The Poetry Marathon

Almost Clean

The old farmhouse windows painted shut

Wavy glass with four panes held together

By hardwood strips shedding white flakes

Air inside in measured climate

No breezes visit bringing a clean draft

Bugs enter through unnoticed cracks

It is the floor dust she ponders when

Making the queen bed each day

New showings of endless shades of gray

Occasionally vacuumed and always

Reached for to drop in the waste

Fuzzy clumps swept with a toe to grab

Where does this come from she demands

Out loud to no one but the house

Sealed windows are not talking

Not willing to ask friends generously

Blessed with cleaning ladies who

Work only with understandable motes

That she be judged for her corners

Queries to the old walls reflect not a

Concern for tidiness nor hygiene

It is her curious mind needing to solve

This mystery of immigrant fragments

If only to keep the house almost clean

Tobe TT  # 3

Spider Widow

How often I told you things

All the time a running conversation

Out loud even when apart

We talked for twenty years, always

When the dog died we mourned

For she was our stream of consciousness

Wondering what she was doing and

Thinking of us, our dear mother

Then you died months later

Leaving me without a living creature

To volley my thoughts and observations

Creating a sudden halt to my being

There was no one to care the blue house

Had been painted green or sold or still there

That the neighbor’s cat visited our yard

While the crows watched from the maple

I have taken to sharing with window spiders

Who care little of my opinions

But keep their distance while I explain

The Universe as I see it

Tolerating my tearful moments

We have established a useful truce and

I must admit I appreciate the company

Their wisdom to allow me the stage

TobeTT  #2

Glassy-Winged Sharpshooter

Magical dragon easing translucent wings

On warm summer breezes

Allowing flora to breath while

Puffs of seeds whisper

But alas the winged sharpshooter

Holds little beauty bestowed

With dark beetle body

Suggesting an awkward dance

Without reverence for gardens

This leafhopper offers sticky goo

Painted on sweet red grapes

To ruin the Green Man’s wine

Tobe TT   #1

Wishing all an inspired Summer Solstice.  I look forward to sharing this experience and creative space with all of you.

namaste

Tobe in Vermont

a dozen will have to do

I will cross the finish line

far behind all you folks

I was needed as Grandma

A most precious dear post

Twelve poems on the books

Though a true dozen short

Too late for the deadline

I am sad to report

Bravo to the poets

Who finished this task

Understand that I tried

Is all that I ask

Though my notebook’s half empty

No certificate here

Know the writing was healing

And I’lll see you next year

Winter complainers 

            up from the south

Needing to tell us

The cold is all wrong

And we must be crazy

To call this place home

Quick frankly I’m happy

Each year when they leave

Cold peace and quiet

Is all that I need

It’s hot where they’re going

They must keep the air cool

In their houses and autos

And maybe their pools

Our winters are warming

The skiers all know

Even at Christmas

We are missing some snow

Soon leaves will be turning

And bees stop their hum

We all will be grateful

For the leftover sun

Wave goodbye to the snowbirds

We’ll see you next spring

After snowdrifts and ice storms

You won’t miss a thing

SB

Samantha Bigby

Is an annoying child

With too many toes

And a big snoopy nose

Samantha Bigby

Orders every kid around

With her loose floppy lips

And wiggly blue hips

Samantha Bigby

Doesn’t like to share

Her orange head just so

Making sure you always know

Samantha Bigby

Pushes to the front

Poking meanly here and there

Cause she really doesn’t care

Samantha Bigby’s

Birthday was today

Purple candles brightly shone

As she sat there all alone

I care

She passed on this day

Thirty-six years ago

I will remind no one

Only I seem to care

She let go on purpose

Testing them forever

Perhaps this time will work

Only I seem to care

Buried in a silver can

Their grief withheld

Maybe later they will sob

Only I seem to care

I wanted you to know

As a witness to my loss

And to tell her once more

Only I seem to care

Dogs like pink

Dogs like pink he tells me

After sixty-nine hard years

With several dogs I never knew this

He is young at seven

We hardly know each other

Three days will be a short visit

I work to join him in play

Making memories for our sake

Wait, Grandma, watch this

He taps the screen

Building his Minecraft world

Not understanding I smile

Daddy is allergic to cats

He begins to confide

Smiling as he looks up

From his blocky construction

Will I see this child married

Having his own babes

Who know things he will not

Asking him why

Retired

After a bad night of bowling

His Brunswick rolled out the door

To be thrown off the Winooski Bridge

Into the Lamoille River

There’s a lot of balls in that river

He muttered still wearing the

Red and tan triple X shirt

Boasting Iggy’s Piggy’s

Wednesday nights now precarious

Offering blue light danger

Weaving from drink

He knew it was time

Leaving risk to younger men

He stayed home watching the game

Knowing he was done

Being anyone’s teammate