The Poetry Marathon

Hour 15: Today is the Day

I woke up in the morning to the smell of fresh scones and coffee.
Rhea was still asleep.
I snuck out.

Today was a big day, and I needed some fuel.

My aunt was in the kitchen with my mom.
“Are you ready?” they said,
smiling sneakily from ear to ear.
But before I could respond their expressions changed drastically.
Flutters of nervousness, slowly settling into a poker face.
“Morning, Rhea” they said.
I turned around, warned.

Rhea was sleepy, still in her PJs,
and desperately in need of a cup of coffee.
But I noticed none of that today.

Today was about bigger things.

Later, as Rhea got ready, my family gathered around her, underplaying things.
“Oh don’t wear that dress, it’s a really casual lunch, and we’re going to the beach after.”
“Hmm,” Rhea said, her face wrinkling up as she thought.
“But we’re still going to a winery right? I think it’ll be nice to dress up a bit.”
“As you wish,” I said, with the calmest, truest smile I could muster.
But inside, my heart was thudding.
Did she know? Was she in on my secret plan?

A sharp cry interrupted my inner monologue.
I rushed out, and my grandmother’s hand was stuck in the car door.
As we got it out, she wailed in pain, tears streaming down her face.
I had never seen her so frazzled before.
As all of us gathered around her with a mix of ice and ointments and the like,
someone suggested taking her to the hospital.
My heart, which at this point was ready to burst out of my ribcage,
Sank down low.

Today was not going as planned.

Then magically, in the matter of a few minutes, my grandmother’s pain subsided.
“No let’s go to the winery,” my mom said. My grandmother nodded, so did my aunt,
so did the rest of my family.
They were ready, and now I had to be.

In the car ride to the winery, I tried my best to calm down.
My mom had the bags of stuff, Rhea’s family had been informed,
and my grandmother was feeling back to normal.
Everything was under control.
Yet I felt slightly unsettled.
Would things be ok?
Was my grandma really ok, or was she just saying so for my happiness?
What else could go wrong?

Would today really be the day?

Then I looked at Rhea, sitting to my side, and I instantly felt relief.
It was just her, and it was just me.
We would figure this out.
I gripped her hand, rubbed it a few times, and smiled at her.
She smiled back, the slightest flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
I once again got the sense that she knew.
But before I could think any more, we were at the winery.

We did one photo under the trellis, with the vines in the backyard.
And then it was time.

It was time for today.

As I went down on my knee, I saw Rhea’s eyes shine with surprise and delight.
In her happiness was mine.
As I said the words I had rehearsed so meticulously,
asking her to be one with me,
all anxiety and hesitation vanished,
and everything flowed naturally,
as it should.

Today felt right.
Me had become we.
And with her and me together, I knew we could handle anything.

Hour 16 – Welcome Shadow

What wish could be fulfilled by “no”?

Welcome shadow

negotiate

the change of state

 

What power freely surrendered

You, defender

Take what I need

Trust me to cede

 

To tell you true just what I crave

My faith you save

With just a touch

your love, too much

A Little Cottage Garden

A little cottage garden

is a charming place to be

colors softly drifting

flowers gently scenting

roses, lavender, and honeysuckle vines

and the spicey fragrance

of herbs basking in the sun.

It is a messed up mix

but its grace and charm

calm my weariness.

A place to walk, a stone laid path

a yellow rose covered arbor

and a rustic bench where I can sit

and perhaps

talk to God.

 

 

 

#11: Blank Space

#11: Blank Space

Ah, a clean canvas for my masterpiece of words.
The careful, strategic placement of words and punctuation.
Together, I strive to create an image.       Sometimes, my art is abstract.
Other times, meticulous.
Often times, it just about the movement. The experience of stringing words together like beaded pearls on a necklace.

But really, it mores than just creating an image.
It’s about the emotion; the feeling!                        The excitement, or the dread; the mourning and maybe even torture.

Yes, poetry is an art form.
And today, I’m the artist.

