The Poetry Marathon

After Dusk

The library’s newest intern
tucks the last book into the stacks,
735.4, a slick plastic coating over
the 4-color cover; she taps the spine,
pushes the book into alignment with
the shelf mates, wishes the section
a good evening, pushes her empty cart
past the research desk to leave it behind
the checkout desk, waves a good evening
to her co-lovers of books; she shrugs into
her jacket and waves a misty so long
to her friends, those made of parchment
and glue, color covers, black text, worlds
of words waiting for minds to fertilize.
The lock clicks in the front door, lights out,
books leap from their places, jig over to
the travel section, hopscotch to audiobooks
in the children’s section, saunter to the saucy
romance section; a few find the cookbook
aisle, searching for the perfect pesto recipe.

Magazines and circular files square dance
in the custodian’s file cabinet, where he
stores a box of chocolate cookies, for
emergency use only. Britannica’s X and Z
sit beneath the exit sign, the red glow
of their longing to leave, to sweep the dust
away and soar into the future of blue skies
as crocus heads peek through snow mounds.

The dance of moon and stars moves across
the firmament, day star at the gate waiting
to rise above sleepyheads, lids yearning to
stay in dreams. A lock clicks and the books
return to their dusty homes, afraid to sleep,
to miss if it a hand comes to open their giving
sharing sheaves, to open minds ready to plant
knowledge, a learning, a lesson until the lock
clicks again this evening and the books
come out to play.

~ J R Turek
June 28, 2020
Hour 20

Media Outlets

keep the tv off today –
no news
is good news

don’t bother with the paper
even the comics
are bad

turn off the car radio
why risk an accident
from breaking headlines

open a book
even a bad one
is a better choice

go sit in the park
bring peanuts
the squirrels are harmless

write a poem
title it Dancing Daisies…
we could all use some joy today

~ J R Turek
June 28, 2020
Hour 19

Footsteps

Hallways refrain from ceramic tiles
checker-boarded black and white
down academic paths, windowless,
board after board postered with events,
classes on arts and culture, tutors for hire.

Footfalls echo down hospital halls
walls painted a reserved color
that should be called hospital green,
silent nurse shoes rush to find the visitor,
to hush the intruder, wrong floor wrong hours.

Footprints across my forehead
stamped up and down, circled around
like tire treads tattooed – bad woes
bad karma, too bad for you
keep going I say, keep on walking
as I pass you by.

~ J R Turek
June 28, 2020
Hour 18

Sun’s Pajamas

Hanging from a hook
on the tail of the moon
flannel 2-piece set
emblazoned with stars
and comets on an indigo
background.

They hang on the dark side
of the moon during the workday
sun working, warming them,
heating us through chilled seasons,
perhaps overdoing it in summer.
Overnight, the moon takes over
works his magic to lull us
to keep the sun’s sleep.

Early morning
on my busiest day,
the sun sits on my bed
a light resting, a reason
to halt my hurry, make
me smile sun bright wide,
welcome me to sit beside
light rays that embrace me,
their center warming me,
warning me to slow down
so I don’t miss a message
hanging from the moon
without shadow.

~ J R Turek
June 28, 2020
Hour 17

Poem Brewing

A lemon wedge crescent moon
hangs from sleepy clouds
too listless to tiptoe across
the firmament,

instead it sheds pale yellow rays
through my kitchen window to
rest on my mug of chamomile tea,
a poem brewing.

~ J R Turek
June 28, 2020
Hour 16

Breakfast With Pop

Not your everyday ordinary grandfather,
Pop was my buddy. He and Mom, too young
to be called Grandma and Grandpa though
I tried once with Mom and was given a knuckle
to my forearm that left a bruise, they’d dance
arm in arm from the living room to the kitchen
as they’d busy themselves fixing breakfast
for my brother, Mikey, and me; we were
frequent weekend guests as kids.

Eggs sunnyside up, with grated potatoes,
diced onions, thin slices of meatballs Aunt Mary
sent over every night from across the street, and
she made the best meatballs I’ve ever had. Pop
would add three shakes of tabasco to the pan
and it sizzled. Mom readied our rolls with
margarine on one side and ketchup on the other.
Pop would put ‘boravought’ on his but not ours
or Mom’s, too hot he’d say.

