The Poetry Marathon

My genre poem, complete with cliche:

Why Do Good Girls Like Bad Boys?

It was going so well with the handsome prince
who came to save her
until she met the dragon.

Luck

I never was much of a fisherman
until I fell in love with one.
Even then, I always carried a book,
snacks, a thermos of coffee,
notebook and pencils.

He did what he could to keep it interesting.
We bet on first fish in the boat,
biggest fish,
most fish.
He usually won, and he wasn’t always graceful
when he didn’t.

He was more patient.
I treated fishing as an active sport—casting,
retrieving lost lures,
casting again. And I learned
to relish the good luck:
an excellent crappie hole
sand bass feeding frenzie
the hard fighter I let go to fight again
the short story I sold about one rough day on the water
my fishing man

Once, he sacrificed his favorite pole to save me
when I fell out of the boat in a snaky creek.
Lost my glasses, too. Always figured
there was a catfish down that creek
who was suddenly able to see the difference
between a live worm and a hooked one.

What A Marathon Poet Does when She’s Not Writing Poetry

Walks in the garden

Picks the first three ripe cherry tomatoes of the season
Well, almost ripe

Pulls an armful of lemon balm
for the chickens consigned to their pen
because of a resident raccoon
she just couldn’t bear to shoot

Empties the chicken feeder, soaked
after the night’s rain

Washes, dries, and refills feeder

Realizes she skipped breakfast

Forgets breakfast when she also realizes
almost an hour has passed

Makes a list of what she’s done in the past hour

Calls the list a poem

1)

Marathon Woman–

composing and discarding

transient poems

2)

Eight Hours Ago

Slid my wide backside

against your narrow front

and settled into bed

Like you have thousands of nights before

you drape your arm over me,

your work-roughened hand flat

against my belly

Lying here, skin to skin

I forget that I’m old

I’ve been writing for more than 50 years, and it hasn’t gotten any easier.  But I’m one of those people who can’t not write.

I write both prose and poetry, but I was a poet first.  A friend challenged me to do the half marathon, and I accepted the challenge.

When I’m not writing, I’m gardening, tending chickens, or teaching kids to read and write.  I live on a small farm in the woods of northeastern Oklahoma.

I’m looking forward to seeing what everyone has to share.