The Poetry Marathon

coffee is a poet’s tool

especially served black

in a simple cup

unadorned

without sugar

without milk

not compromised

by love

I read about it on

Wikipedia, definition

from the Greek,

science of craft.

recalling I could not

drive a car, do not

have a cell phone,

barely manage my own pc.

Ironically, in one detour,

I earned a living,

for three winter months in a

computer room at

senior citizens center

“teaching” how to turn one on,

when most of them wanted

to play on-line bingo.

My success was showing

at least two women how

to get started, and would

share another would-be

artist information about

important people in

Afro-American history,

printing out photos he

used as models to draw.

While writing this I

used technology while

adding boiling water

to grains of instant

coffee as a break from

poetry and words.

God tells me she did not

want me to be a technocrat.

Green is a modest dress

covering the lustful girl

who wants most often

to be an honest child.

green seldom dazzles nor

brings to dream, to

tempt or to seduce

unwilling hopes with

sudden revelry.

shatter green glass,

it lays there in specks

of sand without life

singing a capella on

stage, stark, still.

no green for me, heartily

I tell you more and bravely

are my purple shades so

strong, unashamed,

who become your diva whore.

not light

not any

not you

not me

not ideas

not fog

not empty

not imagine

not god

not words

not pictures

not sound

not white

write about the block.

first poem at ten,

my grandfather died,

discovered Walt Whitman.

high school teacher of American lit,

my grandparent’s generation

teacher had a crush on

my grandmother

when they were young

she did not feel the same.

still he trusted these three,

Walt Whitman,

Emily Dickinson,

Edgar Allan Poe.

we memorized the

transcendentalists,

“he had a Roman nose”

“the last leaf upon the tree”,

learned the Gettysburg address

“four score and seven years ago”

I, too, don’t like it.

grandma and grandpa

grew tulips and roses,

lilac trees in the backyard.

vegetables, too flourished

rows of corn, parsley patch,

tomatoes, rhubarb, two

vines of grapes,

white and purple

I have no green thumb.

not even a poet’s thumb.

I have a poet’s block

followed by mourning love.

Who knows? God may relent and change his mind; Jonah 3:9

morning does not bother

to say hello,

jostles me, interrupts

my dream

what it was

I wanted to do

did I hope to

smite my enemies

sleep with Jezebel

follow Boaz to new land

now just mixed up phrases

unfocused,

not caffeinated

jobless

hopeless

trying out new sounds

who best to be my guide

shaggy dog

yellow stop

who knows

Poetry Marathon
1. Saturday, August 13 at 9:00 am – Log on to Poetry Marathon
a. Remember password
2. Once I am on Marathon site, click on DASHBOARD
3. Look at PROMPT
a. Or use own idea
b. Write 1st poem
4. 10:00 am – save 1st poem on DASHBOARD
5. 10:01 am – look at 2nd PROMPT
a. Or use your own idea
b. Write 2nd poem
6. 11:00 am – save 2nd poem on DASHBOARD
7. 11:01 am – look at 33d PROMPT
a. Or use your own idea
b. Write 3rd poem
8. 12:00 noon – save 3rd poem on DASHBOARD
9. 12:01 pm – look at 4th PROMPT
a. Or use your own idea
b. Write 4th poem
10. 1:00 pm – Save 4rt poem on DASHBOARD
11. 1:01 pm – look at 5th PROMPT
12. Continue each hour through 24th hour
13. Sunday, August 14t at 9:00 am – enter 24th poem
14. You are Finished with the 2016 Marathon!

bought three peaches

yesterday so tomorrow

I may dare to eat one

The first exercise is

wake up,

get up,

groom the horse,

put on a

saddle and bridle.

Ride your horse

around the arena,

trot and canter.

Do not attempt

to jump before

you feel awake.

Suddenly the pen

feels lighter,

your horse slows,

sighs, tomorrow

rides herself.

Another chance to sleep

To dream to wake

Phrases slipping in and out

Red bubbled balloons

Anatomy awards autonomy

Giving getting second place

I shall write forever another day

Limpid pools of chlorine

On the porch of circumstance

Our hostess mostly cupcakes

Everything comes to those who wait tables

Sad story of an almost amoeba

My mother myself my grandma my other grandma

Of all the gin joints in the world

This is the one where I find sobriety

Gloria is god at her highest

Intoxication intones irrelevance insanity

There is nothing like a dime

Call me a cab, you’re a cab, I’m a cab, we can

Can we talk? No I would rather write than be President

For my next number seventeen, now done backwards, neetneves

When the going gets tough, the tough get steak

Adam, Eve and all the other folk who lived in Eden in the year one

I love you, I love you go home and sleep the sleep

Of the just can’t do it can you yes no non si nyet oui

This is the end my friends until we meet again.