Egg sandwiches remind me of Pop and Mom
and the ballroom dances that forever waltzed on
in their Richmond Hill house, and to this day,
I’ve never called hot pepper flakes anything but
‘boravought.’

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 15

Pink Secrets

I am dropped off by my mother
to her mother’s to spend the weekend
with Nana. It’s early Friday evening
and I’m already dressed in my lavender
and pink pjs, soon snuggled into Nana’s
oak sleigh bed, cane-seated chair placed
beside me so I don’t roll out overnight.

Morning sunrays drift from kitchen window
through the bedroom door, Nana already up
and starting breakfast. I sat at the table,
jade green linoleum, a pillow beneath me
on the jade dinette chair so I could reach
my bowl of farina and glass of lavender milk.

Nana decorated my cereal with pink jelly bean
eyes and a pat of butter mouth; food coloring
my milk was essential or I wouldn’t drink it.
If I finished all my breakfast, Uncle Jimmy,
who lived in the front rooms of the house,
would give me a half piece of Bazooka gum.
I asked him why the gum wasn’t lavender.

Dressed in pink pants and lavender top, I sat
on Nana’s lap as she read me a magazine
but the meaning slipped by me; I am 4 and
coddled to stay within reach, no running or
jumping, and I realize now that Nana was 71,
not up to racing after me but it didn’t stop her
from spoiling me.

We played grocery store with her canned goods
splayed on the table, my red cash register ringing
up her corn and peas. After a pb&j sandwich
with the crust cut off, the only lunch I’d eat,
Uncle Jimmy would give me the other half
of Bazooka gum and read me the comic.
I laughed when he laughed but we both knew
I didn’t understand. He grumbled again when
I asked him why the gum had to be pink.
My secret kept still.
I hated pink.

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 14

Reverence

in the silence between butterfly wings
between hummingbird heartbeats
between us, there is the space of prayer

find it in a grain as small as a mustard seed
in a trust large as the firmament
in a sacrosanct place for contemplation

be a witness to miracles of water and wine
be the reason for blessings bestowed on the needy
the giver of alms, receiver of indulgences

to pursue a life of sanctifying grace
to bring righteous to all your actions
to embrace faith when all the world is doubting

find peace in devotional scripture
in the stillness of pond water at twilight
in the epicenter of your soul

bring a resurrection of divine traditions
a heart able to follow God’s will
bring gratitude and fortitude to all you meet

to begin, to end
a sacred word
Amen.

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 13

Without Comparison

brighter than the aurora borealis
glitzier than the Times Square ball dropping
lovelier than a field of fragrant lavender

sparkle of light sprays grander
than a hundred thousand stars
more enduring than the Milky Way

a splay of radiance deeper
than the Grand Canyon
mystifying as a coral reef

a glow to overshadow the moon
a permissive luster to melt the sun
shimmer of light so dazzling it blinds

nothing compares
to the brilliance of your smile
when you look at me

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 12

Protagonist

It’s our Wednesday night workshop,
creative writing group meets via Zoom
until the governor allow libraries to open
after this pandemic has finally passed.

We’re virtual so no masks required
but Robert – don’t call me Bob
or Bobby or may fairies and sprites
devour you, not Robby ever –
was wearing a bear mask. Strange.
He clears his throat, twice; I realize
it’s Robert’s turn to read.

He adjusts his furry mask, and begins.
“I was walking a forest path, the treeline thinning
as I ventured on. I saw a pigtailed girl catching
fireflies in a bottle. I asked her name but she
‘poof’ vanished.
“I kept walking, the morning heat growing,
my stamina depleting. An intense lethargy
overtook me and I felt myself swooning.
Up ahead, I saw a little cottage, lavender
growing in the garden. The door was open
but I knocked anyway. Crusted bowls
of cold porridge sat on the table but
there was no one home.
“I found a comfy bed, too big for me,
and a smaller one still too big, and finally
one that was just right. I fell asleep.
The end.”

We clap, I ask for comments for Robert
but there are none. I am at a loss for words;
Robert snarls.
“You people aren’t writers; you don’t get it.
It’s so simple. I’m a metaphor for Goldilocks’
alter ego.”
He growls into his mask and clicks his screen off.
Our Zoom room is silent.

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 11