The Poetry Marathon

her broad hips
carry a child on each side
keeping
their place in line behind
other mothers and fathers
grands and great grands
and ahead of the same
each step forward
searching for the promise
of safety, of security
of home
while leaving
the absence and
uncertainty of the same
behind

[Prompt 6: Write a poem about walking without ever using the world walking in it.]

“If I could save time in a bottle,” sang Jim Croce, “the first thing that I’d like to do, is to save, every day, til eternity passes away, just to spend them with you.”

What is a time capsule, but time somehow encapsulated, in what – ?

A photograph.
A ticket stub.
A newspaper clipping.
A windup penguin.
A lock of hair.
A campaign bumper sticker.
A bullet casing.
A necklace.
A bottle of beer.

You laugh, but the Egyptians did it. Though as I recall, the beer wasn’t that good. Would what we leave behind be any better a thousand years from now? Two thousand?

What does it matter what’s buried and entombed?

It is a reflection of lives lived, and a time of existence.

We cannot capture time in a bottle. We cannot save up past eternity.

Eternity, Joseph Campbell said, is here and now.

Be present. Don’t collect time, spend it.

[Prompt 5: You find a time capsule buried in the backyard of your new home (or anywhere else, depends on you). What’s in it? How old is it or its probable story is up to the poet.]

Did you know
some insurances will not
cover fertility?
Mandated STD testing
Fertility shots
Blood tests to see
if it worked this time
(IV? Only if you can afford it.)
All costs borne by
desperate-to-be parents
But when it fails
when the fetus is
declared dead
insurance will pay
to vacuum out the parts
for blood tests to figure out why
for years of therapy
to cope with the trauma of loss
My friend went through this
not once, but twice
Now she stands on rally lines
crying out for universal health care
admonishing inadequate
and unfair practices
sharing the humiliation
of her own story
“Otherwise how could she recover,
how would she survive?”

Closing line from “Netting” by Oluwabambi Ige, published in Agni 93 (140-146, 2021)

[Prompt 4: Grab a book from your shelf. Read the last line in it. You have to use that line as the first or last line of your poem (with credit).]

Emma lies curled at my feet
the sound of thunder and rain
a constant backdrop
after weeks of drought

Emma lies curled at my feet
birdsong and tires rolling on wet asphalt
a car horn bleeps assuring
doors are locked

Emma lies curled at my feet
the cat saunters by
stopping to sniff her paws
for anything new

Barely perceptible
the creak of the mailbox
Emma bolts upright
and runs barking for the door

[Prompt 3: Write a poem that repeats the same line three times, and then end on a variation of the repeated line.]

Water runs along the gutter
down the drain
into the sewer

I don’t need to see it
to know that it is there
taking our waste away

The same way
my heart beats at 60bpm
moving blood through me

I do not see the work
that brings electricity
into my home

Or understand how
I can send a text to another country
in a matter of seconds

But I take great joy in
what I receive from
all these invisible workings

Clean city streets
Love to share
Connections

[Prompt 2: The joy of unseen things.]

I hugged you to say goodbye
eight thousand miles
compressed between
our beating hearts

I love you, I said
You said you loved me too
tears already flowing
I just want you to be happy, I whispered

and felt your shoulders stiffen
I kissed your cheek
I’m not blind, I let go
and you went away crying

What did you say to her?
our brother asked
What a sister needs to say, I told him
He nodded and turned away

What will end now
because of this?
Your abusive marriage?
Your relationship with your family?

You are already
so far away from us
even with each visit
you are more “other”

How do these stories end?
Divorce? Death? Reconciliation?
With children who will recount years later
the night I made their mother cry?

It is the beginning of the end
of something
Eight thousand miles apart
our two hearts beating

[Prompt 1: Write a poem about something ending.]

We sat on the front porch
and waited for the cars to drive by
From the left were hers
From the right were mine
a poor children’s game

She got the first
a banana yellow sports car
always she got the flash

The second was mine
a battered up Ford
always I got the trucks

But while she yammered on
about the engine strength
and sleek lines

I thought of the man
in the truck
How he had on a…

“Porche!” she screamed.
“Jackpot!”
pumping her fist up and down.

And my mind wandered back
to the man in the truck
and how in my imagination
he felt more
like home.

[Prompt 12: First line or last line of a book taken from a shelf at random. You’ve Got Something Coming by Jonathan Starke. First line: Trucks waited outside the children’s home. He had on a…”]

This weekend I had time to…
I found this on Pinterest and just had to try…
During quarantine I made all these…
I stayed up all night just to finish reading…

And typed into Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and Snapchat:

“I’m so bored.”

I have never been to any such place
that could offer me such luxuries.

Please

Stop sending me your postcards.

[Prompt 11: Write a poem about or set in a place you have never been to.]

To accompany Cat Stevens’ opening lines
the church bells rang in
tambourine and centuries old bronze

To if I ever lose my eyes
the golden sun ripples through
green-leafed trees

To if I ever lose my legs
two children pass by
peddling with laughter

To if I ever lose my mouth
my dog barks back
to my neighbor’s hello

It didn’t take long to find
the faithful light

And what else would I do
but stay the night

[Prompt 10: Please listen to Moonshadow by Cat Stevens and then write a poem as soon as the song ends.]

sweltering summer heat
we sink into midday lethargy
that strange sensation
wanting to move
yet completely unable
puddling into a fleshy porridge
mask our efforts
under the paltry breeze
of folded newspapers
fanning fanning fanning
until the first firefly rises
promising a show
for our front row seats

[Prompt 9: Write a poem using five of ten words provided.]