The Poetry Marathon

for My Birthday Band

for My Birthday Band

“Life is a series of surprises and would not be
worth taking or keeping if it were not.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

My birthday this year in quarantine.
I expected no cards or presents.
I bought my own special cupcake
and picked up Mexican takeout as my gifts.

Unexpected sounds shattered
my silence of alone.
As I stepped onto my lawn
Sammy of The Scaffolds
in his saxophone element.
Nicole with tambourine in hand,
Joanna maraca shaking.
Mike with a snare drum
As Andy sang along.
A balloon to lift my spirits.
A rendition of Happy Birthday
at social distances,
but closer to my heart.

Margarette Wahl

Prompt Six

So… I goofed and forgot the part of the prompt that said ‘ideal day’. I rushed to finish a proper one for the prompt but I am now late in posting because I spent too much time on a poem that only focused on imagery and sensory details… I decided to post both for this hour and I hope that is okay!

1.
witnessing the pause of a hummingbird’s wings
as mother noses sustenance into her young

discovering the opulent fragrance of a ‘purple queen’
long before i see the magnolia tree

cool mint tang of iced-tea, freshly brewed
on a lazy, summer afternoon

a lover’s hand caressing my back
with whispered dreams for tomorrow

while a cello fills the air
with classical baroque

2.
these apprehensive stairs
built with disillusionment
(like the ones at Winchester House)

going nowhere

rake and tread determined long ago –
replicated for comfort
and ease

never altering

posing risks with their height and
nosing, jutting out profanely,
as if fabricated to cause us harm

and surprising us all the same

finding the lift harder as we break and gray,
only sometimes noticing the banister we
cling to as we climb

some wrought with gold

others smelling of must
and decay –
aged, iron balusters

pungent, like seeping blood

our grip tightens and gnarled fingers
squeeze to hold fast our place on the climb
forgetting that we can go down

and begin again

SEASON OF THE UNCERTAINTIES

SEASON OF THE UNCERTAINTIES

 

Life ever changing, with its ups and downs

Unpredictable and often unnerving.

 

Taking us down a path of our choosing

And sometimes down a path we wish not to travel.

 

We can try to predict our outcomes,

But we must anticipate the proverbial fork in the road.

 

Can we plan for the unknown

If the unknown, is unknown?  I really don’t know.

 

What you CAN plan for is knowing there WILL be uncertainties,

ups and downs, bad times when you least expect them.

 

What you CAN plan for is how you will react to those times

when the path is chosen for you.

 

What you CAN plan for is knowing that each day we have is a gift,

even when life takes us down the path not chosen.

 

Choose to learn and live and love each day for soon will come

the changing of the season of uncertainties.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aqua Poem 7

I’m lost,

in a field of clouds.

The mist floats by,

opening a window of fire,

Heat rushes in to my safe place,

home fades away.

Aqua PMC shared 6/26/20

7. Season Of The Angel of Slow & Reclusive

Clocks and calendars are useless,
the sun and moon are in charge
of all keeping
and I move through
the slow silk of each day
strangely present and alert
but without urgency –
just a languid tracing of old runes
that once marked time.
They are quaint,
I barely remember them.

The Perfect Day

I slowly come to, feeling well rested,

And treasuring every sweet dream.

I roll over, arise, and practically float,

Greeted by mid-morning sunbeam.

I slipper and robe, lured out by

The smell of breakfast made for me.

Leisurely, I read, drink and eat

An omelet: well-stuffed, juice and tea.

Sated, I take up pen to write

Dash off a hundred and twenty

Sure to be published manuscripts,

Journal articles, and poems aplenty.

The mailman brings bags of checks

As the neighbor gawks

And I struggle under the load

I hear him yell-Get a bigger box.

 

 

#1 9am

Mom-

influential to me

and many man y more I was unaware of

She is gone now, May 1

Tributes and memories have filled

my FB feed

Wow!

I never knew it mattered

meals on time every day

the house, cleaner than even she realized

as if she had standards to meet

Season of the Itchy Gritches

Blackberries, big as my thumb,
but for every one, expect two chiggers.
You won’t see the chiggers,
but you’ll see the little red mounds
where they’re sleeping
when you take off your socks.

They’ll wake you up in the middle of the night,
partying, I presume.

I wonder if they’re jealous
that mosquitos get all the press.
Probably not.
It’s safer to stay undercover.
There are no government spray programs
for chiggers, are there?

Are they related to the no-see-ums on the beach?
Do they know the biting flies
that share the season with them?

I should be grateful
that all the biting monsters
come in one season,
albeit a long one, spring through fall.

Through all the long months,
slather my legs with geranium oil,
careful not to miss the spots behind my knees
that itchy little seed ticks prefer.
Wear crew socks, toe-enclosed shoes,
and look forward to the first hard freeze,
just making sure, before the happy day arrives,
that all the green tomatoes are in.

7 – Earth, Nothing More

Passing clouds, carry

me to ancient lands, where the

Earth is still and free

 

Where, in my silence,

I find purity and peace.

That is where I rest.

The Season of Jack

My son Jack is a phenomenon unto himself.

He blows in and out,

this way and that.

Brilliance in a flash.

Brown eyes beaming

dimples gleaming.

“It’s awkward to talk to flowers,”

he says, moving my wildflowers

from his sight line.

He notices, fixes and builds the broken.

A detail, no-detail man.

Purpose-driven for reasons

only he knows.

This boy. This passion.

This wild child, this curious dreamer.

This season of the senior.

So many unknowns

still to conquer.

So batten down the hatches

the season of the Jack

is really just beginning.