The Poetry Marathon

Toes & Fingers

Aging appendages becoming

Independent leaning in

All sorts of directions

Flexing the right foot

Is a knobby enterprise

With casual cracking

Amusing though painful

Joints are becoming round

As youth disappears

Old Air

Painted shut for decades

The old farmhouse windows

Hold wavy glass perhaps

One hundred years old

Remaining closed in spring

The bedroom stuffs up

With air that has been

Sitting since winter

Fans are placed to keep

The idea of fresh new air

But it is a ruse for

Those who know

Years of complaints

Matter little now as

They have grown old

With the air in the room

Corner Cafe

Outside the plate glass window

Overlooking the backyard

On the painted sill

He has set up shop

Filaments crisscrossing

The far right corner

Shine in the morning sun

Holding pods of the fallen

Each day the web is repaired

And constructed to last

Perhaps until the leaves

Turn red and gold

A fortuitous gatekeeper

Waiting for his prey

Knowing she is there

They share mutual respect

Catching a glimpse of him

With his remarkable size

She turns relieved

He is one the other side

Afternoon Waltz

Slapping soaked rags to the floor

She lifts her Crocs and settles

She stretches across the kitchen

Waltzing the Blue Danube

Coffee stains disappear with ease

While sticky juice droplets

Require another pass or two

Until their cling is forever gone

Into the bucket she rinses

And slaps to continue gliding

Now The Waltz of the Flowers

She danced as a child

In time the rags are dark

The floor showing no signs

Of early morning breakfasts

She twirls for the applause

Billy Willy

They’d be putting Billy Willy

In the sad corner of the cemetery

Near Mrs. Pringle’s children

All four of them

The baby passed before

She could blink at

Her mother or

Smile at her father

One of the twins

The handsome one

Perished in his sleep

His apartment on fire

Years later his brother

Now the sad twin

Blew his brains out

Folks understanding why

But it would be the last son

Also taking his life

Leaving wife and children

With no explanation

Billy Willy brings his

Hearty laugh and

Good intentions to

This sad corner of the cemetery

Her First

Oscar’s face tells

He knows me

My fifth grandchild

Claims to have been here before

Blue still lingers in his eyes

Three months he begins

To play tricks on us all

Sleeping through the night

They worry if he is breathing

Smiling at will

Could it be his digestion

He is her first

Perhaps too good a baby

His mother watches

Needing to solve problems

To merit her worth

Bedtime Story

When there are more leaves than people

Bluebirds and cardinals suffer few fools

Doves’ anniversary under peeling birch

Crows demand brunch without humor

Knowing what transpires

The long willow sways, the maple flutters

Blue spruce needles burst at fingertips

Squirrels hustle, glide with abandon

Chickadees visit in moments as summer lingers

Shade behind sunlight stretches in green time

Bats long gone from night shadows

Are mourned while honeybees persist

No intended flowers grow here

Paintbrushes and lilies and daisies

Spread only by the warm breath of God

The muddy brook clears from the storm

Few disturbed leaves have fallen

Do you remember green my child

The mother soothes reminiscing

It was all very beautiful

Practicing my posting and wishing all Marathoners loads of creativity and stamina.  I invite you all to go that extra mile as the reward is great once you recover from the constant experience of words.

peace

tobett

the end my friend

put on my ruby slippers when you lay me out

place my elder wand in my right hand

as my nimbus 2000 leans against my glass casket

at my wake enjoy half cups of tea with sweet cakes

think only happy thoughts of my most magical life

my rings long gone have taken my sadness with them

always needing a bigger boat I have managed quite well

know the force is still with me and the odds in my favor

I will miss you all dearly but remember

there’s no place like home

Zoe the never dog

We rescued her from Jersey

She doesn’t like my mother the boy said

While he fixed our invisible fence

Would you want another dog he asked

Before I could run this by my husband

He was gone and back from Jersey

Miss Zoe has a terrible overbite

And those big buggy eyes drool

Causing a stiff crust beneath each eye

She’ll growl if you attempt to clean her face

Never coming when called

An empty repertoire of tricks

She’s a terrible dog as dogs go

Though she is perhaps the most

Loving person I know

Keeping track of time she is

Devoted to me from morning ’til 4:00

When she turns her attention to my husband

Making sure he’s in bed by 7:00

Offering her grand bribes

I pray she will speak to me

Just once