The Poetry Marathon

The Hiker

The Hiker

 

When the sun gleams against the mountains, the birds begin to glow,

singing sons of innocence. Squirrels frolic in the heat,

toppling on one another, dancing to their own beat. A row

 

of ants climb up, up, up, trading coarseness of bark for coolness (the chill)

of fresh morning leaves. Dew dries away, fog begins to form,

the sun creates a whole new world, ready to explore. Warm

air rises fast from heavy lungs as the hiker climbs the hill,

 

he looks to the tress and smiles. A brand new day, a fresh start.

He removes his jacket and his bag, places them on the leaves.

He watches the sun rise in the sky, dangle above the trees,

knowing it will only last moments before having to part.

Favorite Day

An ideal day:

Waking to an aroma:

wintry morn:  eggs and peppers and mushrooms and onions frying

any other season: the gentle breeze carries the perfume of budding or flowering plants outside the window.

breakfast fuels my body, preparing me for whatever tasks are awaiting me

hot tea (with a full spoon of sugar and a piece of lemon or lime) is my favored tasty accompaniment to add sweet warmth and liquid to my breakfast.

Morning pleasantries:

Hearing friendly greetings, whether at work or here at home with birds singing their thanks for the bird food that I give generously because I love their birdsongs.   Sometimes the grandchildren visit and mow or otherwise maintain the land husband and I can hardly keep up with.

Smelling whatever is in the air is usually a likable experience.  Grass, flowers, neighbor’s apple trees are all nice smells that energize; while not so nice smells — such as a deer carcass that the vultures have been picking at — compel me to get some lime dust to cover the carcass and speed the process of feeding the land.

Checking emails is a common task whether at home or at work.   Reading messages activates my brain with joy or problem solving.   Messages from family or friends are simple reminders, easy requests, or good questions.  In this phase of life, I am working part-time for a Community Action Agency, so any problem solving is invigorating.   We are always striving to help those who need assistance, and we often find ways to do that.

Lunch and dinner are savoring times for the tongue.   Cleaning up pans and dishes are never a bother anymore since the two of us don’t create much of a challenge for warm soapy water, accompanied by a cloth or a scrubby.

Evenings are best when we meet with the writer friends.   Hearing their current projects is a terrific thrill — even more thrilling than a polished book is the raw beauty of a work in progress.   When we are able to meet in person, there are delicious treats to add the sweetest flair to an already delightful evening.

Our evenings usually close with a game of Backgammon, because it is good for the mind to have some steady traditions.   And our brains get exercised because we are well matched in skill.

If there are any other pleasures in these ideal days, those under the covers thrills are for us to muse about, but not publish.

 

By Nancy Ann Smith,  Amherst, Ohio

June 27, 2020   Poetry Marathon

 

 

 

A year later (old poetry)

I put your hands around my neck and waited for you to squeeze and when you did, I was the scared one.

I waited for you to catch on fire like i did for you but i knew you were water. you turned into steam and disappeared. as i scorched to ashes.

even as i write this and remember, i REALIZE the oversimplification of the fact that,

you.just.wanted.to.fuck.

while

I.was.just.lonely.

and

stuck

in

the

past.

i’m just thanking the gods now for not dying in the arms of a heartless saint.

Universal Wonder

Minutes…hours…days…

months….

years….

since your lips brushed mine

splitting open the night

since your hand slid over rounded hips,

eased open moist thighs

since your fingers reached for the center

of everything

splintering starlight…

splashing joy on my soul

He, Who I Knew (Hour 3)

Rocking back and forth on the edge of a bed seemed childish and lacking patience,

Until I saw them all rocking through the doors, in the rooms to the west of mine.

Starting to understand why my world is not the only one,

He, who I knew, died while sleeping the night that I slept so well.

Until that next night came when the sun bowed out,

Sitting while rocking awake, thinking of He, who I knew.

 

Roots

Growing up, I was a storyteller, a writer, a poet. As a child, I read voraciously, encouraged by a mother who was an avid reader, and a house filled with myriad books. In the absence of siblings who I could play with, I spent hours reading, and dreaming up make-believe lands and imaginary friends. By the time I developed basic language skills, I began penning my thoughts on paper. It started with poems, then stories and articles, and then, finally an entire novel, published just as I graduated high school.

In college, my academic interests shifted to economics, and I now work in corporate strategy at a F500 company in San Francisco. I have found time off and on to feed my passion for writing. I was the Chief Online Editor for the Yale Globalist, a magazine covering international travel and politics, and at work, I use writing every day to build narratives using information. I am working on a second book on the side, but I often find it hard to find time.

Poetry was where I started writing, and it has always had a special place for me. I really enjoyed the Poetry Marathon when I did it in 2016, and I am looking forward to doing it again. My boyfriend and I are planning to do the second half marathon (we were not up in time for the first!), using the quiet of the night and several glutinous treats to keep us going. We can’t wait to get started in T+6.

Dies novum nobis

Lightshine moisture rock, air full with petricor,

a linked birdsong which reminds of Thra and any tepetl,

the softly tune of tiring tires going from the road,

grateful tears about leaves in trees, dried out for summer

pending love in a tangling knot not embrace to life,

leaving cardenche inside this soul, spike that gets in heart,

a gutter going throun my nerves and veins shaking it all inside

another pea from the floor stays quiet in the earth.

Then, breaking the silence, you heard something intruding

¡Oí nomás ese cumbión bien perrolocochón!

Gahtering forces around languages trying to not lock but inleash,

so nature is into it and something will get their rythm by Saturn Day

A chance to be alive and breathing, this is the perfect day, it is today

How I view my crush

I am a fool for you, fool for your brown eyes and beautiful smile. I bet that all of the guys would love to see the sunrise and see those beautiful brown eyes. Even when we small talk, starts the butterflies and I got hypnotized by you. I love your blue hair and I can be your teddy bear. From years ago, I didn’t have a shot but now I just want to give you the tender loving care and be your care bear. And from the first message that I sent you, I would still take you on that date if I was in your state

Hour 6: Ideal Day

soft fur against my bare legs, barbed tongue cleans my calf

sheets pulled back, robe slipped on

quiet breathing

the whistle of water, spring of a toaster, sizzle of eggs, lemon, honey, caffeine, turn of a newspaper

writer’s almanac, daily poems, the scratch of a pencil, reading the news, view of the bay, crows, gulls, eagles, a great blue heron

lettuce, tomato, kalamata olives, cucumber, feta cheese, vinaigrette, cracked black pepper, fizzy water, snapchat to my daughter

closed eyes—soft fur on my pillow on my lap, soft music

shorts, socks, sneakers, t-shirt, backpack, book, notepad, pencil, iced-tea, sunglasses, hat,

10,000 steps, snapchats, a slug, bunny, deer, trees, flowers, kayaker, great blue heron, a log drifting, children laughing, holding hands

closed eyes, shower, soft music,

sizzling onions, garlic, bok choy, mushrooms, broccoli, ginger, coconut milk, curry paste, tofu, cilantro, lime, brown rice, red wine

French movie, holding hands, rubbing feet, sunset, games with friends

reading, writing, candle, bourbon,

robe slipped off, sheets pulled up, soft fur nearby, goodnight kiss, dreams

 

#5 Roommate

Warm puppy head rests on her neck

Almost planned they sigh in unison

 

She reaches to slide a free hand

Down fawn-colored baby fur

 

They will sleep until dark when

Stars shine without human challenge

 

A quick late walk outside for relief

Beneath a Universe of wonder

 

A slow morning allows more time

To understand each other