The Poetry Marathon

He stands on a mountain,

a mountain in Russia,

in Russia where they found the cancer,

the cancer that took away his ability to stand

to stand on a mountain, ever again.

I got my love of learning from my father
He also gave it to my brother
I got my love of people from my mother
who also shared this with my sister
I am reminded I am not alone by my friend
and forced to interact by my cat
Of all who know me, the best is my cat
though, the one who understood me was my father
Try as much as she can, I tend to hide from my friend
and have never shared much with my brother
When we were young, I thought I knew my sister
but have never understood my mother
It has been a tough life for my mother
causing her to complain, even about my cat
She depends on so much from my sister
even more so than she had my father
though she has always favored my brother
she never failed to act like a Mom to my friend
and now older, life is different for my friend
I find she acts more and more like my mother
but still doesn’t talk much to my brother
at least she has made up with my cat
and understands how much I miss my father
something I don’t talk about, even with my sister
It is ironic how much alike are my sister
and this now older friend
I wonder how things would be different with my father
what would have changed for my mother
I know he would have loved my cat
and he would be proud of my brother
But would I have stayed close with my brother
would things have moved so completely for my sister
would I have been there to meet my cat
so much is connected to that day, my friend
so much bitterness wrapped up my mother
on the day cancer took my father
It changed my brother, It changed my friend
It destroyed my sister, It destroyed my mother
Is it strange that when I see my cat, sometimes I can feel my father

My book (movie) in my head never ends,

so placing you in the leading role was

easy; your wit and charm give others pause,

but your chameleon ways help my plot blend.

I laugh when people are taken a back

by the many things you do to cause thought,

as if they own you, not a movie, but

the person wrapped up in plastic sack.

Perhaps its your swift smile, or boisterous laugh

that make them forget the fiction of the tale

told through digital, celluloid  and stage;

the person they create is real, full of life

even if, like in my head, it’s a pale

ghost in front of them, sitting on the page

He said

He was for real

He wanted to court me

He would not cheat on or hurt me

He lied

Spanish

Familiar, Understood

Comforting, Soothing, Flowing

Parents, Students, Teachers, Administrators

Learning, Misinterpreting, Growing

Difficult, Irregular

English

That big pan sitting on the stove

means hugs and kisses and Grandma’s love.

It may only be filled with potatoes, carrots,

tomatoes, cabbage and other roots,

but it was planned days ahead and just started

because she was getting a visit from her Sweethearts!

She thinks she’s smart,
with her tortie ‘tude self laid
across my poetry

It is funny how much you can accumulate living in one place.

Trunks full of books, pictures, poems, stories, most hard to replace.

2500 miles away, an apartment waits.

Big Red wasn’t so big, but would try to do what was needed.

So, pile in the boxes, throw on a tarp with plenty of rope to keep it.

100 miles, the cat is not happy being in a cage, and lets you know.

200 miles, Big Red starts to make noises like she is ready to blow.

600 miles, Oh! No! it is starting to rain, pouring straight down.

1000 miles, you pull over to sleep as you see truckers are starting to frown.

1500 miles left, Big Red please don’t break.

Another 200 miles and you realize that gas is really starting to cost you.

At the 1500 mark, you begin to think friends were right, the cat thinks so too.

The next 500 miles seem to be all up hill, Big Red doesn’t like it at all.

The last stop you make, check the ropes, rearrange the haul,

200 more miles, no AC, and Arizona is baking.

A new life, A new place, A new hope, A new chance

Thank you Big Red, now you can rest.

I really should clean,

my house is such a fright,

but I have poems to glean,

so, just push the dust bunny out of sight…

Her soft brown eyes melted at the sign of her boy

Her nub tail would shake the couch if you held her toy,

but one day, the door was left open and she ran

I doubt the driver saw her, just a slick flash of tan

he found her in the road where she laid to die,

halfway home, facing the house, and he cried.