for the back with a half of bottle of water
Inside, Bill drinks coffee from a thermos cap
My hair blows as highway speeds are exceeded

,into the night.

There once was a dog named Frances
whenever someone said hungry dances
she flips to the right and bucks to the left
and gobbles it down and then prances

Wild life in Cascadia national park

Chipmunks scurry, hurry,
dart this way and that
Jackrabbit bounces
through fallen pine stand
Horseflies and houseflies
take turns buzzing your head
As rude little boys on a hike are lead

Spiders spin webs
of triangular hammocks
Bluest bluebird hangs
on a twig above the bear box
While woodpecker dines
From successful knocks

Black and white moths
dance to strobes of light
While mosquitos bite
with quite an appetite

Ladies in their jammies tiptoe to the Lou
And lezzies, besides us
just do what they do
in their tent with no fly
While we gaze their way
without having to spy

we make plans of our own
To do what’s been shown
With a wink and a nod
We’re off to bed in our R-Pod

Thank you great creator paisley pride sings
In Cascadian granite of Washington pass
On winged dragonfly in voiced loon calls
star seeded quince and cherried-stained lips
Groves of peach, apple, cherry, grow beside corn, squash, and hay
Troweled paths climb foothills where man wishes it to be

Wild grasses meander rolling plains
Beyond burned tree lines of once wilderness
Houses dot the landscapes as water
Pumps and sprays yards and foreign flora
Along Columbia

Mike, Mike, Mike,
what day is it?
Cockadoodledo he sings,
not a fag hag instead
a dyke Mike,
following around the lez
like a puppy-wannabe poodle.

He wants to groom
her Bristol mons and
pluck her eyebrows
into unreal arches,
so she looks
excited, awake, intense

Despite her straight line
unibrow which dips into
a v as she scowls at him
in dissent.

He begs and pleads
tweezers in hand,
I can make you more beautiful!

“More” she responds, guffawing

Just clean me up a bit
and be done with it
as she leans back in the chair.