The Poetry Marathon

The neighborhood was older, when the newlyweds moved in,

There was an age difference with the children,

When the young family did begin.

The land of make believe, became a refuge to pretend.

The adventures in Narnia was a gift quite heaven sent.

A brother and a sister, reading about siblings that were four,

Though they squabbled and had hardships,

They found strength not found before.

Lucy, Edmund, Susan, and Peter faced hardships,

More than they dreamed were true.

Learning of Aslan they found themselves,

Though their trials they really grew.

Not a wardrobe in the house, a few closets failed the test,

No door to Narnia found, though their imaginations were the best.

The orange tabby kittens were found together.

Brothers of other mothers, bonded yet the same.

A package deal for adoption, they came home.

She was one of three remaining in the litter.

Wrinkled, wriggling, wrestling with her siblings.

She was smaller, then she grew.

Separate species, super siblings.  Four footed family.

Tears rolled down my cheeks,

My car backed out of the drive.

A deep breathe as I waved good-bye.

My first house as an adult,

Leaving it behind.

All I knew was behind me as I shifted into drive.

My car full of boxes, things I forgot for the movers to take.

My tears flowed for quite a while, fearing a mistake.

One cat is on the toilet,

The other cat is in the sink.

The dog whines wanting to play.

The floor is hard.

The toilet bowl is cold.

The odor from the litter box permeates the room.

The storm rages outside.

We wait.

The warning lifts.

The door opens and we are free at last.

The lavender stretched to catch the sun rays.

The sunflowers followed with their friendliest gaze,

The cucumbers grew plump on the vine,

Picked for the tasting when it was the right time.

The garden gows with patient care.

Sun, soil, water, and time, The results come to bear.

The siren sounds its warning,

Every Saturday at noon.

Because it’s every weekend,

I hope we’re not immune.

The weather can be wicked,

Winds whipping wildly too and fro.

Hail pounding the roof and siding,

Causing worry down below.

Rain falling in sheets,

Wipers unable to stay on task,

The siren sounds its warning,

Please listen is what it asks.

The ceiling fan hums as it stirs the air.

The carpet soft to my bare feet,

The linoleum cool, where my toes meet.

The sunlight brightens the room,

Giving hint of the warm day.

The cats are snuggled together,

Resting from play.

The moonlight shimmered a path across the lake,

A secret that few were brave enough to take..

There were stories though, of once upon a time,

When people disappeared without a trace,

Some say they lost their minds.

The wind whispered its secret, rustling through the trees,

The ones to hear it, would come in twos and threes.

Taking off their shoes, at the lake they wade right in,

Disappearing from view at the horizon’s end.

The morning would come, with a few more empty beds.

The police would go on searching, always shaking their heads.

Great grandpa said there was a land where lake a moonlight met,

I never ventured over there, it has been my life’s regret.

I am not who I thought I would be,

When I was young, when I was carefree.

Maybe a teacher, a journalist, or more,

A family of two or a family of four.

I am not a mom or a wife,

I am blessed nevertheless with a happy life.

I am a daughter, a sister, a friend.

A neighbor, an employee, not one in trend.

The dreams of youth did pass away,

I am thankful yet for this very day.

I am a poet , I love to encourage my friends.

I am glad for this gift of a poetry weekend.

Subtracting duplicate words, I have a word count of 98 (I think).

A half marathon of poems,
I did not imagine this day.
Sitting focussed and writing,
Not letting myself go astray.

A dozen poems drafted,
Some happy, some silly, some sad,
A starting place for many,
Some really not half bad.

The finish line in sight,
An exhaled breath of relief.
A goal achieved in writing,
Defying the thoughts of defeat.

The words were hard some hours,
Some poems easily did flow.
The dream of writing flowers,
The hope of more poetry grows.

Vulnerable at times,
To let people see.
The creative writing person,
The heart upon my sleeve.

Silence oh inner critic,
You have no place today.
Writing is a talent,
From it I should not stray.

Giggles did occur,
Laughter did ensue.
Victory accomplished,
A half marathon I did do!