The Poetry Marathon

Hour 9 – Distance Learning

Distance Learning

Distance Learning is such a treat
Better than some old worksheet
Just log onto our Zoom account
– Don’t move your camera all about-
Now sit and look here at the screen
I’ll show you how to grow a bean
– I know you feel the heat my friend
But put your clothing on again –
Get a bottle or a jar
– Wait! Not now! Stay where you are! –
We put the little bean in so
With soil and water, then watch it grow
– Oh look, you’ve spilled your cottage cheese
No more eating now, friends, please –
Any questions? – What’s that you say?
You needn’t wear your mask, okay? –
I hope you will give this a try
Our hour is up, so long! Goodbye!
Distance Learning is such a treat
Well, maybe that thought’s incomplete.

Zoom East to See Fireflies

He says, “Fireflies are beautiful. I can’t believe

you’ve never seen them. You can catch them

in a bottle, you know? We’ll stay in Aunt Annie’s

cottage in Hanover. When the heat is high, the

tree line is where we’ll watch lights dance against

the night sky. In the morning we’ll eat porridge and

when afternoon lethargy sets in, we’ll feel strange,

but humidity is beautiful. It leaves a moist bloom

across the face; a refreshing mask that brightens and

plumps the skin. What do you think? You up for it?”

The Words (Hour 9 Prompt 9)

Coming to the cottage left a strange feeling.

The memories flooded through the treeline as the stifling summer heat wrapped me in a hug.

Playing spin the bottle with the neighboring children.

Laying in the hammock, trying to stay awake until the last firefly flitted away.

The first love, the first heartbreak, and now the last vacation,

The baby birds left the nest.

(six words)

Daydream

What strange lethargy
overcomes me in Zoom
meetings!

The strain of looking
attentive and presentable
in the long stretches
of listening, not talking.

How odd that water bottles
are not much in evidence.
Everyone must be uptight
in those Zoom-scapes.
At least we don’t need
to wear a mask!

Inspired, perhaps, by my
virtual bucolic background, my
mind drifts after an imagined
firefly to a rustic cottage
above treeline, where once
I relished my hot porridge,
sitting on a tree stump,
eating outside with my aunt.

Catching Fireflies

Hunting the Firefly
As it darts out of my sight
It’s light flashing in the darkness
And illuminates the night

My only tool my bottle,
In which I hope to capture fire
A bizarre form of Prometheus
Seems to be to what I do aspire

Why do I seek to hunt along the treeline
In the summer evening heat
For I quarry I just imprison
Not domesticate or eat

What hubris do I seem to hold
To put this insect in this prison
Knowing full well it will die far before
It will see the sun arisen

How strange that I feel the need
Perhaps this pastime too will pass
I hope I will release it, not
Keep it imprisoned behind glass

Perhaps I truly am just jealous
Of the light carried by the firefly
And seek to deprive it of its freedom
And watch it slowly die

Or perhaps I’m just forgetful
Of the rights of other beasts
I pray I remember to release him
Before the sun rises in the east

Camp-meeting

Our bus zooms past treeline highways as we travel to the annual camp-meeting

I am always looking forward to the camp-meeting

It is in the cool, dry breeze and the happy faces

It is in the strange people who peopled the places

There is no mask, no pretence and no sinister

Every male is a brother; every female a sister

 

Wish every day is like the days spend in camp, no one bottle emotion of anger

No lethargy among the brethren or lurking danger

Aside unending spiritual exercise, the firefly is a companion

But once you take abode in the cottage, you have no worry

The time of day I cherish most is when the porridge is being served without hurry

The tropical sun may be unfriendly in December, camp meeting is a time to remember

#9 Revenge

Father was livid, his anger radiating heat where he stood,

Hunger fueled his rage further,

Making him snap his teeth, bellowing

he would no longer be just an observer.

 

She’d stolen now thrice,

This wily intruder in our cozy cottage,

A brat, an insolent scoundrel,

Her grubby hands always ready to forage.

 

But no more, no Sir!

Will our porridge she steal,

She had to pay the price,

So, we made her our meal.

 

Her eyes were in the soup,

Her roasted torso was our hearty dinner,

Her limbs are wrapped for later use,

Her golden locks lie strewn in a corner.

 

 

Pandemic

 

 

Pandemic

 

 

Mask who you have become

because you can not let lethargy

be around the next corner.

 

Make the most of pandemic.

Zoom like you mean it.

 

Tinkerbelle will lead a strange brigade

of lonely fireflies above the treeline

past the Cohousing cottages

into the sky and then to the stars.

 

Don’t bottle up this strange energy.

Eat it like porridge.

Feel its heat.

 

Because who you thought you were

no longer exists.

 

 

 

 

Hour 8 — Platypus and Eagle

Beth A. Fleisher

Hour 8

 

Prompt 8: Translate one of the emoji poems and write a poem by translating one of them back into verse. You can deviate from translating at any point, if the poem goes a different direction. Or you can write a poem about your experience with emojis instead.

 

 

Platypus and Eagle

 

Tyger, Tyger burning bright,

In the forests of the night:

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful

Symmetry.

            ~ William Blake

Only Creator has both an immortal hand

and an immortal eye,

able to create beautiful symmetry

in two such disparate creatures

as Platypus

and Eagle.

 

The Maypole – School Celebration, 5th Hour

5th Hour

The May Pole – School Celebration

 

The May Pole, a celebration of Spring,

Of things to come, of things to bring

And respite in the glare of the Sun.

To decorate the schoolyard with fun,

With ribbons and flowers for everyone.

The ladies and girls dressed up in pastels,

Snickering and chatting – silly little yells

To announce the glory of the moment to rise and stand,

For the spectacular, the miraculous, May Pole Dance;

(The first time for some to grab a Dapper boy’s hand!)

The music and frolic of heels clicking the beat,

Around the May Pole they go tapping their feet,

While parents and teachers shout from their seats,

The air filled with the smell of enticing treats.

These days were so precious to me,

As a student, as a teacher, we need days like these,

That are just meant for the pleasure and retreat

To be happy and free.