24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
From Ocean City New Jersey
Recipe for Drafting a Poem
Total Cooking Time: about 2 days
Maryanne
a colleague of mine
taught me what courage was.
She stood up to men
who tried to bully Her,
men more powerful
than She (or so they thought)
men with tenure
men who plotted
behind closed office doors.
But reason was Her weapon
of choice…and Her
steely eyes.
Welcome fellow half-marathoners! I am John from Ocean City, New Jersey. Best wishes to all.
Hi. I am a poet, a retired university professor who will have his first book of poetry , Untethered Balloons, published in March 2021 by Adelaide Books, a literary press. I am in the process of working on my second book and hope to incorporate some of my marathon work into it.
Good luck to all.
John
Sister Patricia
She had never run a marathon
until she received word from
her sister that her cancer was
malignant. That changed her
phone-call greeting from “Hi, Pat.
What’s happening?” to “Hi, Pat.
Is there anything I can do for you?
How about lunch?” Pat always
replied, “Yes!” When they exited
the car to go to the luncheonette
Pat lagged a bit behind, bent over
like a scalene triangle, but
remained game, despite her lack
of appetite. Food smelled like
shit and tasted like copper.
“How ‘bout we split that check?”
she said, pulling out her purse,
smiling.
yellow swallowtail
jigs from blossom to blossom—
nature’s riverdance
Living Color
Which color will you choose to paint your bathroom?
Harbor gray? Egg-shell white? Paled turquoise?
Is its color so important?
What color is your skin?
Ghost white? Baby powder? Linen?
Is its color so important?
What about her skin?
Amber? Beaver? Buff?
Is its color so important?
What about your soul? What color is it?
Teal? Chartreuse? Amethyst?
Is its color so important?
When is color so important?
When you can choose it?
Or when you cannot?
Spiderman
web crawl
data crawl
search
search
search
never stop
be the robot
locate
index
browse
A Place Where
I often reminisce about my red-brick row home
on pencil-thin Sylvester Street where there still is
a nearby concrete alley where all the
neighborhood children used to gather, a place
of seemingly-infinite security where
we played in peace few of us fully appreciated when
we were young, a place in time I am sure you
would like, a place where even today you’d have
fun playing catch while listening to
rock n’ roll music on the radio. I go
there annually to relive my past. One year, there
were some childhood friends I met there. They
shared their fond memories with me. Have
you such a place in your past, a place to
return to when you need to wax nostalgic? Take
mental inventory of the places you
lived as a child, places where you knew you fit in.
Long-Lasting Laundry
On Saturdays, I do laundry.
But before I put T- Shirts,
socks, and underwear in the clothes
washer, I turn them inside out.
I’m told that that’s how I can make
them last longer: the colors will
remain more vibrant.
On other days, I write poetry.
But before I save my thoughts, words
and phrases on the computer,
I turn them inside out.
I’ve learned that that’s how I can make
them last longer, too.
I grab each word by its collar,
I spin each phrase around,
I flip each idea over and over,
to ensure my poems, like my
laundry, will come out much cleaner,
brighter and well folded.