The Poetry Marathon

Seems Life

Provides

Incomplete Umbrellas

With Broken handles to

to “Handle Life”

in the Storms

of the

Certainties of Uncertainty

Seems Life
Provides

Shadows of Ladders

Arising

from the

Blank Abundance of Nothingness

Imagine

the late 1980’s
United States of America

A gathering

with linking hands

from coast to coast;

an unbroken chain

of communities

linked despite

differences;

Hands Across America

in common cause

a benefit to feed hungry Americans

a frozen frame

captures my hand

reaching

to Link with

my neighbor

outwardly different

age difference

race difference

Coming to wholeness

in common cause

“Bring me your hunger

your weak

your weary”

United as Americans

welcoming Dreamers, refugees,

asylum seekers,

Hands linked in community

Abundance offered

Complete

Unbroken

Together
Whole

A peach pit inseparable

the soul of the fruit

succulent promises

to quench hunger and thirst

Fast Forward;

Today

hands separate

a peach pit

split open

one hand clinched

another with offerings of

fruitful abundance

enough to share

Americans divided

in ideology —

“no I will not share this fruit

get your own and leave

you’re not welcome to feast—

Away with you

and your hunger,

weariness,

weakness—

Now

imagine a future

a common cause;

peach orchards

from coast to coast

fruit in abundance

Now offerings

Feeding

hunger

quenching thirst

hands linked once

again in

Common Cause

tying up the untied

now United again

Studied Shamans in anthropology in college

interested in learning and participating in a local drum circle

saw a flier for an evening  in a semi-private location

decided to come a little early to sit in and observe

followed my nose,

the incense burning Ponderosa Pine

cool air wafts around my sandals

great, I’ve literally got cold feet

footsteps echo,

still disturbed no one is here yet

I expected the “regulars” to be here in deep conversation

with me and my awkward, “hi,”

only two chairs set up

no blankets or pillows around

was I supposed to bring a yoga mat?

a cushion?

I wonder how we’ll see each other

beyond the turquoise vase with wild grass strands

the drum is formidable

it’s the only one

was I supposed to bring my own drum?

Finally, someone pokes his head in—

“Hello, drum circle is canceled tonight,”

Oh, that’s too bad.

Crepe myrtle trees with shocks of hot pink like my fingernails

stand like the Queen’s watch guards

straight as can be,

side by side with the old gate between them

I put my foot between the bottom crook

my hands sliding down, the bark

isn’t rough, it’s as smooth as lotioned hands

I caress the bark, feeling its strength

and peer beyond the falling gate

at nothing really special,

just a place beyond the gate.

A skeptical turtle

pokes his head out

peering ahead

squinting in the sunlight

watches the other turtles bathing by the river

whence inside his shell

didn’t  like the topic last night

not sure if he agreed

that it was the best thing to sun bathe or not

the sun is too hot and

his legs are short and slow

easy prey for the children playing in the river

not wanting to be poked by a stick —

poking his head out

turning it left then right

pops his head in again

pulls in his feet

he’s done for the day

Playing Candyland in the Candy House

One would think it was a Hansel and Gretal dream, if theirs hadn’t

ended for the worse;

The “healthy stuff” were fig newtons and graham crackers

the large molasses cookies with sprinkled sugar on top

came after spaghetti dinners

Grandpa’s den always had ribbon candy around for months

stuck in clumps

there were jellybeans, he would take the forgone black ones

the red gumdrops were deceptive, that too had the taste of licorice

One year he bought cases of Necco wafers excited they were

still made, or rather unearthed from somewhere

Ice cream came after roast beef dinner

Grandma wouldn’t keep a slice of beef on her plate

instead she would pile up on steamed spinach

but she ended up taking so many bites of roast beef

that grandpa had a little more than half left

Vanilla ice cream topped with strawberries with a light frozen crust,

at times peaches and crème,

Grandma would always tell her childhood story of sticking her

finger in the jello that was supposed to be served after supper

needless to say she was still scarred because she went without.

Then there’s the famous chocolate pudding story when my mom

helped herself to my bowl that sat unclaimed the fridge.

Issues, I was left with issues, I’d say to this day.

Like hell I’ll give

Bezos more money to fuel his yacht

Onto Etsy to support the small shop owners—

I’m procuring a box of rocks as my husband

called these New Age nuggets—

Many colors of agate in blue and green shades for courage;

not to discourage;

Jasper for stress; not for Casper the Friendly Ghost;

Turquoise for grounding, not for keeping away boys

Moonstone for inner growth, not for a telescope;

Bloodstone for strengthening, not blood letting;

Amazonite for harmony, not Jeff Bezos;

Sodalite for awakening, not napping;

Jade for inspiration, not to control perspiration;

Malachite for insight, not spite;

Lapis for friendship, not “frien emies;

Peridot for self care, not to be a square;

and Celestite for calm, not Napalm

Added all together, a huge chunk of change,

Wait, what?!

No free shipping?

Guess I’ll fuel Bezos’ rocket fuel

and prays he shuttles with free shipping,

Now I’m going to hell,

Wait—

Etsy is having a sale,

There’s only 4 available and 20 in other’s carts?

Now what is the meaning for fool’s gold?

Gaze at the days

from this public bench

awaiting in anticipation

for the day to yield

it’s colors back to the night.

I witnessed you in darkness without a firm footing

struggling to survive because nature abhors suicide

so lost and drowning in the alcohol and drugs;

anesthesia for your pain;

also blunting the happiness and joy that continued to exist

no matter how empty the chasm felt because nature abhors emptiness

Now are you thriving instead of just surviving—

An empowered and wise soul with the willingness to keep

growing and going.

A question without an answer—
Ivory towers

a space full of hardbacks
fills the brim of satchels struggling
to stay stitched together

Attempts at knitting theories
the promise of “the Answer,
enticing academics towards the
trap with cheddar cheese

A thirst that won’t quench
no matter how much fills
the wineglass

How can it be explained
that Miracles still exist?

Like the sunflower growing through a crack in pavement
and the resilience of the oak seedling striving for growth where
it shouldn’t be