The Poetry Marathon

“Lover, will you please hang up my sweater?”
“Of course, I will. In the bedroom or in here?”
He pointed to the small closet located in the corner of the living room.
I said that one would be fine.

Our little visitor was listening, completely bored,
Until he watched as Steve opened the door
To the small closet located in the corner of the living room
And he cried out ecstatically.

“Hey! I’ve never seen that before!”
In complete glee he waltzed over
To the small closet located in the corner of the living room
And just beamed.

“I never you knew you had one of these!
“It’s just my size. I could live in
The small closet located in the corner of the living room.”
I wondered how he had emulated Goldilocks.

“Honey, you have been visiting us for many years now.
I’m positive that you have even taken your hat
To the small closet located in the corner of the living room.”
Bemusedly Steve and I watched him explore this container.

When his parents and brothers picked him up
He couldn’t wait to take them
To the small closet located in the corner of the living room
Where they promptly shut him in to live out his dream.

I’m just sitting here, watching the day draw to its end. It’s happening sooner and sooner now that September is here.

From my window, I see my little half-circle of sunflowers–both real and metallic. There’s also a windmill, a birdfeeder, and an LED light that is on a post that illuminates these beauties at night.

Many visitors come to my garden. In the summer, they have to fend for themselves because my hubby thinks they’re capable of hunting what has been provided for them. In the less productive months though? He keeps that feeder filled–well, at least until the squirrels discover it.

The past few weeks, the yellow finches have been around often. It’s mesmerizing to watch them flit about, land on a sunflower, lean their heads over to eat the seeds from them, while the wind or their weight tosses them gently about. They don’t care. They don’t mind. They get their mouths filled, chew, ponder, spit out the yuck, and then go to the next flower head and repeat.

Hmn.

When the winds blow? They stay firm. I haven’t seen a finch–or any other bird for that matter–fall. They don’t even seem to exert themselves into the hanging on part.

I am learning a lot from the finches.

Eat. Enjoy. Get rid of the waste. Move on.

What a lesson.

I love you when you put me first

I love you when you let me talk

I love you when I interrupt to bring the conversation back to me

I love you when you choose me to be first

I love you when you tell others how great I am

I love you when you share my fame

I love you when you forgive my inattention and you have to explain things again…and again

I love you when you make fudge

I love you when you take care of the business

I love you when you do the cleaning up

I love you when you make all the arrangements

I love you when you discard the best picture if I don’t shine in it

I love you when you are of use to me

I love you when you do what I want

I love you when it’s convenient for me to do so

I love you when you buy my books

I love you when you teach me new things

I love you when you let me shine

I love you when I need to whine

I love you when I need to vent

I love you when it’s the cool thing to do

I love you when I get stuff from you

I love you when you do the work

I love you when you kiss my ass

But now that you’re done doing that

I 

Well

I don’t love you anymore

As the tremor in my foot started

I remembered what Granny said about cinnamon.

I reached into my jacket to see if I could find one

Bumped my elbow into that marbled elk that 

George was supposed to take to the carport.

When I’d reminded him about it, he told me it was on his bucket list

Which I know is out there on the carport

Or down in the bayou where he likes to go and eat a beet or two

With a lightbulb strung over his little boat that I’m sure

Must have some cinnamons in it!

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Faded photographs of album covers flit across the television screen
As songs from my past are harmonized by those I once crooned along with.

There’s The Hollies, singing about my brother not being heavy
And I’m there, remembering Billy.

Moments ago it was The Marmalade, singing “Reflections of My Mind”
As I recalled how I used to think the chorus said “Take me back to my Momma.”

Remember Elton John’s one about diamonds?
Yeah, I thought he sang “Put me in the sky with God” as I’d twirl ’round and around in the yard.

America sang about needing someone like the flowers needed the rain
And I remembered one night playing Solitaire and murmuring “I need you” to my unrequited love.

When a few moments ago Elvis sang about his suspicious mind,
I remembered a deejay once saying how he loved that song because it allowed him to take an extra long bathroom break when another chorus faded in to rile up the lovers again.

Now Neil Diamond is singing “Play Me.”
I took that one to heart–but got played instead.

Let’s move on.

