The Poetry Marathon

Hour 3 – For Love’s Sake

Hour 4 – Bop poem

For Love’s sake

 

this echoing heart reaches into spaces

where pain layers over so many pieces

like fine dust in china cabinets

we thought would protect our treasures

from wear, weather, and weak fingers

prone to drop the most fragile creations.

I cannot be otherwise for love’s sake.

 

echoes of love into spaces reaching out

while simultaneously slapping away healing hands

find their way into my world, too

when I feel most unworthy,

most empty,

most filled with fine dust of doubt

layering me in pain

and the longing to be whole.

I cannot be otherwise for love’s sake.

 

the blessing in echoes are in the returning –

those second and third chances

to be better,

to accept rather than swat away the love

freely given from places I least expected

to bring healing to this grateful heart.

I cannot be otherwise for love’s sake.

© r. l. elke

Hour 4: Epistolary poem

Dear Mom,

You would have liked to know

that your old home

has an activist living in it,

shown by a sign promoting change

that you helped start

but did not have the time to finish.

More than 20 years have passed now,

and the trees around your home

have grown into a forest.

12pm

For Shania Rey; Whom I miss so much.

 

Dating
Going to prom
Pickin’ out colleges
Walking across the stage
You didn’t do these

This should have been your
day too.
the day to celebrate
the beginning of your life
like so many before you

We were supposed to watch you
grow up
learn
question
live

we didn’t get to watch you live
we didn’t get to do everything we
were supposed to do with you

you died.

Instead we celebrate others
in the same position
excited for the start of their lives
watching them grow and learn
it makes me hurt just a
little.

I’m happy for them
don’t get me wrong
it just hurts a little

A little all the time

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