The Poetry Marathon

Old houses insist on patience

Attention to repair

Occasionally offering pieces

Of their stories only

To those who listen carefully

A burden or many lessons

An old house keeps its secrets

History passed intentionally with

Creaks and sounds in the night

That speak of what it has seen

Those may call it a haunting

Though it is merely a hello

An honor most certainly

A building choosing to trust

Opening its doors to the listener

My many lovers were well selected

I regret none of them despite

Failed futures and messy endings

Life lived now with perspective

I am grateful for the journey

Never missing a fine chance

I had each at their best

When hitting their stride

Before settling in or down

I tell older girlfriends they

Missed great men themselves

Fallen prey to judgements

Good girls have few memories

Little sparkle in their eyes

Looking back I’d do them all again

There are witches in your path

Believers in Earth Wind Fire Air

Knowers of the four directions

Healers artists men women others

We have been here all along

Caring and sharing the gifts

From the Mother hoping

All will listen to save her

Perhaps you feel yourself

Aligned but unsure to connect

Trust this to be true

Join the lovers of this planet

Needed now to act to hear

The children implore us

That our Mother will move

Us off is we do not change

White Jeep Cherokee

Two thousand miles

Road trip in Alaska

Jersey girls having

No business venturing

Into the wild alone

A grizzly encounter

Two of them left with

Damp panties and tall tale

Roads too narrow

Bridges above trees

Abandoned copper mines

Handsome bearded men

Avoiding crowded places

Finding luxury in this space

We left some Jersey there

Returning with grit

A sisterhood created

A brief nod to chocolate

When all else fails

The phone is silent

For almost two days

While opened bills

Remain waiting unpaid

The dog insists she must pee

As cold rain falls harder

There is nowhere to go

Encouraging a purposeless life

How many more chances

Are there left at seventy-two

Dark chocolate with chili

Is reached for to save the day

Deferring to single mother

Though the work was similar

Now maternally unemployed

I watch Twister too many times

Six grandchildren later

I am the meteorologist

Providing forecasts and

Confirming normal patterns

Despite overcast behaviors

Major events thus far avoided

There is no talk of possible

Thunder lightening flooding

My tornadoes barely survived

My children now parents

I can still see the pickup

Lifted by the Twister

No one said anything about

My Bilbo Baggins perm

Because they can’t remember

What my hair had been

I am the listener

Little attention to me

How are you?  they ask

Without waiting for answers

I reach into my pocket

Searching for the Ring

Hoping for a new obsession

To make my life an adventure

Alas there is no ring

No quest to move me from

This soft sagging armchair

A volcanic Mount Doom

Ring a bell and someone comes

Push a button to invite a hello

How are you?  they ask

Doorways large accommodate

All those collected years

Rolling into the shower

Puzzles abound on card tables

Holidays are happily posted

Birthdays are announced

Ladies flirt with cookies

While men account the wars

Grandchildren visit Saturdays

A fortunate soul will not wake

Sliding away without assistance

Now watching the others prepare

Be honest

Learn all stories

Act to change

Care for others

Keep moving forward

Let others speak

Invite strangers in

Volunteer to action

Evolve your thinking

Search for truth

Make yourself useful

Attend to problems

Think for yourself

Try possibilities

Eracism

Risk being brave

Believe in something even

When it’s Winter

Spring brings the miracle

Of faith understood

Summer is almost too much

A long pregnancy waiting

For Autumn and the harvest

Yet Winter still brings doubt

Faithless despite yesterdays

Todays and tomorrows returning

Requiring infinite reassurance

We find little peace in the now