The Poetry Marathon

Hour 2 – Ammit, Devourer of Souls

Ammit, Devourer of Souls!

Do you rest here, belly upturned to the sun because you have eaten your fill?

Or do you simply wait for the most ample of feasts?

You who sit and watch the scales not so patiently also watch me with eternity and questions in your eyes.

Am I the god, the scale, or the heart, Pygmy Hippo?

Won’t you tell me before your mid-morning nap?

If this is my reckoning, the afterlife is kind

For my heart has been heavy, but you lighten it.

I am lessened, one gentle lick at a time.

Hour Two 2021

Unseen

Some of the greatest forces are unseen.
Air, close your eyes, feel air, feel stillness.
Thoughts, what are you thinking now? 
Can I climb inside your thoughts unseen?
Space between things, not air, not thought,
but something else—the space between things 
is one of the greatest forces unseen, unheard,
but sometimes felt. 

Hour 2 – Reflection (Image Prompt)

Reflections are never quite right,

Some make things better

Some are too bright.

Reflections are never quite right.

Some show too little

Some absorb too much light

But Reflections can never be right.

already they’re  backwards

Already they’re twisted.

Reflections are never quite right.

Some point out flaws

Some cause us fright

But they are never quite right.

Some hide the darkness we need to see

Some eat the stars at night.

But no, reflections are never quite right.

So why limit yourself to reflections

When you can shine oh so bright?

If you limit yourself to reflections

You can never be right.

Black Dog—Hour 2

The “Big Black Dog”
Churchill coined depression
I’m no stranger to that Dog
That slowly slinks in with bite—
The Dog is in for another visit
Dimming light
Pushing me into the abyss
A void that doesn’t last;
As how can darkness be forever?
Beloved Creator, always there
Showing me hope
With heart rocks
To guide the way
Uncovering a life
Up from the abyss
I emerge with giggles and delight
My path is lighter without the heaviness
No more exhaustion
Now no longer blindly falling into the abyss
Emerging
A Joyful mouth
Pregnant with a smile
Thankful for restored light

Coffee & change

In the summer, we drink iced coffee
when it is still 90 degrees before dawn.
We study the forecast and plan our day:
walk the dogs by 5:30 a.m., complete errands early.
Get home safe.

I worry constantly about the power grid.
If it fails, do we survive 120 degrees with no AC?
And I obsess about drought
scorching native plants, silencing the birds.
We are running out of water.

The sun beats down on us and
my eyes reflect the damage.
My skin is brown and dry.
All day I crave ice cream and
the waves of the ocean.
All day I remember
deep forests and
what it felt like
to walk in the rain.

Hour Two

Bella and Mia

If I saw myself
the way my dog does
I would see the me
That I truly am

If I saw myself
the way my dog does
I wouldn’t be so hard
on myself all the time

If I saw myself
the way my dog does
I would be proud
of my tribulations

If I saw myself
the way my dog does
I would love myself
for who I am

If people saw themselves
the way their dog does
The world would be
a much better place

 

Record Day Sonnet

Record collecting belongs to obsessives.
No basement dweller or salty statistician
I meet the criteria’s main missive
By holding my spot through attrition.

My main connection, with his bins,
Delivers his fix to all in the market square.
He plays music that drown out the din
Of passersby who escape the lair –

Mainly ‘60s rock – I admit is my first love.
But I also found a lone Jimmie Rodgers
Whose Train Whistle Blues shines above
For its songs of hard times soft lodged

The sellers’s wife probably enjoys her quiet Sundays
But, with new vinyl, they’re my own special day

Skay 2021 Hour Two

 

Dregs in my cup 

Dance strange patterns

Is there a wiccan future

Lurking in there 

I wonder 

I can only see

Tales of joy long gone

And yet I hear the

Grinder and

The aroma of roasted beans

Reach me

I can see the future through

Dregs in my cups

2 Coffee Dog

Millie, my Boston, smiles through her black mask
White patterns rest next to her latte no sugar coat
Not a black and white pup she confuses folks who walk by
A small Boxer they suggest as I correct them with Boston

When she’s older she may try to pass at doggie daycare
Oh yes, a Boxer, she will boast, women’s lib and all
The older dogs will allow her nervous fib
The puppies will sniff in awe as Boxers are few

A Pandemic Pup knows little of the before
There is a generation of these life savers
Someone to talk to and cuddle and hug mask-less
Though she reminds me that her mask is here to stay

The Scientist

The lab is not your home

no matter how many times you sleep

on that dilapidated davenport.

 

Because you can’t face the truth,

look it in the eyes and tell it how much

you were wrong, how you regret what

you’ve done.

 

So you can continue experimenting all you want.

You can mix together all the chemicals

in the world but it won’t cure the worst

disease of them all: apathy.