The Poetry Marathon

Forever Begins – Hour Six

Knees trembling
Heavy breath
Eyes staring
As I make my way towards my future
On the air, a hint of scented roses
As I smile nervously at the crowd of onlookers staring
As I pass
All friends and family, gathered to witness
The start of forever
Certainly some are watching
From above
As raindrops kiss my forehead
From billowed clouds on high
Soon, I will stop before my beloved
Our hands will join, before our two lives do
And then, as one, we will make our own way
Towards the beginning of forever

Aware

At a time

When our shared breath was threat and possible death 

When the streets emptied 

and nature crept where tires no longer tread 

When home became haven and prison 

When we sheltered our lungs

and the human world stood still

Then the blossoms still carried on 

In silken softness

and the gradual easing to leaves

The trees continued 

To convert our cloistered breath

To oxygen 

And the hidden sun

To syrup

When there are no comings or goings 

Only staying 

Staying to watch through fogged windows

Each stage

Of the trees awaking 

When there is nothing to do 

But count the blossoms 

and watch them fade

Aware

Of life’s unfolding

and 

That even your masked breath 

Is transmuted 

To life 

Even in silence 

We sing with the trees 

Even when our faces are hidden 

Nature boldly reveals itself 

One generous bud

At

A

Time

 

Bring Her Home

(for hour 6—from music prompt—for Onweald)

 

Bring Her Home

(by the character Nigel Taiman)

 

Amid the dark of my bower

When the dragon form has me

However it’s possible

I ache more for her return

Some part of me

Believes she can come home

Believes the gods can collectively sacrifice

And bring her home

 

Amid the dim of breaking dawn

When the dragon form leaves me

Crafting my bones and skin

To emptiness without her

Some part of me

Believes she can come home

Believes the gods can collectively sacrifice

And bring her home

 

Amid the hopelessness of days

When the dragon form resides

Plots and hides within me

Bruising all that I am

Some part of me

Believes she can come home

Believes the gods can collectively sacrifice

And bring her home

The Window

Through the car window
hazed with loss
I cleared a spot
to see you one more time.
You got smaller
as we drove away.

Maui

Maui

 

A sea turtle came on shore to rest,

having swum around for almost a hundred years.

He stayed all day, only lifting his head

to stare up at tourists who were getting too close.

They were supposed to know better,

but still, they tried to get near a creature

who knew more than them,

who has lived on this earth longer than any of us,

who was already wise at birth.

Reminders

Digging weeds in
my New Orleans garden
deeply rooted
interloper
cones up with a tank
dangling from roots
a section of gold chain
bracelet, necklace?

three years after
Hurricane Katrina
newly purchased home
I was a transplant
having come to help with
regional revovery

It became sadly routine
broken china
a distinct pattern
though none of the
recovered pieces ever fit

Later, more casual
dinnerware
lots of silverware
mangled forks, bent spoons
a butter knife
a gravy ladle

Large bolts
metal floor joist supports
popped up in our
garden or lawn
kicked up by lawnower

I kept it all in a tub
in the garage
not as souvenirs
but as a remembrance

Recovered artifacts
from unwanted
time capsule
recent history
brought to life
tragedy
aa sobering,
ongoing harvest.

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2021
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Teaching Without Tenure

They call it the dance of the lemons –

the teachers who are not given tenure

after working diligently for four years –

after studying in their fields for four years –

and obtaining master’s degrees, too –

They call it the dance of the lemons.

It only takes one administrator to deny tenure

and that sets the course into action.

No other school will take the dancer seriously.

Outrageous demands will be put on them –

forcing them to perform acrobatic feats of

academic excellence – 100% on standardized

tests (that tests skills and nothing more) –

100% attendance (as if they somehow

are accountable for their students’ lives.)

100% on volunteering for unpaid activities –

which creates hatred among the tenured teachers.

It’s a dog-eat-dog existence.

Dancing the lemon dance as if you are not good enough,

squeezed of every last drop of sour-tasting energy.

Tested from right to left and left to right –

ball chain, ball chain, step in and step out –

But never give up!

You are not a lemon!  You have touched

the lives of many who will never forget you!

What It Is

HipHop music
carries folk tune and dance
Has the same echo
as Negro spirituals
Bears the sin of
crossroads blues
Sweats and wails
like Saturday night jazz
Cries for truth like Sunday
storefront gospel
Begs sincere like soul
with rock and roll abandon

…And…

Dresses differently
Speaks in authoritative code
Paint broad-spectrum
or not at all
Erase old self
and build a new monument
to your moment
Baptise them in style
as you dance paise to every
god
of spin
and lyric
and hook
and cut
And bring that muthafunkin
beat back

labyrinth

the labryinth sends the invitation
the pilgrim accepts
first a circling of steps around the perimeter
a sacred container of this traveled life
then a bow at the entrance
before the one woman parade to the center
this peregrination requires a heartbeat for its stride

heal toe
heal toe
thump thump
heal toe

she treads on dread
she gaits on what’s made her wait
she tracks on flack
she trails on wails

heal toe
heal toe
thump thump
heal toe

she marches a high step
she saunters a salsa
she skips without tripping
she drudges through muckery

heal toe
heal toe
thump thump
heal toe

the labyrinth sends the invitation
the pilgrim accepts
both are changed
though both are in step

heal toe
heal toe
thump thump
heal toe

Suburban Pastoral #6

Lawn mowers as homily to verses of

fescue, bermuda and kentucky blue grass

green with obedience and belief when

blades tithe the aroma of devotion