The Poetry Marathon

London, As Seen from Above

In all the best stories it happens
in the ones set in London, I mean

Peter Pan flies in through the window
kidnaps the children
then, with a little pixie dust, they all fly out again
off to Neverland

Mary Poppins arrives on Cherry Tree Lane
floating down by umbrella
later, her charges enjoy a tea party on the ceiling
all through the power of laughter

The Ghost of Christmas Past drags Scrooge
kicking and moaning
over the rooftops of London
and away into the Past

And Harry Potter!
Don’t get me started!
By broom, by hippogriff,
by thestral, and even by motorcycle!
Constantly traversing the airspace of London

And even Doctor Who
with all of Time and Space in his dominion
including all parts of the Earth he might desire
always ends up in the skies over London

Such iconic topography
We surely recognize London from the air
more so than from a street-level perspective

I want to go to London
just so that I, too,
might take to the air
and fly

Fragments

A window shatters
Tiny squares of glass cascade down
Mixing with the gravel in my driveway
Bright and unnatural as diamonds

For days I sift through the gravel
My gloved hand picking out cuboids
And prisms and oblongs and shards
Separating shiny window glass from the dusty gravel

I picture myself as Cinderella
Picking the lentils from the ashes
What a tedious task that was

But it is not so bad
Here on my front step
Dustpan full of gravel
Bucket filling with glass

Like Cinderella
I have the birds to sing to me

With Eyes of Flame
– a golden shovel after Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll

The mission is good, the mission is important, the
mission is imperative. That beast! That Jabberwock!
It is essential that it be subdued, place under guard with
no chance of escape, or killed. I have not seen it with my own eyes,
yet, but does that mean we should take any chances? Of
course the rumors may be false. Who can believe it has eyes of flame?
But better we err on the side of caution. Safe, not sorry. We came
to this wasteland in hopes of peace, with a jaunty ease, whiffling
our way through. But now we know: this place is not safe. And through
new rules, new safeguards, we all will live, and live well! I tell you, The
Command has your best interest at heart! Our opposition, the Tulgey
Brigade, would have you believe the beast is friendly. Friendly! This wood
is filled with horrifying creatures, and the Jabberwock is the worst! And
what’s more, it intends to kill the lot of us! That noise that it burbled?
That is its death cry! As a commander of many armies, and as
leader in many similar explorations, you can depend on me to know. It
is my duty to . . . Aaaaaah, it came!

Home Again

All the world over, where would you go?
Up to the Arctic with the ice and the snow?
Or do you prefer a nice sunny beach
with a tropical drink waiting well within reach?
Would you visit the pyramids in old Egypt land,
riding on camels across the hot sand?
Or maybe Paris is more of your style,
shopping and cafés, all the staff with a smile?
Would you visit the orient, China or Japan?
Would you like an adventure in old Pakistan?
Visit the jungle? Take a boat down the Nile?
Climbing up mountains, hiking mile after mile?
Houseboat or sailboat? Airplane or train?
Are there some special spots that you’d visit again?
Oh, there are many places on this tired old globe
I certainly wouldn’t mind getting to probe.
Foods to taste! Sights to see! And people to meet!
So many places, a list incomplete.
But given my choices, and the limits of time,
there is one special place that I hold in my mind.
On a hot day in summer, or through ice and through snow,
can you guess to which place that I’d most like to go?

Mockingbird rises
Straight up from the tall pine tree
Singing merrily

The Emperor’s New Clothes

He only wore the very best
Silk and satin and pearl
Striking ribbons on his chest
With patterns straight or swirled

He luxuriated in special hats
His capes were trimmed in fur
The shoes he wore, they must have spats
His underpants smelled of myrrh

The weavers who had come to town
Made claims he couldn’t skip
Secretly they thought him a clown
His gold they planned to nip

“Most cannot see our special cloth
To fools it disappears.”
Aha! the Emperor had a thought:
I’ll examine my viziers!

He sent his staff in one by one
To see what they could see
Although the cloth was seen by none
It’s fineness they all decreed

They declared, “You should see it!”
“The best fabric in the land!”
But when the emperor took a peek
He did not understand

“There’s nothing there!” he muttered
“Am I a fool indeed?”
“It can not be!” he shuddered
“I’ll simply pretend I see.”

The weavers asked for gold galore
And feigned to work for days
They made him outfits by the score
Which baffled each person’s gaze

The day came for the procession
Right though the town square
He dressed to the elevens
But really, he was bare

The people bowed and curtsied
No ignorance to show
Only a little child could see
“The Emperor has no clothes!”

potion

in the night, in forest deep
a pile of yew wood in a heap
a spark, a flame, a fire hot
lay upon your brewing pot
filled with water from the well
for to cast your wicked spell
add such mushrooms as you find
half of a muskmelon rind
the entrails of a dozen newts
seven oleander roots
scrapes of rust from an old door hinge
moldy loaf, both green and orange
stinging nettle, autumn crocus
whisper quiet: hocus-pocus!
stir it with a leaden pipe
let it boil half the night
sprinkle the brew here and there
toss some high into the air
what will the magic potion do?
it keeps the flies away from you!

Snow White, Retold

Seven dwarves who worked in a mine
Came home from their labors to find
Their beds were all made
Their bills were all paid
But the girl now in charge was hardlined

Snow White was never no dope
She made them all clean up with soap
Wipe their shoes on the mat
Each hang up his hat
But for good food they now had some hope

Snow White bit the apple and fell
Under the witch’s vile spell
The little men grieved
Wiped their eyes on their sleeves
But there is one more chapter to tell

The prince rode up on his horse
Which princes will do, but of course
They kissed, she awoke
She saw the small folk
“Sorry, I’m staying here,” she retorts

Hilarity

We looked at each other
Across the table
As the grown-ups talked of serious matters

He raised one eyebrow
I stuck out my tongue
Our cheeks grew red from holding it in

A sudden eruption!
We squealed and shrieked
And fell off our chairs in emancipation

The grown-ups eyed us
Underneath their stern faces
They must have longed to roll on the floor too

Dodo

Actually, it makes all kinds of sense
On an island without large predators
With all our foodstuff lying on the ground
Flight was an unnecessary expenditure of energy
And so, we evolved

Perhaps you could stop using our moniker to mean stupid
Now that we’ve all passed on
Do a little evolving yourselves, huh?