The Poetry Marathon

2023 Hour 13: Frozen

Prompt: Humorous account of workplace

I am settling into a new role in life,
Taking on the mantle of reading tutor.
Sharing my passion for words and stories,
With lovely, eager boys and girls
Wearing big bright smiles
And wanting so much to please.

I sit with every child
For their allotted time each day,
And we explore letters and sounds,
Digraphs, blends and magic e’s,
And practice reading with the smooth fluidity
Of everyday, every-person speech.

I sit with them, and yet far from them,
Because they are in front of their laptop,
And I in front of mine.
And when the vital internet connection
Struggles and glitches and lags,
One sweet little boy in Arkansas
Frantically taps his screen and calls,
“Ma’am! Ma’am! Are you OK?
You’re frozen.”

Hour 1: Researcher

Wasn’t I born for my profession?
Search and seize have been my forte
Ever since I have been an imp.
Would catch a cockroach or two
Examine them minutely
Wondered why they breathed their last in my hands
Garden flies, butterflies, hot kitchen vessels
Nothing escaped my attention.
Grew up to be a Pharma chemist.
I killed more mice than the cancer that we grew on them
Colorful medicinal compounds would I make
And dose them on the poor critters.
Miserable they were but they did teach me
Those also serve that wait and hope
In all earnestness noble was my profession
Overfive decades of dedicated work
Many a medicaments have I developed
They are but a disappearing drop
In the ocean of knowledge that still lays uncovered

Modern Day Vampire-Hour Thirteen

I can spot a good vein across the room. Pulsing, thick, blue lines in a curved elbow,

a graceful hand fluttering with thin veins spiderwebbing over dainty wrists,

slender arms my finger ghosts over, seeking, searching, feeling the firmness,

the dense flow that ebbs just beneath, the knotty scarring of many donations.

I fight the urge to cross strangers, to skim my fingers over cords of tendons,

the soft, fluttery hum of arteries, the pliant nerves ghostly presence

and the shallow basin of a vein, clarified with a pressure cuff. Not seen but felt,

my finger presses, and with a deft hand I strike, drawing blood. They pay me, you see,

professional vampire in a modern world, bloody gift sent to dreamless lab technicians,

nourishment to feed the hungry community their gift-giving life.

Prompt 12

Like Suitcases

stuffed full

closets hide

what we expect

not to see

life is not always

as we see it

sensory sensitivity

makes me stuff

shame under carpets

in shoeboxes on shelves

into trashbags

Let me get through the day,

I will deal with tomorrow, tomorrow.

Sunrise (Hour 12)

Light overcame darkness,
the whole sky turned blue,
birds started chirping,
flowers got ready to bloom,
A new day started,
hope giving us another chance.

Hour 12 – In my closet

There are Skeletons in my closet

Not the kind you may think

There are Ghosts in my closet

Not the kind that haunt your dreams

There are Monsters in my closet

Not the kind from your childhood

They’re all waiting in my closet because

ITS ALMOST HALLOWEEN

Hour 13- Life Work

I walk into the classroom, lanyard around my neck

I brace myself, cover my ears, the rooms already wrecked.

Tiny little bodies only three and four years old

Run around, tossing things, acting very bold.

Circle time is like herding cats, first weeks are a strain

Learning about our kiddos can really test our brains.

I see a little boy who is sitting by himself

I grab a dinosaur puzzle for him, I take it off a shelf.

We work on words like big and loud, finally he laughs.

I pretend a dinosaur is just a big and scaled giraffe.

I coax him to use words as we work at the little table

I mostly want to see where he is at, make him feel stable.

We sing and dance, use silly tones to help our kiddos through

Working with such special needs, well, that’s just what we do.

Hour Eight

I had nothing to say about the prompt for this hour… so I wrote what I wanted to…

 

Am I the Mistake

 

I understand now

That you were right,

I was your mistake.

 

That doesn’t mean

It was in any way

On my shoulders,

For I was a child

Whose only responsibility

Was growing up.

 

You made the mistake

In having children

You could not love

Unconditionally.

 

 

 

Writers prompt 13

Writers

 

Everything

The noise became everything
every blip of data
blinding with devastating meaning
the voice of God
or maybe love
at the very least truths
They don’t want you to know

Even better,
there was a community on the case
but he never spoke much
words had trouble making sense
especially compared to this

Always under attack
an invisible enemy
both within and without
obscuring

But the decay all around him was no longer important.

They say he’s still at it
a body of work
decoding signals that aren’t there