The Poetry Marathon

NATURAL SELECTION (a warning from the past)

Mankind that walks upon this land
Behold the destruction at your hand
The ultimate doom you did succeed
With actions levied in the name of greed
Wreaking havoc on a perfect world
Taking bounties you beheld
As inexhaustible

Humankind you have no shame
You saw the devastation in your name
But cared not for the harm you’d bring
To every creature and living thing
Please stop before all is lost
And you surrender to the ultimate cost
Total annihilation

What Remains

Digging through drawers
Clearing the pantry
Dividing mementos
Fighting for claim
Blood against blood
Stealing her name
Forgetting the love
And the foundation of faith
They tear and rip
At all that remains

2021 Poetry Marathon, Hour 6

For Hour 6, I used both text and visual prompts.

Wipe clean a spot
on the foggy window
to see what the morning has brought

Ignore the treacly soundtrack
leaking from the headphones
of the person in the next seat

I hear there’s a park
that’s perfect for strolling
just a few blocks from the station

Let your thoughts meander
until then

26 June 2021

Walking

I stepped outside into the misty rain,
reveling in a cooler day
after a long heat wave.

Not caring if my new sandals
encountered puddles or mud.

Feeling my jacket and jeans
dampen as I circled the neighborhood,
watching gardens and flower pots revive.

Reluctant to go home,
I wandered around another block
and another
before deciding to amble
back downhill
and go home for a cup of green tea.

Hour 6: Musing Journey

I look through my window

To decide where I wish to roam.

I want to take a wander

Travel beyond my home.

I get up and ambulate

Head out the front door

I pick up my feet and go

I need to move some more.

I try to make a marching step

To eat up on the miles.

As I take my stroll today

The sights make me want to smile.

A butterfly lands on a bright flower

Sipping nectar from the bloom

I promenade on my way

The sunshine scares away the gloom.

I slowly make my way home again

My feet now tired and sore.

I truly enjoyed my journey

As I go back in my front door.

The Dog – Prompt 2

Prompt 2

 

Poem 2

 

The Dog

 

He was supposed to sit by her chair

at the table,brown fur neck encircled 

with a narrow blue ribbon, large brown

eyes reflecting the light. But it was just 

the first time he would wander wherever

he went. She came to the table, sat and

something cold and damp touched her

leg. She squealed, which is how he got his name,

Squeal. Friends for life. After she died,

he rested upon the fresh-turned earth,

knowing somehow she was there.

2 pm – As the Rain Falls

The clouds go gray
And the grass, the trees, the birds
All begin to dance.
The wind gives tempo to their excitedness.

It’s funny how all things openly crave cleansing;
except people.

Hour 5 (2021)

Spade digs into soil,
I strike a tiny metal box
labeled time capsule.
and wonder what’s inside.
Could it be a letter?
Polaroid memories?
A favorite toy?
Maybe even treasure?!
It could be anything.
Next to the box
is a small gray stone
that simply says
Baby Jane.
With shaking hands
I open the tiny metal box
labeled time capsule,

Empty.

Poem for Hour Five

                        What Should Stay Buried


        Time caught in a capsule. Sorrow there
                                  or joy as you imagine opening it up?
                 Perhaps, better, if you put it back. To not know 
                              what was left behind.

                             a man and woman so young then. Babies
       not yet born. The woman not yet asleep in another man’s bed. Pearl
                     as they called it not yet bombed. Beirut, when it was
          the Paris of the Middle East. The young ones, brown-skinned, before
                          the top hats and whale-bone dresses before

                  the burials, before the bulldozers broke what marked
                                                            the graves.
Before the churches burned, before Christ turned his back,
                                          before anger’s black smoke
                               tore down everything and ripped words
                                        from cindered throats. 
       Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.

Break Free

Bound to a chair, 

Rusty and square. 

It wasn’t always this way.

A box of chocolates; an ode to my favorite movie. 

Break the shackles, 

one foot in front of the other.

It’s my time to break free. 

Bound to no one. 

Bound to no chair.