The Poetry Marathon

Mirror

Mirror

 

I caught them watching me, saying I’m slipping

away, just like Aunt Brenda did, 50 years

ago. Sick. I’ll dig in the trash, grab scraps, torn

paper that Mommy threw away. I dig past bones

and grease and clutter of things left behind, to save

what everyone sees as junk. It’s precious.

Should be left untouched. I know they wonder

of what will become of me when I’m old, but

I have it under control. Things are okay. Not

normal but still okay. Healthy. But we’ll watch

the clock hands tick and tick and tick away.

Bird

Black Vail lifts

Light through the cracks make the bars almost invsible

The song sung is but a whisper of a past dream

A door opens, wings spread wider

A shoulder to land on

…..not just a pet.

Think About It

In high school, I played Charlotte in Charlotte’s Web.

I didn’t like spiders at all, they gave me the heeby-jeebies.

Still, I was grateful for the role.

It was small, simple, a kid’s play.

An hours worth of short scenes retelling a beloved children’s story.

That being said, something magical happened.

It was magical in the way that you don’t realize it happened until you look back on it.

I was a scared 17-year-old, trying to navigate the slippery slope of adolescents.

Holding on to my childhood as the sands of times drained in my hourglass.

And here I am playing a stupid spider that dies.

But there was something in the way the kids rushed up to me after the show.

Something in the way that I bowed alongside my humble pig.

Something in the way I could feel my onstage demise caused tears to fall.

I felt important.

And you can get your goosey bottom that I will never kill another spider again.

love song ~erasure

Let us go then, you and I,

evening is spread upon a table;

Let us go,

muttering retreats, Of restless nights

in cheap hotels with oyster-shells:

a tedious argument Of insidious intent

 

To lead

overwhelming question …

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

 

Let us go

and make the women come

 

rubs its back upon the -panes,

rubs its muzzle

Licked its tongue

into the corners

the evening, Lingered upon

the pools that fall upon its back

that falls Slipped

 

the sudden leap,

And seeing

it was a soft October night,

Curled, and fell asleep. indeed

 

Time: smoke that slides along

Rubbing upon the -panes;

There will be time, there will be time

 

To face. To meet: the faces

There will be time

to murder and create,

time: for all the works

 

and days. That lift and drop

a question

Time for you and me,

time for a hundred indecisions,

for visions and revisions,

Before the taking toast and tea.

 

In the room, women come

indeed

time To wonder, “Do I dare?”

 

“Do I dare?”

 

Time turn back and descend the stair,

My morning , mounting firmly

My rich and modest, asserted by a simple pin —

Do I dare

 

Universe,

In a minute, is there time?

decisions and revisions

a minute will reverse.

 

I have known

all already, known them all:

the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

measured out my life with coffee spoons;

the voices dying with dying

Beneath the music

should I presume?

 

I have known the eyes already, known them all—

eyes that fix a formulated phrase,

And when formulated, sprawling on a pin,

pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my ways?

And how should I presume?

 

I have known the arms already, known them all—

Arms white and bare in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)

Is it perfume from a dress Arms that lie, or wrap about

And should I then presume?

And how should I begin?

 

gone at dusk

narrow And watched

the smoke that rises

lonely leaning out of windows? …

 

I should have a pair , ragged claws

Scuttling across silent seas.

 

And the afternoon, the evening,

Smoothed by long fingers,

Asleep … tired … or it malingers,

Stretched on the floor,

here you and me.

Should I Have the strength to

force the moment ,its crisis?

 

I have wept , fasted, prayed,

I have seen my head

brought in upon a platter,

I am no prophet —no great matter;

 

I have seen the moment

my greatness flicker,

I have seen the eternal hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, afraid.

 

would it have been worth it,

you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the ball

some overwhelming question,

 

To say: Come back to tell you, I shall tell all”—

If one, settling her head

“That is not what I meant at all;

not it, at all.”

 

And would after all,

have been worth while,

After the sunsets the dooryards sprinkled streets,

After the novels, , after the skirts that trail along the floor—

this, and so much more?—

impossible to say just what I mean! as if a magic

threw patterns on a screen:worth while

one, settling And turning

“That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all.”

 

No! I am not nor meant to be;

attendant lord, will do

To swell, start a scene or two,

the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

high but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.

Do I dare to eat a peach?

wear white, and walk upon the beach.

the mermaids singing, sing to me.

 

I have seen them riding

the waves white

of the waves blown back

 

the wind blows

white and black.

We lingered, in chambers of sea-girls

red and brown

Till voices wake us, and we drown.

 

Amanda Potter©: 2019 Poetry Marathon

Mya, our dog

Mya was part of the family

She was easy to figure out

Always ready

idle threats didn’t go under her radar

 

She was about as kind as I was

Our keeper until her death

reminding us just how unpredictable tomorrow can be

We have changed

unable to replace what she was to us

so we refuse

cause broken hearts don’t repair easily

Homegoing

Response to earlier poem “Homecoming”

The land you know, even when you are lost can return you to a final destination called home.
The road searching for a hard and deep plot of land to lay your weary bones.
The faces gather to watch in awe the last moments of your physical presence upon the earth.

The air no longer felt or taken in to replenish your body.
The seasons will shift from one extreme to the next.
As you lay in internal rest, exempt from fear, pain, and shame.

The water in the distance moves peacefully as the waves begin to replicate notes of an old gospel hymn.
The clouds accumulate into a dark and peculiar pattern above the church.
The scent of loved one’s flowers laid at the end of your feet.
The somber energy of a homegoing as the pallbearers enter the room.

Goodnight!

My pillow caresses my head

Whispering, “It’s time to come to bed.”

I nod sleepily and nozzle in

Creating a cocoon in my blanket

I’m preparing to fall asleep

But there’s a brightness penetrating my eyelids

I peek out of one eye

I’ve forgotten the darn light!

Screw it. It can wait until morning.

I throw my blanket over my head

And let the sleep carry me off

To a place I can drift on the waves of my subconscious.

Prompt 26 Hour 21

She was all fight

and no promise,

as wild as they come.

A kitten to milk

she would never be

But a lioness

to prey

Always.

 

C. Churchill

Prompt 26/H21-Cats and Gravity

It isn’t in my way
The table is nice and clear
But it wasn’t there yesterday
Really, it shouldn’t be there now
Only I can choose, but mom and dad disprove
Knowing this I swish my tail and shrug
Either way, I think I’ll push it over

Hershey

Your muzzle grows white
Poor, old girl.
Affection starved
Hoping this time
Someone will have time
Someone will help with the stairs
Someone will brush me
And feed me
And walks me
And loves me.