The Poetry Marathon

Inti and the Son – Prompt 3

I’ve been blessed to dance beneath your rays

To lay beneath your warm embrace

But cold comes quickly in the shade

As shadows start to overtake

My god my god, come back I beg

I am not ready for the end of days.

 

Oh, my glorious light

 

What is this that I have defied

For my light to die out right before me

We wail in grief and gather in mourning

Circle our crops and heed your warning.

Please accept our offerings .

 

Oh, my glorious light

 

He promised not to scream– he was my good little one

Jahni’s blood blessed the ground that we stand upon.

Take him, I beg to our glorious sun.

The rays lift and warm me but my son is gone.

Oh, my glorious light

 

 

Eternity Now (Hour Three, A Nonet Poem)

 

Eternity Now

 

Eternity now, why would you wait,

when forever could start today?

You could sing with the angels,

drift away on a cloud,

grab a golden harp

and learn to play.

Lord, please show

me The

Way.

 

(A nonet consists of nine lines, with a syllable counts as follows: 9/8/7/6/5/4/3/2/1, so the poem appears to ‘disappear.’ This poem was inspired by selecting a random prompt, which was originally posted during Hour Three of the 2017 Poetry Marathon, asking you to select one of several provided images and use it as a starting point for your poem. I chose the image above which says “Eternity Now.”)

OH, Playing catch-up already!

Rain knocked the power out for a bit, but I have my poems started… posting in order now!

Shoreline Cross — Hour 4

It’s what you might expect

at a rough and tumble spot

not a beach

but a graveled slope where dead-end meets Pacific

Surfers dodge driftwood big chunks here

so of course that’s what it’s made of this cross

held together with sea twine and brown lei

Underneath all local-style are gifts to the dead

a bottle of beer with a rusted cap

a bottle a water

and

what surprised me

a fresh black book that says

Holy Bible

unharmed by the spray

 

 

Dad

The final song at your funeral was, “How Can I Keep From Singing?” And I choked on my own tears and could not give those words flight to meet you. “You should sing at the top of your lungs at least once a day,” you advised your children, singing as you washed dishes, mowed the lawn, stood beside us in the pews on Sundays, as you tucked us in at night. I want you to know not a day went by that I didn’t sing out loud, usually in the shower, both loudly and badly. I sang parody lyrics to match events in the world around me, usually from cheesy 80s songs. When Covid struck, I could not sing for weeks. I felt too heavy to lift the words from my lungs, too fearful in uncertainties to belt out loud sound. This past week, I began to sing again, loudly and badly. I can hear your funeral song in my head, and I now have two answers to the question, “How Can I Keep From Singing?”

[Prompt 4: Write an epistolary poem that is a letter from you to someone who has passed and/or someone you have not seen in a long time.]

The Letter (Hour 4, Prompt 4)

P, you taught me to be careful of saying “I love you”,

I’ve changed a lot since we last met, my friends say that is true.

You’d like them and their kindness, the dinners that we share.

It’s nice to know that always there is someone that will care.

I’ve moved away from London, to Middle-earth to find my names.

Sherlock will always be special, but I am not the same.

I grow flowers in my garden; cucumbers on the vine.

I still grow wistful, for once upon a time.

My hair shows streaks of gray.

My vision does slowly fade.

I wear multi-focus lenses now every day.

I imagine you’ve aged quite gracefully,

you seemed to have that knack.

I hope this letter finds you well.

If time permits, please write back.

Dearest Patti

These are the black shells that washed up from the ocean
as you were leaving.
See? I have them here on this little shelf turned altar.
Here is your photo with Becky and the dogs.
Here is the angel you drew
when you learned of the cancer.

This is the dryer ball in the shape of a hedgehog.
Remember when I sent that to you?
You said the bouncing sound in the dryer made you laugh
and that made me happy.
Somehow Michael knew to send it back to me afterward.
Anyone would wonder why a dryer ball belongs on an altar.

It is sacred.

And here are your words sweeping across the sky –
the way you signed your letters
with a flourish:
Peace. Love. Patti.
I repeat these words and they transform:

Here. Now. Forever.

Poem #4, A Letter, RedStar

Sweet Sarge,

I felt your pain,

and I wish I’d loved you better then.

My dark and twisted friend,

I miss your wicked sense of humour.

I miss the little boy who played peek-a-boo from behind the steel walls and barbed-wire fences.

I wish I’d loved you better then.

I trust you forgive me.

I’ve learned a lot since then.

Mostly, I’ve learned to love myself.

And forgive myself.

And heal the pain I felt.

Thank you.

 

 

 

 

Hour 4, Prompt 4 – Epistolary Poem

To my most adored, 

You are missed in the morning quiet,

and the evening break.

You are well, and you are glorious,

so we will not burden you with letters of nostalgia.

 

From memory l praise your soap soft skin,

and the honey butter sound of your voice.

 

When we meet again, I want to hear your tales –

the stories we will lock into your legacy.

From your babes to theirs, and those after them.

 

We dream because of you.

Capricornus