The Poetry Marathon

Plucking white hairs out of my already sparse eyebrows

Thank goodness for eyebrow pencil and shadow;

Eyelashes so pale

Look like a sheet of paper;

Out of concealer;

Scraping lipstick out with a brush;

Layer on Foundation;

Paint by numbers on my lids:

Nude palette of eyeshadow

Numbers 8, 3, 10, and 9

Corresponding to

Inner crease, crease, outer crease, bottom lashes

Sultry Angel?  Try again

More like Aging Angel

Drowning in the fountain of youth;

Charcoal Eyeliner;

Miss  Manga mascara,

Eyelash filler applied,

Tarantulas crawling from my eyes;

Blush highlights;

Makeup mist & set

Ready, Set, Mirror!

Not so bad,

Maybe not a Sultry Angel

But not bad.

Next  . . . the hair!

Super Mouse in my house,

We need you to leave.

You’re cute and furry,

But you run from me in a hurry.

Super Mouse in my house,

We need you to leave.

I asked you to leave.

But you refused.

Then I found mouse poop in my shoes.

Super Mouse in my house,

We need you to leave.

I asked you to leave once again

The day you scurried across my skin.

Now the battle must begin.

I play for real with a box of poison.

Super Mouse in my house,

We need you to leave.

You had one more romp across my dishes

Now, poor friend, you swim with the fishes.

Dead SuperMouse in my house,

We need you to leave.

I am not boastful or overly proud.

I am not big city or high fashion.

I am not Dooney & Bourke or Prada.

I am not pedicure, manicure, or Brazilian wax.

I am not BMW, Mercedes, or Escalade.

I am honest and sufficiently proud.

I am small town and prosaic.

I am Wal-Mart, Target, and blue light specials.

I am plain label and Sunday coupons.

I am a $12 purse with BOGO shoes.

I am fuel efficient and low maintenance.

A too quiet house

Greets me when I unlock the front door

No barks to say, “I missed you. I’m so glad you’re home.”

No more petting your fur as you stretch out from your nap.

Lots of tears as I think of

A too quiet house.

Darkness is my light

Poetry is my pain;

Broken silence in the night

Bears my Name

Walls of decay guide my way

Brightness is a blur;

Sanity is decay

Fear is my fantasy

I write of pleasure;

I write of pain;

My tortured soul

Shall remain

As I dip my

Poison

In

the

ink

On the shelves

Behind the walls.

Death and demise

And vulture eyes,

Black cats,

Sealed caskets,

Boarded up behind the

Mortar and the bricks

In your nightmares

In your dreams

Within the bright moon beams,

I am the ticking of the clock.

Mostly I wear sensible shoes

Conservative jewelry is what I choose.

My favorite shade of lipstick is light bronze.

Soft rock is the station where my radio belongs.

My life is khaki,

But I dream in “Piccadilly Pink”

I wear slips under questionable skirts,

“Oh rats” is the extent of my curse,

I watch 60 Minutes on Sunday nights;

Vanilla ice cream is my delight.

My life is khaki,

But I dream in “Cherries Jubilee”

I like to paint my toenails red,

I sing dirty songs in my head,

I fantasize about raunchy tattoos,

“Wild Child” inked above my stiletto shoes.

My life is khaki,

But I dream in “I’m Not Really a Waitress” red.

Catfish strung on lines tied to the dock.

Whiskers wiggling, tails flapping, struggling to get free.

Among them, the grand prize:  the Mammoth Cat

He doesn’t struggle

Just lies in wait

Plotting.

Too much sun, too much beer

To even exaggerate the size

But he was like the Loch ness of the Lake.

Skin burning, stomachs growling, greeting the next morning with a fog of sobriety

Anticipating a breakfast of fish and eggs

Mammoth Cat was nowhere to be seen.

He had escaped

A

Much

Smarter

Fish.

With a smile,

I greet them every day

Whether I’m happy or sad

Or grieving or mad.

With a smile,

I want them to feel safe

And warm and loved.

With a smile,

I teach them to touch

the soft moonlight with their pens.

We write together

to be honest,

to be proud,

to be human.

With a smile,

I pray for them

Holding them tight

With my faith,

With my heart,

With my paper and pen,

With a smile.

Sunlight shining down from above
Acrylic dots of blue
Shades of violet, blobs of green
Beyond the coral, lives unseen

The painter’s strokes blend the hues
Palette of pigments
Lines of Azul Oceano, spray of Noir de Mars
A symphony of underwater stars

Life within the canvas breathes
Fish glimmer, shells shine
Sunlight drenches their faces
The artist awakens

I’m looking forward to Saturday at 8 am. I’m a first time marathoner. I stocked up on my Mocha Keurigs to get me through the 24 hours. Good luck to my fellow marathoners.