The Poetry Marathon

Sit down early morning
quiet time to write
Words fill my mind
fingers poised to type

“Mommy, I’m hungry!”

Words erased from memory
computer goes to sleep
time to take care of
all my little peeps

Breakfast is over
dishes are done
Slip back behind my computer
sign in all again

Fingers poised again
remembering the words
Story reforms in my mind
a few strikes of the keys

Interrupted again
doggie pushing against my leg
Whining to go out
put computer to sleep again

Doggie duty done
sun high up in the sky
Sitting down to open
my computer once again

Bells and whistles finished
all passwords entered well
Here comes my muse again
the story starts to swell

Telephone is ringing
breaks my writers spell
My oldest has a fever
have to drive to school right now

Doctor office, lab results
to the pharmacy we head
Go home and tuck her into bed
it’s back to work I finally go

1. Open my computer
   passwords entered file is opened
   Begin to type the words flow then
   “Mommy I’m hungry again!”

I am a closet
Just a hole carved
into a wall

Mostly ignored
often used
quite abused at times

Children play
in my depths
Hide and seek galore

Teenagers abuse me
hiding forbidden things
and tears of angst

Within my depths
items long forgotten
A prom dress and matching shoes

Maternity tops,
Halloween costumes,
boxes of photos and photos and moreo

Atop a shelf in the very back
a album thick with dust
carries pictures only of our time as us

A sign of ownership
a seal of control
A marking of surrender
a circlet of love

A way to subdue
a stairway to release
An attribute of love
a mark of consent

An attribute to harmony
a lifting of spirit
A giving of self
an acceptance of one

 
What is love but a baby’s first breath,
first smile, first word, first step.
A new life brought forth
by a coupling of two in love, in lust.

What is love but a child
holding a fallen chick in her
small hands. Asking her mother
to please fix the tiny creatures wings.

What is love but a simple dog
in service to her master, struggling
to her feet when wracked in pain
herself to aid the one she serves.

What is love but the picking
of a wildflower by the child now
grown to lay atop the soil
covering her mother and loyal dog.

It happened in the bayou

     yes way down in the bayou. 

The streets were iridescent 

     in their darkness,

Each lightbulb atop a tall

     pole, broken and shattered. 

A slight magical scent of cinnamon

     floated in the dark swampy air. 

Not even a rising sun 

     red as a newly plucked beet,

Could chase the undesirables away;

     and they had no recourse. 

Not to be defeated and in need

     of drink and water,

A tremble of fear spread throughout

     the group of refugees. 

Without a jacket, scarf or glove,

     all would kick the bucket 

before their second meal unless 

the elk they hunted, would soon fall.

In response to
Max Richter’s – On The Nature of Daylight

Trudging home
mud caked boots
armor dented and bloodied

No longer the loud rebuffs
no longer boisterous guffaws
their song silenced by war

No honor this no glory found
only friends bodies
strewn across the ground

Warrior’s home
with comrades fallen
to wives, mothers and fathers

I peer forward,
mesmerized by
the emptiness of space.

Blackness so thick
one could put their
arms in it and not fall.

Falling into the darkness
lights whiz by creating
arcing rainbow bridges.

A burst of brilliance
as first one sun and then another
fight for dominance over it all.

Into the miasma I sink deeper
until finally there is
nothingness.

Into the marsh she glides

every night at five 

No one know where she goes

or how she returns so spry. 

It’s an older woman she is

until she sinks into thick

gooey muck to her knees

wrinkles gone from her neck 

Old when she enters gnarled and bent 

she walks out young and tall 

Although curiously inviting 

and very beautiful to the eye

One best bet is never to try.   

One should never look into

the gray-blue waters of the sea

Once there you’ll never return

Let us join together in union

creating that which was two before

into one loving entity now. 

Should we be parted for any reason,

know that our roots are always here,

entwined together in this live rich soil. 

May we continue to be engrossed

in our vows of faithfulness,

care, giving, receiving and love. 

Time is a thief. 

I plan to buy back time at my ending. 

I can smell the lack of time left.

            (amazon.com)

In the far lands, 

I hear the ticking 

of life’s time clock.

Yet, I can not taste 

that inevitable 

drip of time melting away.

Let me hold you time 

Allow me to caress your strands

and wrap them ‘round me tightly. 

I am blind,

I can not hear

the striking of the clock bells.

Into a whirlwind

I ride to find my son, Cody

In Cody, Wyoming in time.