The Poetry Marathon

3. IT’S DIFFICULT TO BE OLD

When you are young, you are energetic and bold.

When you age, it’s difficult to be old.

Fear now takes over,

as you become older.

 

Fear of…….

…falling and breaking bones, of sickness and not recovering,

… not being taken seriously, when once you were a leader,

…being a soft target for being mugged,

…using advanced technology when once was a developer,

…losing memory, when once there was a razor sharp wit,

…being dependant for meals to you to bring,

when once, of your own kitchen you were the Queen or King.

…losing eyesight, when once there was foresight,

…empty nest, when one there was a full house,

… being a financial burden to loved ones, when once was a provider,

…of loneliness, when once was the centre of attraction

… who will take care of you, when ill, when once was the caretaker and caregiver.

 

Spend time with them, cherish them,

if you have any aged in your family,

because one day, they will be gone

and will be just a part of your memory.

 

Kaboom (old poetry)

does it ever feel like no matter how hard, how often or how frequent you push, push, push, push, PUSH, you can never seem to get ANYWHERE?

square one. 1st base. the fucking beginning.

my castle isn’t made of cement, it’s SAND.

sometimes it feels like everyone is moving faster than you’ll ever be, speeding by you as you slightly contemplate whether or not you should or not.

like your legs are stone while the rubber bands bounce around you like broken snakes, achieving ‘something’.

sometimes it feels like i’m meant to stay in the same place. doing the same thing. for the rest of my life.

Half Marathon – let’s do this!

Born and raised on Long Island, NY, USA, I had the love of writing poetry since I was about twelve years old.

I was originally influenced by reading Robert Frost and identified with his writings.

Writing help me to communicate my feelings about myself, along with the rest of humanity and its relation to the world early on as a teenager and, it continues to this day.

#3

The word Promise shouldn’t exist in any language—
For it allows an easy perverted manipulation of the heart
and subjects those who believe in it to be left open—
vulnerably desecrated to a point that is cruel.

A promise presupposes honor
and should dispose of integrity—
Otherwise: why make one?

A word that few know how to use with grace or mercy—
and a word that befalls out of liars lips so simply—
without conscious, without regard,
and just for the sake of sparing or conning another.

A simple word that hurts
the most when broken—
so it is just best
that it is never spoken.

Hour 3 — Will I Love You Forever?

Beth A. Fleisher

Hour 3

 

Prompt 3:  There are three stanzas. Each stanza is followed by a refrain (so the same statement is repeated three times).The first stanza is 6 lines long and presents a problem. The second stanza is eight lines long, and can explore or expand the problem. The third stanza is 6 lines long, and can either present a solution or document a failed attempt to resolve the issue.

 

Will I love You Forever?

 

You were so unexpected.

How could I possibly be prepared to find my soul mate

in such a crazy place, in such a crazy way?

Instant attraction, and so much more,

As you shared your story, we cried together.

But I saw the family photo on your desk.

 

Will I love you forever?

 

Connection overload

spiritually, emotionally, attractionally

white hot passion.

But you were not free, not for me.

I wept all the way back to campus,

Yelling at God:

How could you do this? Why?

Show him to me, but dangling him out of reach?

 

Will I love you forever?

 

Life moved on, we became friends, always careful friends.

Then, wonder of wonders, nine years later

you reached out to me — you had felt it too!

How amazing when I saw the love in your eyes

the first kiss, spirits dancing to Creator’s music,

hearts connected just holding hands at Panera.

 

Will I love you forever?

 

 

Hour 3-The covidcoaster “Bop”

December a time for Christmas and love

brought to the amusement park a new ride

The fiercest of them all, and nowhere to hide.

Then January emerged a new year and more frightening effects

all walks of life rode it while it presented defects.

No restriction on age or height

It is gonna bite, try and steer clear, or fight the fight.

 

We boarded the coaster and each of us had a different view

We held on tight, white knuckles emerged with sweat and fear

bracing ourselves for a whirlwind year.

February now and things got rough

only two months in and we already had enough.

March brought the steep climb we were locked down on top

April still no idea when this bubble would pop

Was there a fix and how would it spite?

It is gonna bite, try and steer clear, or fight the fight.

 

Finally May but things haven’t changed

Only a collapsed economy and disease that seems to soar

Why the lockdown if it can come through the door?

June and the curve is not flat

July in a few days and all from a bat.

I’m holding onto my positive sight

It is gonna bite, try and steer clear, or fight the fight.

 

3) Summer

Summer’s for loving,

summer’s for picnics

by the beach,

the mountains,

the limestone caves.

 

he takes his blanket,

the threadbare,

wine handwoven one,

his gran ma made

or was it great-gran ma,

family heirloom

and wrapped his sand driven

toes deep into the pile,

the fringe,

that’s when he smelt her

perfume, oils,

oil of Ulay massaged,

and caressed into her crepy fingers

and toes.

The thick yellowed nails of her.

the long, waist length plait.

Some days, she was next to

him on the blanket, serving tea

from the old flask

 

Wine-Matching

The 24 poem: “International Gourmet Feast”

 

Wine-Matching

 

Strawberry vodka

with the marinated prunes so crabby

and a choice of pale sherry or Pinot Gris

for those canapés crabbé

 

a delightful Pratsche Rosé

for that Parmentier so cool

and a slightly off-dry riesling

for the cheesy soup, so cool!

 

White or red for salad

of Athenian taste

from Oyster Bay

for our awaiting-lips taste

 

Something different for the tagine

Pelforth beer of light amber

a complementary touch

sparked by lights of warm amber

 

Tuscan Sangiovese

will go with the Irish blend

and a Zinfandel

to dance with the chocolate blend

 

DeaBeePea  6-27-20

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hour 3: Nobody Told Me About Babies and Puppies

Back in the day

Of babysitting and teen lines and friendship pins

I slept my mornings away

Partied my nights with a variety of sins

No responsibility

No cares in my teenage life of sensibility

 

Nobody told me about babies and puppies

 

Babysitting, Big Bucks/No Whammies, and brownies

Living the life on an easy chair

Baby sleeps soundly,

Assaulted into  reality with puppy poop like a nightmare

Brownie fights stomach profoundly

Chocolate loses; brownie throw-up everywhere

Baby wakes with an unhappy dance

Because he just pooped his pants

 

Nobody told me about babies and puppies

 

As I begin to clean the baby up,

I hear a terrifying slurping noise.

The puppy is licking my brownie throw-up.

I throw up again with unflattering poise.

Mom walks in to witness this gallant moment,

I ask, “Are you ready to hear my dog-poop-brownie-throw-up story?”

 

Nobody told me about babies and puppies.

Kenna

Dogs
Joy
Water
Pavement
Sunshine

Warm wet muzzle meeting me in the mornings making me open my eyes to find a kind inquiring pair starring back at me. A wagging tale dances back and forth as his mission of waking me is completed
It’s time to play time to get the day started
After a brief head rub he darts back and forth across the room as if to tell me I’m late for some great adventure
As I rub my eyes I can hear loud laps of the water bowl as long streams of drool dangle from powerful jaws that never do anything more dangerous than smile
Unless you are that squeaky toy
Then you must be destroyed at all cost
Until all of the stringy white stuffing has been spread across the floor.
But for now he’s mainly concerned with going outdoors snd hitting the pavement
His proud prance head either high up cockily showing off his beauty
Or head sniffing the ground as ptty pat sounds are made when his nails and paws tap dance under the sunshine to a tune being kept in time with his tale.
My sweet boy
My four legged bundle of joy.