The Poetry Marathon

The Poet’s Island Produce

In island solitude
the poet waits for inspiration
like her backyard fig tree waits for rain,
especially during a summertime drought.

She knows that insight,
that small ripe fruit from trees,
is often tough to produce,
especially during late lazy August.
But after a soaking shower arrives,
all produce: the tree, the insight, the poet.

The poet’s now ready to share her figs
with her readers who pick each fruit
one by one, savor, and then devour,
making sure no morsel goes to waste.

Like vacationers on tropical atolls
readers smile, satisfied as they return home.

The Alley

We remember well the white concrete urban driveway we called “The Alley” with pairs of tall cedar telephone poles with thick black wires strewn across two parallel blocks of two-story row homes. We boys wore our high-top Keds and Chuck Taylors proudly; we boys who seldom (ever?) played games with girls, games called half-ball, wall-ball, and wire ball; we boys who, all summer long, flipped Topps baseball cards and watched them fall to the ground like helicopters landing on tarmacs; we boys who wrestled on small patches of grass; we boys who fought over “safes” and “outs” and “fouls” as we ran bases made of discarded rags, and shot basketballs at painted plywood backboards and orange rims that our dads constructed to “keep us busy” all day long; we boys who laughed until our stomachs hurt and our eyes watered.

social media
virtual reality—
girls no longer left out

Gumbo

I like my gumbo chickened
not pigged
not alligatored
not shrimped:
not what-evered

I like my gumbo chickened
morninged
nooned
or nighted:
when-evered

I like my gumbo chickened
stewed
not fried or poached
not sautéed or barbecued:
not how-evered

I like my gumbo chickened
in New Orleans
Nashville
or Charleston:
where-evered

The Sand Surfers

Little boys and girls wear slick black wet suits
as they practice surfing on soggy sand.
With arms outstretched, they pretend to balance
themselves on un-waxed surfboards, as parents
dutifully watch them from beneath their yellow
beach umbrellas. Older children who ocean
surf wonder when these young fledglings will leave
the safety of the unwavering sand
and venture into the sea, to experience
firsthand the thrilling thrust of undulant
waves and sea-born independence.

Sharing Secrets

Is it ever wise
to relive a behavior
a mistake
a sin
and share it
with a lover?

Releasing
a foul dragon
one’s kept hidden
in a mountain cave
for years
seems unwise.

It may well
burn and devour
him.

The Jersey Angel

It lives near tidal estuaries
near rich salt-marsh earth
in touch with wind and cedar creeks
where skimmers and sanderlings feed.

Near rich salt-marsh earth
with its currents, crabs, and minnows
skimmers and sanderlings feed
in touch with wind and cedar creeks.

With its currents, crabs, and minnows
a regenerative pineland thrives
in touch with wind and cedar creeks
and lighting and fire

a regenerative pineland thrives
then dies then lives again
because of lighting and fire.
It lives near tidal estuaries.

At midnight, ‘neath the night sky’s glorious
canopy, the banana moon shown down
upon our town’s polluted lake. My spare
frame lay uncomfortably upon her
breastbone as we reclined in the backseat
of her 2013 Jeep Grand Cherokee.
She said, “Don’t panic. I know
this is going to be your first time.”

Horticulture takes time—and water—and sun. Each spring and summer gardeners inspect their fig trees: some grow in full sun; others in partial sun; still others in shade. Each one has an intimate relationship with its caregiver. But only one group bears fruit.

watering fig trees
sandy soil, warm sunshine—
leaves with firm handshakes

I remember when I left you.
Both of us, angry, frustrated.
Neither of us at fault.

I went away to college.
You stayed.
You stayed.

Four years with few words.
Then six more with fewer.
Still more years.

You understood why.
You were unselfish.
I was not.

One day I called you.
Your tone of voice: shattered.
I listened intently.

We reconnected.
Had lunch.
Laughed.

We traveled overseas together,
During winter.
Re-connected.

You returned home.
Fell ill — again.
Passed on.

Still on the road.

Sunsets on sailboats
Cuban coffee at ten
Roosters on dirt roads
Fantasy friends

Lemon-lime houses
Back-yard palm trees
Forever turtle races
Colorful blouses

Scubas and snorkels
Lobster Benedict breakfasts
Movie-star cats
Neighbors with smiles