Hour Fifteen: How she sees me

There she goes again

Taking center stage

Ignoring the guidelines

For respectful conversations

She didn’t raise her hand like I did

She interrupted again

She must think she knows

More than anyone else here

I bet she thinks I’m stupid

“No. I have nothing to say.”

There she goes again

Not letting anybody else

talk

Hour 14: Fountain Pen to Paper

Barista Magic – a haiku

Morning coffee smile.
Foam milk art inspires.
Barista magic.

Hour 15 “Lahania…”

Hour 15

9/2/2023

 

“Lahaina…”

 

Where to begin

of such ends …such ends.

 

A confluence of events…

and a town is gone.

Yet another place that ISN’T …anymore.

 

Fire on a California scale

worst of the century…

and the Media is just crickets.

 

Go fund me’s? – silence

Red Cross Pleas – silence

Doctors, supplies… silence.

Government aid and supplies?  Biden “No Comment”,

A final visit – a joke on how hot the ground still was.

 

The area is cordoned off by fence (newly emplaced) and curtained as well… a lot of money and labor went into that and victims still remain in and of the ash.  Mustn’t pause or stop or see or question any how or whys …or even to cry.  No journalists allowed, nor pics to view.  No memorials.  No answers …just crickets worldwide.

 

Maui… Lahaina a past capital

incinerated… ashes to ashes.

 

The school district reported 3100 children

sent home to be alone.

More than two weeks – 2,000 still missing –

and they’ve a name for each number.  Quite for real.

 

A FIRE so fierce barely bits survived…

And yet living weeds NEXT to melted trunks?

 

The power first off – yet in places stayed on.

 

No warning sirens sounded, no TV/phone alerts, no evac,

calls or orders, no bull horns or officials riding the roads.

The water turned off, police barricaded the two exits

and turned would be survivors back upon themselves

and those cars WERE immolated ON THE ROAD

where they stood – occupied by victims, DNA found.

 

115 the governor’s total and 335 still unfound

and yet 2,000 “missing” children – named and recorded

by their empty schools.  And the silence echoes LOUD.

 

Relief  was unallowed

– people snuck in what they could.

Victims jumped into the ocean

and the sea carried many away.

Tears whisper as the waves lap the shore…

for all the little souls – walking their island,

lost and forever alone…

and only the silence cares.

 

Chris,

(C) Chris Twyford 9/2/2023

 

 

Comfort.

It was the world that crumbled over her head
She had no tears left,
that the skies had to cry for her heavy heart.
But she could take no sense of it.
It was as though
She parted ways with everything
Almost like worlds apart.
She hated the feeling “to feel”
And began resenting
all things termed mortal;
Animals, fruits, flowers, people.
Instead she resort
to life between pages
of books whose owners
long dead.
And was contented that
at least life was living
in the sheets of books.

#10: Space

#10: Space

I wonder how much room there is in space.

I wonder if the vastness ever feels lonely.

I wonder if the airless vacuum ever feels crushing.

I wonder how long it would take to close the gap. How long it would take to explore it’s entirety.

I wonder what you would think of all this.

I wonder if you’re just another star in the sky made up of all the energy and dust of your former life here on earth.

I wonder if you’ve been reborn into another life.

I wonder what being a soul without a body would be like.

I wonder if at that point we could fly.

I wonder if human life is doomed on earth. Will our future generations live elsewhere in our galaxy. Are we already.

I wonder if some of my thoughts are crazy.

I wonder if you’re able to feel my presence when we’re sitting in the same room, not speaking, not touching, but in the presence of one another.

I wonder what our future looks like. Are we going to grow old together.

I wonder why we feel time so linear if it really is multidimensional. Curious.

I wonder how our species got to be so curious when it’s been taught that it’s so dangerous.

I wonder what you’re looking at while I’m typing these words.

I wonder what others will think when they read these words. Will they read these words.

I wonder if my train of thought really is a train and if so what are the stops names and how often is the train scheduled to pass by that spot. Boy, that opens a can of worms: is free thought really a thing.

I wonder how many of my wonders will ever be answered.

I wonder if that’s something that happens in death like 50 questions – all your questions are answered.

I wonder if you only get 50 or if it’s unlimited.

I wonder, I wonder.