21 – My Marathon Coach, a freeform haiku
He stays up with me. Can I rub your hands, Gramma? You are almost there.
Tyson (A Tanka Poem, Hour Twenty One)
Tyson
(Yes, he was a Boxer!)
My gentle giant,
Ninety pounds of fun and fur,
You kept me laughing.
Your silly smile soothed my soul.
You left pawprints on my heart.
(A tanka is a five line poem with the syllable count 5/7/5/7/7. This poem was inspired by the Hour 21 prompt to write about an animal.)
Erasure (2019 Poem 20)
Erasure of “The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot
Let us go then, you and I
The evening is spread out against the sky
To lead you to an overwhelming question
Do I dare
Disturb the universe
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons
So how should I presume
The afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed
I am no prophet
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker
And in short, I was afraid
Would it have been worth while
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question
I grow old … I grow old …
And walk upon the beach
I have heard the mermaids singing
I do not think that they will sing to me
“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot
Hour 21, Spirit Animal
Would that I could become my own totem,
a fantastical blend of all traits I admire
in one creature, new to the earth.
I would have the stoicism and steadfast strength
of the bear, shuffling through my days safe
in the certainty that none would challenge me.
The sleek speed in water of the otter
would also be mine, perpetually laughing
in delight at life itself, babes nestled close on my belly.
A golden retriever’s gentleness and loyalty
would belong to me, smiling with liquid brown eyes
in sweet puzzlement, devoted to my people.
Instead, what is left to me is to embody
all of these creatures and more, to be
the person I am meant to be, and love.
Writing’s on the wall (spectre)
So many of us are too engulfed in our own bubble of constriction to actually
take the time to read it. As the darkness begins to fade into the abyss,
you’ll see firsthand what makes your mor(t)ality the most valuable weapon
in your arsenal. With nothing left to lose, fear becomes an
abstract notion steeped in mythology. You’ll stop at nothing to win
in a game that’s long since been over. Persist, fight, make it worth
your while. Otherwise, you’ll suffocate on your own ennui
and fade into the background of oblivion. This is why we exist
and this is the reason we’ll never succumb to the
adversity fueled by false perceptions. You are
the master of your future and this is where
you begin to write it. Just make sure
there are no typos.
The Next Day
The next day
I find myself
Much the same
Only completely different
As the day before
So go the weeks
Months
Years of life
Past, present
Future
The big questions answered
Without much ado
(Post Marathon bonus, Book 99, #19339)
The Demise of Shere Khan
The dark green of the jungle cloaks my presence
Thick vegetation dampens the noise of my cries
My surroundings hide me in fear of what I could do
But I can’t move, my might suppressed by traps
The King of the Jungle, how far below I have fallen
The flesh that remains is desert dry and exhausted
My ember brown eyes have melted into a sesame
My once restless tail is now a glorified fly swatter
The monkeys cry in terror in the dark canopy above
I am idle for I am nothing more than an empty gun
Age has humbled my sight and my fur has faded
The shadows mock my rule and plan a coup d’état
The climax of my role as the apex predator has eroded my divine frame and left me hollowed
The cool, chocolatey earth below offers comfort as the soldier-like ants come to finish me off
It feels so good
It feels so good
To lie next to you, bodies warm
against the cool night air. We watch
the sky fade to gray and pull
the covers up to our chins and sigh.
Our cheeks flush with new warmth, and eyes
twinkle with sleep, then sky grows pink
and birds start to tweet and stars fade
away. But the moments of night remain.
21 – platypus
I splash, l dive, l tumble
swimming up the cool stream
my beak digging into mud,
foraging for a yabby lunch,
I nest in my burrow,
away from the sun
I am rather adorable
unique as they come
Vulpine Visit
In the twilight, yellow eyes catch the light
Spilling from the kitchen window into the garden.
Half in shadow, white-tipped brush stands alert
Watching for a hostile human leaving the house.
Through the fence posts, russet-gold pours itself
Travelling the wastelands on little fox feet.
Form: Unrhymed couplets
Prompt: Write a poem about an animal