The Poetry Marathon

Eternity now—not tomorrow
Like Schrodinger’s cat—half in
And out of a box—a paradox.
All at once all joy and sorrow.
For eternity is endless time,
A concept that is ill-defined.
The universe goes on forever,
The Big Bang theory disproved,
Beginnings and ends removed.
So time’s now for any endeavor.

Hyperbole, exaggeration, amplification, or Texas brag,
Aggrandizement and fabrication sometimes hits a snag.
Marveling we have world enough and time, Je t’adore;
Lest love and respect strides right out and slams the door.
As for the claim Lytton’s pen is mightier than the sword,
Political correctness marches in, tossing truth on the floor.
Climate does change, It’s Apocalypse now; the end is near;
Else taxpayers pay through their noses, the choice is clear.
Rid the world of farting cows, politicos are now chastising.
But invest in oil leases, financial managers are still advising.
Conspiracy, collusion, treason–both sides of the aisle exclaim
But each side could look directly in the mirror to fix the blame.
Meanwhile diets and exercise regimes promise eternal youth;
Alas, one look in the mirror reveals a harsher than harsh truth.

Around the corner, across the way,
Over the mountains, by the bay,
Above our heads, beyond the sea,
Out on the prairie, away from me,
Behind the door, off to the side,
Below the floor, and more before.
In any location our love abides
Evidenced outward; felt inside.

Sun downing, reaching for so simple words,

Forgetting faces and places where I did go—

Is that my daughter? Do I dare eat a peach?

My buttons—my thoughts—are just out of reach.

Now I wear Depends and can’t cut with a knife,

Don’t recognize my grandkids and slip-out of life.

Could I have stopped madness before my decline

Or remedied with diet, vitamins, and cardio-exercise,

Working cross-word puzzles enjoyed in my prime?

As you are now I was; as I am now, you will be—

Unable to walk, sit, without wit, memory, teeth.

Red wheel barrows, ice-cream emperors

And Lucy half-hidden by a mossy stone—

English majors don’t live by bread alone.

Engineering pays more than half our rate,

But Humanities more than compensate.

Overlook those part-time jobs adjuncts fill.

Our imaginations are rich as well as our will.

But I digress—try justifying a federal loan

With a Ph. D’s salary in English to live upon.

Frugal, frazzled, but certainly not retired,

Turning 65 (alas) yields much to be admired.

Now my Medicare bill (at $670 for half a year)

No longer puts my monthly budget in arrears.

Not that I could live 1/4^th as well at half that rate,

Eating Ramen noodles and beans to compensate,

Even with senior menus and lower motels rates

And lesser drug prices for those who medicate.

Moisturizer, eye-lifting serum, and colored hair,

I’m still young enough that I should vainly care.

With one foot in the grave (on a banana peel),

Sure, I admit that I’m more than half-way there.

Aging, with dignity, I now will my wisdom dispense.

Class of 1970 is holding a reunion to recompense.

Specificity is a writing trait that’s hard to overlook or under rate.

For adding supporting details when writing, speaking, or tweeting,

Cuts out more than a few misunderstandings that bear repeating.

Now take a statement said in jest, “The White House is a dump.”

If disregarding a sarcastic tone, it caused much grief to Mr. Trump.

Historically elegant, the White House is all commentators agree,

But leaving supporting details out fills aggrieved critics with glee.

With air conditioning (and staffers) leaking, old windows creaking

Vacationing away from the White House is, of course, stress relieving.

So take this as a cautionary tale—add supporting details to your papers,

essay and short answer questions, and you’ll not regret the extra labor.

Turned inside out, or backward, I must freely confess

More than once I’ve worn leggings or backwards a dress.

While dressing mornings in the dark before it turns light,

I’ve worn two similarly-styled flats—one navy, one black.

I’ve mismatched silver and gold ear rings almost habitually,

Regularly donned panty hose with ladders almost ritually.

Sartorially challenged, it isn’t any wonder, I often greet

All fashion pronouncements taken for gospel as effete.

With apologies to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,

I shrink from commitment when called upon.

Rather than answering, “Lord, here am I”, I hesitate.

Lacking for confidence, I instead suggest a mate.

For surely doing “that” isn’t what You had in mind?

Thank God, You patiently guide, stern but kind).

You answer our prayers (or so the gospels say),

But for most neon signs don’t blaze “this is the way”.

Yet giving thanks upon rising and just before bed

As well as before breaking with blessings daily bread,

And around the Table, asking for intercession and aid

Prayer functions to voice inner-most thoughts unsaid.

Pastor, business manager, and shepherd,

Teacher, spiritual leader, minister, divine,

Administer, evangelize, placate, mediate,

Counsel, direct, budget, outreach, preach,

Guide and, if necessary, occasionally chide us,

But, For Heaven’s sake, don’t over reach!

Take the good news into a fallen world

While feeding a tetchy, cantankerous flock.

Wed, christen, confirm, bury, dole out alms,

Always stay on call to support with aplomb.

Spur the slackers, console questioning saints,

Balance the budget, spearhead fund drives

While recruiting youngsters (those under 55).

Suburban church is in the market for a pastor,

So aspiring retirees and seminarians beware,

We chew them up and spit them out every few years.