The Poetry Marathon

Hi! I’m Joan, I write poetry among other forms and perform stories.

I love the challenge of the marathon..stretches my thinking, increases my knowledge about poetry.

Have participated in half marathon before..completed it last year.

Doing just half again this year.

hugs to all

Quite a fun challenge–at least 90 different words,

Revised  to meet the 100 words at least 90 different words

An Umbrella day

Sun splashes her color out

into the sky

opening a wide orange

and red umbrella, a canopy

against the plan of today’s

dark clouds.

Sailors take warning!

It’s a red sky morning!

Sun’s umbrella disappears

as she pushes higher,

fighting for sky space.

Mutual enmity results in shouts,

Tears,  tantrums.

My morning paper news,

awaits on my driveway.

Sighing, I break out my own

bright red umbrella, make

a quick rescue run, then rest

inside to spend my day

missing sun, avoiding

chores, watching the rain.

Swallowtail Encounter

As I drove along, I spot her

Floating, yellow and black spotted

wings spread apart,

riding the soft breeze

until she rests for a moment

among roadside blooms.

One moment, then frantic flitting

from flower to flower

wings pull and push air

like a crewman’s race oars

going upstream.

I marvel at her energy

as she collects and carries pollen

beauty in her every moment.

Brightening her corner of

this asphalt country Carolina lane.

I have pulled over to watch her.

She continues her frolic, her

feisty dance on her petal stage

then, dipping her

wings as if to salute me,

takes off across the field

searching for another

batch of blooms.

I drive on, smiling.

As soon as I heard the jig, I began to serach in my files for a poem I began and could never finish—the music was the key to finishing ti—so here it is—if using parts of an older poem disqualifies this, then I also offer the short poem below

Dancing from bloom to bloom

Swallowtail offers her

Yellow and black wings

As contrast to the bright

Blue cloudless sky

And the array of  purple

Mexican petunias. She flits

From bloom to bloom,

Tapping her delicate toes

Into the pollen, Some for her

And some for the next plant

On her stage.

Write a poem about color

We eat with our eyes

I think as I prepare our simple
Saturday supper.

Boneless loin pork chops, browned

in olive oil with garlic and sliced

green peppers that slip from

bright to muted as heat softens them.

When the pork is done, (no more pink),

I plate it with peppers casualy draped on top

and a side of bright yellow polenta

flecked with green and orange from

shredded spinach and carrot bits.

Taking a look, I am satisfied

a work of art on a square white

china “canvas.”

Soon each canvas will be scraped clean

awaiting tomorrow’s work of

culinary artistry.

poem about a spider–not rhyming

So, once you say that, all I can hear in my head is eesny weensy spider–its on a loop.

But here is my offering on this to me, most awful topic.

Spider

Eight legs of fear

not only for a fly

poison for me, body and soul

I am not really pleased with this one at all

but am posting anyway–the idea is intriguing

This poem takes its inspiration from Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening by Robert Frost.

Between the woods and frozen lake

aubade and sunset define a day –between

those times sun glow and light are strong, harsh, the

need to bask in that glow wars within me with woods

offer of refuge from the light and

heat of midday, especially. My indecision has me frozen

there is no deciding, so I row out onto the lake

Hour seven “Write a poem from the inside out.”

Helloooooooo. I’m in here, with my friends.

We are the words, all the words and the feelings.

We want to escape onto a page together

But we can’t find our way out.

We feel like we are in a pumkpkin

Waiting for a space to be carved with a pen

Then we can march out in some order

With some sense, some rhythm

Hellooooooooo. Can you hear us?

four and one half minutes to write, two minute edit

Time is on my mind

When will it run out?

I hear the click of the timer

I watch the dial move back

When time is up it will ding

Will there be time for everything?

Grandma’s twig

Grandma planted a twig

She pushed it into the rich

Black soil and directed us

All to let it grow, to be careful

Not to mow it over

To everyone’s surprise it rooted

And began to grow

When she died

Thirty years ago

it was a scrawny thing

Barely shading anything.

Last week my cousins and

I met the people who bought

The house. They took us

Through and then into the yard

We gasped when we saw the

Tree. Now a thick trunk

Supporting an umbrella of

Close-growing leaves,

Perfect shade for picnics

–Grandma’s dream for our

Together ness.

“My grandchildren have parties with their dolls there the lady

Told us.

We smiled. The tree had served

Its purpose, and so had grandma’s love

We were too old for back yard teatime picnics

But we three were still close cousins

Like sisters

Emergency Room Wait

My friend is ill

911 brought screaming sirens

To their door

I followed with his in my car

My friend is ill

His wife wept all way

His meds, his pills, hers

Clasped to her breast in a canvas bag

My friend is ill

I gave his wife my sweater

I left her there in the

cold emergency room, to wait with him

My friend is ill

I told her to call when ready

to come home. Since the day our son

died in an emergency room, I cannot wait in one.