The Poetry Marathon

the girl child wakes first

vegetarian

she’ll need her own lunch

also gluten-free

she reminds you the importance of buying cage-free eggs

you remind her that all her frees really don’t come free

the oldest boy child wakes next

and beats the girl child to the counter

all carnivore

needs lunch for two today

he is eating with his companion at the senior center

his treat

he’s chosen bacon mac and cheese, and peach pie

the youngest boy child wakes last

and is the last one to the counter

which he calls an island in the kitchen

he’d like the leftover wings from last night

and a large glass of milk

for breakfast!

whatever happened to toast?

his lunch today,

your mashed potatoes with green olives and sunflower seeds

and the peaches not in the pie

for yourself it is just coffee

whatever they don’t eat

but you draw butterflies on each brown lunch bag

you don’t care that they are all teenagers now

this is your diner

the only diner they’ve ever know

and in this diner, the doggie bags come with doodles by mom

I thought God was going to be here

I set the alarm, and everything

this is how psalms get started

the pink lemonade and limeade colored graffiti lined street

ten steps of a labyrinth slice

the cunning leading the exuberant

first fox, then bear, by his side girl child

what transcends is motion

outrivals ambition

leaving monarchy behind

the adventurers who can’t get lost

in the looking glass, called labyrinth
with Kevin Peterson’s own thumbprint in the fox’s fur

this is not a zoo portrait

but a portrait of a zoo visit

and all three animations are visiting not only the zoo

but this portrait

indicating the allusiveness of the Divine Spirit of Adventure

reminding not only of the creation myths called Genesis, of which there are two

but the child on Christ’s knee,

oh let the little children come to me he pleads and exhorts

in Christmas red and green

I’ve been keeping all the adjectives

in the barn out back

but the wind that welcomes home family and friends

blew open the doors

and the adjectives all got away

still welcome home

so I must go out and round them up with the horses

which will take a while to saddle and welcome home

I’ll need the big wagon

but while I’m gone you are welcome home too

not in the barn of course

but here at the picnic table with the yellow welcome

home pantheon

and the jar of adjectives to use only once

because they spoil

I’ve put some on ice that you are welcome to use until I get back home

haphearted

fanbundant

helfish

splendocious

playlicious

holytrocious

sologarchical

musicpherous

in the highest places what is green is missing while

in the lowest places the green hangs lower still, lower than the

cow caught necking and not in the romantic picture that goes

viral all over the internet but with a virus that’s so subvirile even

the bull wouldn’t be caught dead knowing that giraffes

don’t neck, and don’t sleep much drowsing less than two hours a day,

savannah dwellers, whisper yellers, and still the fellers

bachelor herds

the only animal known for its neck and heck that virus check reveals

all is weller in the necking world of savannah dwellers even when there’s

a bottle neck in the safari industry the wake up call will always be the green

possibility of seeing giraffes neck high in the wild

the apple tree

crisp fragrance

before molten fall

an epic harvest

to savor

yet,

you took one heart shaped bite

then spit it out

for the crows

I painted the room purple

for betrayal

angry brush strokes smashed against the wall

I’m certain the neighbors heard

divided allegiance

because you tainted their perception

of me

with your lies and twisted truth

oh mountains majesty

a Lenten journey I did not agree to make

when I signed myself with ash

hung the sackcloth curtains

empty belly from an imposed fast

believing Good Friday is not the end

and lilacs resurrect from tombs

but only when its time

you can’t buy lilacs at the florist

I painted the room purple

(Prompt for Hour Sixteen:

Write down the first line of your poem before reading the rest of this prompt..

Write the rest of your poem, the poem can be about any subject that you like.

Then copy and paste the first line so that it is also the last line of your poem. You can change one word of this line, but only one word.)

when the wagon wheel broke

they stopped

for good

no one had the heart anymore to go on

this place would be enough

the fire tender started the first fire

using small sticks and leaves that the children gathered

and larger logs that the older children carried together

the fire tender drew a circle around the fire

and no one could enter without her permission

“mother, may I?”

“yes, I see you, I know you are safe, yes, you may”

and she watched

the fire tender kept buckets of water nearby

and the thickest blanket for smothering

the tools of safety

in case she should fail

the fire tender always smelled like smoke

work fire smoke;

as the village grew

all fire descended from the first fire

the kitchen fires

the blacksmith fires

the fires that burned the dead animal carcasses that died from sickness

the fires that burned the weeds off the fields

the candles in the bedrooms where babies were born, or children read books

the wedding fires and other village liturgy fires

all fires knew the fire tender was their mother

the fire tender’s heart beat

fanning the flames

of the first fire, the work fire

pumped the essential life blood of fire through the veins and ventricles of the village

the fire tender welcomed the story teller into her home

and together the two women lived

keepers of the flame of fire and story

creators of light and life and passion

both smelling of smoke

and tending the flames

(Prompt for Hour Fifteen:

Write a poem about the heart. But don’t focus on the heart as a metaphor, focus on it as a reality. For example the function the heart serves in the body, or heart monitors, etc.)

I took my kids to the beach

to collect sea glass

greens and blues

from glass tossed into the ocean

then tossed about in the ocean

before being tossed up by the ocean

onto the sand

broken, yet beloved

edges softened, touchable

kissable

resurrecting in new beauty, new life

a mosaic collection where purple’s the prize

that once danced with seaweed

and waxed and waned with wave and moon and mermaid

until washing ashore

a treasure

(Prompt for Hour Fourteen:

Write a nature poem. But play with the genre. Most nature poems are about the beauty of the natural world. I want you to focus on the intersection of the natural world and the unnatural world. Think dandelions sprouting through the concrete. Think garbage on the ocean or Ivy on a house, even flowers at a wedding.)

where is your name, slave girl?

you’ve gone missing

taken from your family

not remembered enough to even have a name

purchased, war bounty from a raid

attentive to your mistress

who didn’t have a name either,

wife of Naaman;

through compassion you became blessing, slave girl

a remnant of the colored cloak of another slave, your ancestor

and you, slave girl with the missing name,

a liberator for the one with the name, Naaman;

what milk carton bears your image, your name?

what mother searched for you?

what was the smell of the pillow your father carried daily because you had last slept on it?

where is the dust that still carries your name, your bone, your marrow?

where is the book that your name is written so I can read it, slave girl, instead of this one marked Kings?

I want the book named Slave Girl

I want the book with your name gone missing