The Poetry Marathon

Old Photos

Yikes!

How can I make my family photo albums?

I thought it would be easy.

Take a picture and download, edit, print.

Easy.

Then, I found

Undeveloped film

Negatives

CD’s

Kingston sticks

Now what?

What do I do now?

If you can help me with this problem,

then maybe you can tell me

How can I get all my photos in one place?

Right now, I have photos

On my phone,

On my tablet

On my husband’s computer

On the cloud

On Google Drive

On Instagram

On Facebook.

Now what?

I’m sure they are great pictures,

But for now,

I have to work from memory.

Tick Tock

hands advance gently

just a minute at a time

so few understand

Plane Trip

Plane Trip

taking off from the airport
and landing at the place of choice
is but a matter of two breaths:
in between there are clouds
where essence of life is laid out.

Hour 15

@varenyas

The End of the Red Telephone Booth!

Crimson edifice, monument to a long-gone past;
Cast-iron anomaly that guards the village store.
What use have you today, whose last
call made was by someone trying to find a w h o r e;
a number picked at random from the posted cards?
The secrets that once it was your job to guard
are whispered now into a tiny mobile phone,
or sent by text, for the recipients’ eyes alone.

Do you still provide a place to call for taxi-hire;
the laggards rescue from the late-night long walk home?
Emergency requests for ambulance, police or fire,
or reporting out-of-order residential phones?
Perhaps you shelter still the teenage lovers’ kiss;
too self-wrapped-up to note the reek of drunkards’ p i s s
in puddled corners. And do runaways still strive to cheat the coinbox, telling parents that they are alive?

Although on town and country streets I see
now only clean-cut BT kiosks made of steel and glass,
the old red phone box still provides a memory
of times gone by; a once great British past.
And still in hidden corners or forgotten lanes
I find your crimson frame and tiny panes
recall own my misspent and happy youth. Oh yes, it’s true…
my teenage secret life was guarded well by you.

the hallways of existence

the gathering marvels renewing

freeing the haven gathers

delivery for the decreasing notion

freedom for the delight of matter converging

seen in ways of world

 

life existence questioning

the gatherer marvelous in the inward spirit relinquishing

formulates in the lovers delight

cascading anew

 

renewing the elements for their needs manifesting

 

poem # 04

 

Prompt 17: Oh, Brother Word Processor

The Brother Word Processor was my friend
my first year out of college.
It was a small beast that sat
on a chair in the corner of my room
when not in use,
which was seldom.

It printed, if not the first play
I wrote, the one I had most contention with
sharing and convincing anyone to produce.

“I don’t know how we’d stage it,” said a friend
who, at the time, hadn’t had his artistic directorship
minted, and was wasn’t about to take chances on an experimental
work inspired by Sam Shepard’s Tooth of Crime.

The Brother died many years ago,
but the play still has potential,
given the right attention
to casting and the enthusiasm
for set and sound design.

I hope I saved it to a flash drive.

Oh, Power Lines!

You try and try
to stay alive!

But, none
can beat the sun.

Just lay a strip
for miles and miles

In stone
we’ve laid before.

Some brilliant child
of how’s and why’s

Will know
how to explore.

It’s up to us
to educate

And spend
the penny wise.

We know not who
to advocate

As one
whose mind will rise.

So, keep them strong
Old power lines!

Keep all
in wisdom’s hand

Who innovates
is up to God.

As we
increase demand.

17 – Hour 17, a senryu

Lie down here with me.

Bring the basket from the hall.

Don’t ask me to stop.

 

Elizabeth Fellows

6/27/2020, 7pm

Sun’s Pajamas

Sun’s Pajamas

Hanging from a hook
on the tail of the moon
flannel 2-piece set
emblazoned with stars
and comets on an indigo
background.

They hang on the dark side
of the moon during the workday
sun working, warming them,
heating us through chilled seasons,
perhaps overdoing it in summer.
Overnight, the moon takes over
works his magic to lull us
to keep the sun’s sleep.

Early morning
on my busiest day,
the sun sits on my bed
a light resting, a reason
to halt my hurry, make
me smile sun bright wide,
welcome me to sit beside
light rays that embrace me,
their center warming me,
warning me to slow down
so I don’t miss a message
hanging from the moon
without shadow.

~ J R Turek
June 28, 2020
Hour 17

the life frontier

moving the looping

the character for movement in societal matters

covering being

seeing the movement of new beginning

condescending in the alignment marvelous anew

steppe movant forwarding reality

 

 

seeing the lines of management

clarity walls anew

 

see the bridge for new haven

clarity walls anew

gathering anew further deepening

 

Poem # 03