The Poetry Marathon

It was in the sink.

A tiny black cricket.

Just a baby, really.

But,

I

hate

crickets.

So, I got a napkin.

And folded it around him.

To take him outside.

But,

he

hates

outside.

So, into the air he flew.

Not on the floor.

Not in the sink.

Nowhere

to

be

found.

And now, I sit here typing

Itching, twitching,

Wondering if

he

went

down

my shirt.

With this ring

I said I do.

I did,

and I thought,

so did you.

Some Days, a Potter; Some Days a Poet

onto the wheel with a slap,

intended to dispel

voids, air pockets.

deep massage,

knead and fold,

moisten and spin,

splatter and twirl

bits under my nails

hand-shaped, molded,

smoothing the rough

cupping the weak,

urging substance

into the voids

pinching,

fettling,

editing

excess

it is short,

no stretch or give;

I either have to start again–

or let it sit to dry as is.

With thanks to Tracy and to Debbie for their inspiration

In the lasting shadows

of fallen towers

and bombs blasting holes

in our global souls

but yet quite before

the plague

came to our door,

while we waxed patriotic,

swathed in red and in blue,

star-spangled fervor,

and voted our leaders

as if nothing new

had changed in the background,

had detoured our tomorrows,

saw no hint of the deaths

the vaccines, and the sorrows,

and there in that lull,

between explosive bouts,

SeJohnson, 9.23

the horizon unseen

our tomorrows planned out,

in that valley–you know,

the one shadowed with death–

was a decade-deep chasm

of blood, funerals, and fears,

where we interred our innocence,

on viral, terrorist biers.

there is no one here,

in this gloming dim,

for me to ask of her or him,

where the road leads next,

why those leaving have left,

just mist-laden pines

full-circumspect,

whispering,

psithuring,

silent

and

still.

Hello, Poetry Peeps!

Can hardly believe it, but this is my 10th year!

All the other calendar pages are strewn on the floor, as the only one that matters is THE DAY.

So excited–and hope you are too. Looking forward to the chat and the cheering. Are we ready!!!

Sarah.

PS, you can find a FB writing page at Se Johnson, Author, but the Marathon poems will be posted here first.

Haiku, mark my place–

Thumbtack on the empty board;

Anchor words to page.

Never a night so long,

Lashed here, to Homer’s Galley

And knowing, sleep’s music, so wrong

Would undoubtedly drown me

Wholly, completely, sweetly.

Pillowed Siren, Scylla and Charybdis

I have closed my ears thus far

But I nod and your voice softly whispers

“Come away, come away. Sleep is yours.”

I must not, for a moment, til dawn.

Never a night so long!

Pillowed Siren, Scylla, Charybdis

have won and I am no more.

To the waves of my sheets, I succumb.

Surrender–surrender complete,

Has never felt so sweet.

there was,

in that place,

between

where the tide could reach

the sand

and where

its treasure lay

strewn,

the strand,

the frass

of upchurned storm

and wind,

driven to this reach,

beyond the waves

wild ride

and here

stand I

amid

the fractured

shells

of hope

The almond flowered,

An umbrella from the sun,

Vast pink canopy