The Poetry Marathon

Wuthering Heights

Mr Lockwood, a rich man from the south
Rented Thrushcross Grange for the sake of his health
Up at the Heights, that Heathcliff, was getting stranger
In that remote moorland farmhouse there lurked all kinds of danger
It all started when the Earnshaw’s moved in
Catherine was all of about six back then
A traveling man he adopted the Heathcliff boy
His son took none to kind to that kind of ploy
He hated him but that Catherine was obsessed
Hindley was packed off to college a young man possessed
When old Earnshaw kicked the bucket, Master Hindley came back
Cathy was none too pleased about that
With Heathcliff she ran wild on the moors
Till those at the grange once caught them and Heathcliff was dismissed once more
She changed into a proper young lady in the end
And laughed at Heathcliff … he vowed revenge
He scarpered then, no one really knew when
Returning a few months later, buffed-up as a right gentleman
Catherine was delighted
Edgar, the love of her life thought the future was blighted
Paying off Hindley’s debts Heathcliff surprised everyone
But eloping and marrying Isabella who bore him a son
Cathy died birthing a girl
A beautiful lass, but high-spirited as hell
She knew nothing of Heathcliff and the likes
This is where it all gets a bit complicated which led to fights
Young Cathy eventually met her cousin Hareton
But Heathcliff planed for her to marry his son Linton
Now master of both Thrushcross and Wuthering Heights
Cathy was given no choice or rights
Then Linton ups and dies
As to Heathcliff he went barmy right before their eyes
Started seeing visions of his Cathy at the window and on the moors
Not long after he joined her, buried together forever more

Reunion–4pm

It’s been so long-
since she last saw him
so long since we said goodbye
Where did the time go?

She couldn’t live without him
She tried-
Oh she tried
But in the end-
she had to leave too

He’s had to say goodbye
how is that fair?
It was someone elses fault their
loved one is gone-
But he’s looking forward
to when they see each other
again

Can you even begin to understand
what these people feel?
what goes through their heads
when facing this situation

He’s old and in a nursing home
calling out for his wife
only to get shushed or comforted
by somone else
so he bides his time

She knows her time is near
and she’s been surrounded by
her legacy
she’s not going to cry
because she’s dying

She knows there’s going
to be tears when she’s gone
And she knows that they will
struggle to move on

She’s going to laugh
she’s going to shout
She’s going to be happy

for what a reunion that
will be

Idiom Reboot- Penny For Your Thoughts…Where Do The Good Idioms Go?

A Penny for Your Thoughts

was pretty pricey in 1522!

The Rise of Inflation,

Better Education,

-available to all- and,

the Disappearance of the Penny

nearly sank these wise words!

With our Blooming,

Non-Flowery Language and,

desire to, “Get straight to the point!”

four words (instead of five)

will now do nicely…

“What are your thoughts?”

 

Poem #9, Ingrid Exner Poetry Half Marathon 2021

Plan B

A bus driver bleeps the horn
at a red Saudi that steals in front of the lumbering vehicle.

For a second birds rule the audio sphere.

Then a motorcycle scrounge of wannabe stunt boys churns past. I ignore the Instagram op and look over the trees.

Attention to the birds is all I want to pay.

What century could I escape to and not have been interrupted by the noise of progress, impatient to be anywhere but where it wasn’t?

10 The Captain

The ship’s captain rolled his arm

Around the lady while broad wide

Hands patted her tears to stop

 

White beard and sun-soaked skin

Yielded a low smooth voice

Comforting the sobs and shudders

 

Promising to return and save her

From the sudden lonely sadness

That encircled her dark world

 

Each morning and evening

He came to tell her of the

Beautiful day she was missing

 

Traveling far she searched

For a way to be in the world

That was new and hopeful

 

Tallest snow-covered mountains

Most wild beasts on the plains

Exotic trees in the jungle

 

Prayers with the shamans

Herbal baths from the healers

Meditation with the gurus

 

Always returning to the Captain

The gravely voice reminding

It’s a beautiful day

 

Weary from searching

Taking enough time to be still

She finally understood

 

There’s no place like home

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rising Sea

Steel and glass tower over rising seas

Battered glass shakes with each crashing wave

Wave upon wave threatened to break through the transparent barrier

A fish, barely the size of a blade of grass, rides the current, closer and closer to the final pane

All too calmly the glass cracked, then shattered into shards, invisible in the water

The little fish continues on its way, making its new home within the steel tower

 

Hour 7: Normal

Define normal:

Cookie-cutter

Carbon copy

Boxed in

Polite, smile, nod

Cross your legs

Stand up Straight

Sit down

Shut up

Know your place

Do as you’re told

Don’t talk back

Do not question

Do not think

Accept, Resign, Submit

 

I do not fit that mold

I ooze across the baking sheet

Spill out of that box

I argue, cry, shake my head

I slouch and lean

I am not silent

I rebel, (did I mention I argue?)

I think lovely and radical thoughts

I question everything

Including your idea of “normalcy”

So please accept my apology if I do not resign myself to your definition

I submit to no one

Closed Mouths Don’t Get Fed

Speak up
I cannot hear you
What is it
That you’d like
If I could read your thoughts
There’d be no need
To speak your mind.

Rebelí

2021 #9 – Fall From Grace

What have I done?
Things used to be easier.

Where did I make
a wrong turn?
When did I 
fall so far?

Was it not yesterday,
that things were better?

Why did I let this
darkness grow,
take control of
my life, change me?

How does one let light
shine again into the soul?

When was the last time
the light touched my mind?

Lost with no direction.
A path once so clear,
now clouded by uncertainty.

Nowhere to go.

No one here.

Only one way
left, right?
Back to the light.

Midnight rose

Green sticky leaves.

Tips over in the pot,

Spring time is here.

O’Mother dearest.

We just love your,

Homemade cornbread.

And to battle also with life.

We do adore.

But one thing differently.

Is that,

We have a purpose.

To follow, and a vision behind it.

To trail on in.