Oh great: more Elvis, singing about that rain in Kentucky.
How I used to yearn for someone to seek me out like that.

Ahh, there’s Carole King with songs from her Tapestry album
For some reason that one makes me think about life as a kid in California.

Each time I hear “The Sounds of Silence” I remember the melancholy.
No matter what is going on, I must stop what I am doing and pay due homage to that classic.

The nearly maniacal laughter in The Guess Who’s song makes me question my own madness.
Are you laughing at me now?

Gordon, if you could read my mind, could you make sense of this?
That was another favorite that takes me back to my life as a young one without a clue.

And now we’re to Nilsson and his heartbreaking ditty about not being able to live if living is without you.
That one makes me think about you. You know who you are.

All of these songs played since the start of this poem. Ironic, since they probably started off as poetry themselves. Songs worth a thousand words but narrowed down to a few couplings.

A few lines that encompass my life–or at least a large part of it. Music: a word picture that we all hear in different ways, conflicting lights, and yet bringing us all together and making us see.

Eleven years ago
Since you breathed your last
I wasn’t there
Didn’t get to say goodbye

I heard I was asked for
Eleven years ago
But when I checked to be sure
I was denied this truth

I agonized over your passing
And wanted one more time
Eleven years ago
To see if you missed mine

After sitting alone all night
Wondering if there’d be one more chance
I perused Facebook
Eleven years ago
And found out you were gone

My mother died surrounded
By those who loved her most
Me? I wasn’t there because
Those souls told me I wasn’t wanted
Eleven years ago
And didn’t even tell me my mother was gone

Over a decade has now passed
And Momma’s legacy lives on
Her death that kept me apart
Keeps me apart still
From the hope that once burned
That my family would include me
Eleven years ago

Write a poem about something ending. It could be a relationship, a stage in life, or the apocalypse. The details are up to you.

And so this is how it ends
The discomfort, the fake smiles, the awkward conversation
Or lack of
The words aren’t there anymore
They don’t flow
They don’t come easily
Each one is measured
Deliberated over
To make sure nothing offends

So this is how it ends
Strangers who once entertained each other
Shared meals
Shared secrets
Fears
Life
Strangers who once were a lifeline
In times of trouble
Grief
And fun, let’s not forget the fun

This is how it ends
With the distance far greater
Than the few inches that separate us
The glazed-over eyes
The pretend call that had to be taken
The not even offered hug
Or fake promise of let’s get together soon
Or worse still
It was so good to see you

It ends
They walk away
Without looking back
Without a tear
Or regret
Just relief
It’s over
It ends

Even though she knew it was coming,
The blow still stung.
No matter how much she tried to brace for it
The impact still caused her to reel.

Sometimes having defenses up just isn’t enough.

He brings me tea, with just enough ice
After nearly forty years, this is quite nice.

He sprays my feet, then covers my tootsies
After nearly forty years, we still play footsies.

He covers me at night, temperature appropriately set
After nearly forty years, he does this before bed.

He plants me gardens, sunflowers for my pleasure
After nearly forty years, he knows what I treasure.

He lets me cook, scrambling his eggs fluffy and nice
After nearly forty years, I sometimes have to do it twice.

He carries the groceries, we buy them together now
After nearly forty years, I have to teach him how.

He mows the yard, keeps the porch swept
After nearly forty years, I am a woman kept!

He loves me, I still don’t know why or how
After nearly forty years, he still keeps his vow.

He is mine, and I am his
After nearly forty years, this is how it is.

Life is like a bowl of cherries
There goes a cow down the road
I smell it
I see it
I hear it
I touch it
Might be my dinner
The stars shout in exultation
Jimmy Buffet in Margaritaville
I do not touch it
If I had to guess, I’d say purple
Oh my cow!
The rooster crowed three times and now I am doomed
Je ne parle pas l’espagnol
The greyest stone of dawn
Like looking through the glass darkly
Jimmy could not find the clock with the 5:00 p.m. alarm
Skipper found the time
She’ll be in Margaritaville by midnight
Humongous marbles
If you follow my example, you will have no success
Je ne sais quoi
The clock rolled its eyes
The margaritas did what the rooster had been unable to do