The Poetry Marathon

Hour 4: The Devil in the Drapes

It took years for me to know that you were not real.

Instead of brimstone and fire, you were made of light shining through the top of my curtains and my imagination.

Every night before I closed my eyes, you peered down on me.

Every night, I prayed that God would make me good.

Every day, I knew that you made me bad; 

No Sunday School lesson or offerings to the white plastic miniature chapel would absolve my sin.

Then I learned about light and dark and shadows. 

I learned about grace and salvation and forgiveness.

It took years for me to learn that you are not real. 

1pm I am You

I became this person I wasn’t familiar with when I aligned my hips, I felt the breath float down my spine and I wanted out, out of the hold, the tight hamstrings, the pain in my lower back. I wanted it all out. I’m not familiar here, I’m not comfortable, I’m not me, I am You.

4. CONVERSATIONS WITH MY BROTHER

We are at opposite sides of the world,

but never apart.

Distance makes fonder, the heart.

 

Growing up, amusing adventures, we have shared.

Standing united, through thick and thin, we have dared.

To school, we would walk together.

a quick game of Pac-man before school to enter.

 

We are different, but of the same gene pool.

With your company, the soccer and cricket grounds, we would rule.

Any difference of opinion between ourselves we would resolve,

but never into a fight would, it devolve.

 

At university, our own digs, together we had.

and a car that always needed fixing, that would drive us mad.

Living on our own, together we learned independence,

through all this, you taught me confidence.

 

To You, my Brother.

Unlike any other!

Three Days Before

24 poems “The Dinner Party”

 

Three Days Before

 

Prunes already in Vodkoi ‘soup’

and the beef is also soaking

in a syrupy collage of ginger and spice

before my feet need soaking

 

So, I will make the pie

it will keep well when wrapped

mixing the heavy cream and sugar

as I bake my shortcuts, it’s a wrap!

 

I always do soups first

they get better by the day

chopping broccoli, parsnips, and potatoes

celery carrots and leeks all-day

 

for salads I make the dressing

so they can gently mellow

while doing that I sip on some Orvieto

to make myself perfectly mellow

 

Sherry vinegar and brown sugar

take me for a ride

as I shake the bottle so corked

awaiting that aromatic ride

 

DeaBeePea  7-27-20

 

 

 

 

 

 

#5 Desert Low

Moon is high and full
I look for you there each night
a longing, a light

Creosote summer
road rumbles beneath tires
memory of you

Search for me in rain
wet earth alive with answer
I return in storm

Cleanliness Through the Clutter [A BOP Poem]

I search for cleanliness through the clutter

like a lost soul in the desert seeking a sip of water.

Books, blankets, clothing, games, computers,

dishes, puzzles, food, groceries, wrappers, laundry, mail.

Clutter in every nook and cranny.

I pray for cleanliness through the clutter.

 

I can’t walk three steps without tripping over something.

 

It began with an idea of having some of the rooms repainted,

but then it turned into something

even Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout would find hard to believe.

Family room, living room, bedrooms, kitchen, and even the fireplace.

Now where to put all that stuff?

My office, of course!

Imagine placing six rooms into one.

I think we ruined the carpet and cracked the window.

 

I can’t walk three steps without tripping over something.

 

I have been pinned in this chair for days

under cardboard boxes filled with photo albums and DVDs.

I’ve been tapping out S.O.S. against the wall

With nothing to show for it except a fist full of bloody knuckles.

Thank goodness my daughter left some Big League Chew in a pair of jeans.

I wonder if my family even notices I’m gone.

 

I can’t walk three steps without tripping over something.

noon – four – no title

I lay my head back on the chair
close my eyes
as the soft, warm breeze
floats past
the bright sun warms my face
as i drift along
the breeze in my head

 

remembrance

I’ve moved down the street in and out

of every empty house but no shadow

would dare to plant a seed in me

or pollute my sterile house of cards

 

each time you open your fertile mouth

words feed swamps into a home

for every light and living being

To My Grandmother – Hour 4

Hej Farmor
I miss you
Though I barely knew you
We barely spoke
Because of the language barrier
But I knew you loved me
And I loved you.

I want you to know
That I can speak Swedish now
Nine-years too late perhaps
But you’re always on my mind when I study Swedish
I wish I had understood the stories of your life
From your own words
Not from inherited family photos
Not from the tales your brother told
I wish I had just one conversation with you
Though I guess it’s normal for young children to take their grandparents for granted

You are still in our thoughts
I can tell that my mother and father miss you
When they talk about the past
The gifts that you gave
Are still part of our lives
The marks you left remain
Till the day we meet again.

Hour 5, Prompt 5

Using one or more of these images as a jumping off point, write a poem. All of the images are sourced from Unplash.