Hour 8, Shipwreck

O Captain! My Captain! Our journey will end with screaming storm and flood.
Prevailing winds will blow and turn this ship about, prizewinning and celebratory as it may seem.
Soon our ship will weigh anchor to the sound of klaxon bells, and with high kicking girls in attendance,
but we will gaze in horror, we two, as our journey leads to unhappiness and sharply honed fighting.

But O my love! My love! My love!
O, heart’s blood will flow, and stop,
our journey will end, oh my Captain, with the eternal rest
of sickness and death.

P.S. Walt Whitman said this far better than me. 🙂

4pm – eight – no title

just a single white sheet
torn from the artist’s pad
dust and lead smeared
and smudged, crumbled erasure
spread, a small tear,
crumpled in anger,
to be smoothed out, with
gentle hands, blended with
pastels or chalk, working
to complete, the image
of you within me
my fingers rub,
the smudges and lines merge
and you begin to appear
emerging in that sketch
rendered real,
a man from paper and lead

Single Mama

The sunlight breaks aggressively through the curtains.

Bed covers mimic the gentle touch of a lover.

As my eyes open to hear the cabinets slam close and the refrigerator slowly creaking open.

I thought my daughter was still asleep.

My son has left for work, so I sit upright to take in a deep breath.

Swinging my weary legs to the edge of the bed,

I feel my bones awakening to the urgency of the day.

My mind begging me to stay in a bit longer, I quietly slide into the bathroom.

Looking in the glass mirror, it enhances every scar, blemish and discoloration.

Still my beauty intensifies against this false representation.

As my clothes drop to the floor, I step into the steam and allow the water to comfort every inch of my body.

Feeling the perfection of my curves and softness of my skin.

Assuring myself the attire for the day would be both comfortable and chic.

Anticipating the coffee brewing with the intoxicating smell of hazelnut and cocoa beans.

As I slowly sip the liquid, I turn up the heat on my daughter’s omelet.

Hoping this time, it doesn’t burn.

Watching her carefree spirit brings me joy,

the innocence, growth, and brilliance leave me in awe.

Living in this moment, I know we are blessed.

As my tribe strives each day to do our very best.

The Convo

🙄 Face With Rolling Eyes Emoji
“Have you lost anyone?” my student asks. “Has anyone you loved died – like your parents or your grandparents? Family close to you?”
I respond honestly, “No.”
“Huh,” she huffs, then turns first her eyes then her head then her body away from me.
We were done talking.
And now I understand why.
Having lost more than I can count on two hands.
Having lost track of the losing, lost track of exactly who was third or fourth, fifth or sixth.
If I could see her now, repeat that conversation, I know she would turn herself to me and lean in and nod, “Uh-huh.”

 

[Prompt 8: emoji poetry – adapted from the prompt]

Prompt Seven

season of the bohemian waxwing

when i tipped my feathers with red,
and floundered in the forest of yellow cedars

stood shakily on the branches of the blackberry
bush, intoxicated with fermented fruit

thinking i had found a spruce for building
my nest and mating

but a winter of snow meant
road salt in the spring water

that turned my insides bitter
and left me without young

for years to come

Emoji poetry?

Emoji Smoji

I am sixty-nine today

too old to find pics.

 

Emojis today

plenty more than smiles and hearts

a new language. why?

 

Emojis? — no thrills

our pulchritudinous words

are enough for me.

 

by Nancy Ann Smith,  Amherst, Ohio

June 27, 2020       Poetry Marathon

hour 7 poem 7 notes on the body —her body

she was born in a body   where she longed
for more-spacious    when she feels like she feels
like her body was in the road    like she tied her body
her waist / her birdsong   she swallowed
a person she has lived
with her body

her hands watch    she forgot what she wanted  to see
she eavesdrops on her body   some sort of old
tired thing    she builds rapport with
shiny knobs    she walks with a deep
note    she feels like a paper
of glass   has yellow contractions

she feels a bit of love or a car yard
in her body here —eat a piece
of her wrist    her bones moan from
within    are you my teeth she asks / she can feel
the slurred rhythm of his words
pass thru her body    a rippling bruise  :    a pain she will use

What Do Emojis Mean? 1/2 marathon poem #8

What Do Emojis Mean?
1/2 marathon poem #8

What do emojis mean
I guess that’s up to you
What are emojis for
I don’t have a clue
What do emojis mean
They’re all a bit silly
They don’t belong here
This is poetry.

(C) Scott Coe 2020

LOLLY THE CLOWN COMES TO TOWN

LOLLY THE CLOWN COMES TO TOWN

(Disclaimer:  I performed as Lolly the Clown for over 20 years.  My friend Kim said this would be a good topic to write about.  Oddly enough today, our neighbor gave my husband a ceramic clown to give to me.  His wife had collected them when she was living.  When the universe gives you a sign, you gotta’ go with it!  So humor me on this one……lots of silliness!)

 

The assignment from Mr. Daniels

Seemed like a daunting feat.

To write about our futures

He thought it might be neat.

 

But we were barely teenagers

Voices changing, pimples too.

Oh what was I to write about

I didn’t have a clue.

 

Writing something colorful

Would fill up pages fast

I thought and thought and thought so more

An idea had came at last.

 

I would write about a professional

That once a year would come to town

As a performer in the circus….that’s right

I am going to be a clown!!

 

I wrote about my floppy shoes,

And whoopee cushions too.

I wrote about my big red nose

And all the magic I would do.

 

The words were flowing easily

Each page was quickly filled.

Before I knew it, I was done

Which had me really thrilled.

 

I kept the paper, got an A

Then years later down the road.

I found the paper, and thought about

This seed I must have sowed.

 

I took a class at OSU

Clowning 101.

Needless to say, a lot of play

I really had some fun.

 

I learned some tricks and make-up skills

And how to twist balloons.

Learned all about the types of clowns

From white face to ole buffoons.

 

Created costumes, bought a wig

Purple was my shade.

When all the work was said and done

I liked what I had made.

 

Never thought a class assignment

Would impact my life for years.

Lolly the Clown had come to town

Bringing laughter and sometimes tears.

 

Though my floppy shoes and sponge ball nose

Are now all packed away.

Lolly will be, a part of me

Until my dying day.

 

On a side note:  I decided to be buried in my clown make up so it will be easier for the funeral home to get the make up right!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hieroglyph

I part my lips to speak
To find no sound leaves them
My heart is crushed by the burden
Of being unable to express to you
All that is within
My blood surges for you
My arms unable to reach
Would you ever know how
Loved you are if I only have a
Hieroglyph