The Poetry Marathon

To myself in my youth

Dearest 9 year old self,

When you meet your future best friend for the first time
Don’t beat up her brother!

Dear 12 year old self,

Climbing trees is ok, but don’t jump out, crutches are not your friend!
Poetry can bring you peace,
Stay with it, this IS your friend!

Dear high school girl,

Yep it’s me again, continue to do the things you love, basketball, volleyball, tennis, golf, track. But once it’s over, it’s hard to bring back.

Whomever i am writing to now, whatever your age is of this i will vow-
Just be yourself, and be fair to the masses, if they start a fight, then kick their asses.
Don’t ever let life get you down, you are a queen so wear your crown.
Do unto others as you would want done,
And remember this always, just always have fun!!
Love, your future self

All time high (octopussy)

Memory is subject to gradation in the worst way possible. Sometimes, we all miss the way we weren’t: pickup soccer games during lunch, ferris wheels descending into the night, philanthropic endeavors outside a waffle house.

We check every last box and still somehow feel empty inside. In retrospect, it’s not about what you do but who you do it with. We’ll paint the town a bright beautiful shade of sienna and leave it to its own devices.

We may not know where we’re going in this starship but that’s never stopped us before and I’ll be damned if it’s going to have any power to stop us now.

 

I Talk To the Trees

Eleventh Hour

I Talk To the Trees 

Trees, extend your sinewy limbs towards me.
May I hide my weary spirit
amongst your billowy leaves?
Whisper to me the message from the Wind.
What did he say,
What mood was he in?
As life hurls and whips you to and fro.
How do you stand?
How do you grow?

Who covers you,
when storms rain on your head?
So content are you!
You still lay in your bed
soaking in the deluge
as nearby boats sank,
never murmuring,
you stand tall and
guard your bank.

Trees, no raging accusations have
been brought against you!
On moist days you receive the rain,
on dry days, you are thankful
for the dew.

When I breathe, you have life.
When you breathe, I have life.
Like me you live, and like me,
you die.
Yet on your worse days
you stagger not,
nor wonder why.
Your branches persistently
reach upward to the sky,
Praising God,
Your purpose defined.

Trees, embue me with wisdom
such as you have shown,
Do you too talk to God,
Have you always known?
Though you’ve been tossed and blown,
You stand strong and firm, 
rejoicing that you will one day
be seated, at the throne.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Compton, CA 90222
                                                                                          June 22, 2019@19:56

 

Silents Nights

Silent Nights

 

Spring has aged into summer

New greens fading now solstice hues

Dark holes between layers of leaves

Remain and stare back

Evening sun lightens the mood

As the inevitable is coming

With each visit the sun wanes

Creatures shift their watch while

Sounds soften as birds are mute

Once filling the air

Now crickets seem silent

Bats have gone with fireflies

Remember back to summer evenings

When life relayed itself with audible surety

Listen to what has been lost.

 

TobeTT  # 10

Shopping Time

Grocery shopping time

Shop shop

Don’t shop when you’re hungry

You’ll be spending more money

Make sure to bring your list

Check it off despite fits

Grocery shopping time

Shop shop

Remember to read those labels

Not that they’re readable anyway

It’s grocery shopping time

Shop shop

What will you be feeding your mind, heart, body, and soul today

TWELVE (3 cinquain stanzas)

At twelve

An awkward age

The things that fill your mind

Some things you really shouldn’t know.

Great guilt.

 

Your mind

Is not your own

No control where it goes

Feelings come that you can’t explain.

Great fear.

 

Let go

Get it all out

Be rid of it somehow

Don’t act on it, it just comes back.

Great shame.

Dear Anshu,

Dear Anshu,
2001,

Life is a box full of Surprises
Every moment is a Present
You gotto open it with a Smile
Embrace even the Fragile
Walk another Mile
Define your own Style
And Never settle in being just Fine

Dear Fat Beverly

How I’d like to go back and talk to my fat self–

The one who sat all alone, like a book upon a shelf.

I’d tell that unknown beauty of a secret she’d soon know

That fixed the problem she endures, that burdens like a foe:

The diet you eat now, is loaded down with carbs

That piles on fat-filled layers, we cover up with garbs.

That diet leads you to a stroke, diabetes, heart too fast–

But then you’ll finally learn how to tame that beast, at last.

You will become determined to learn all that you can

To feed your body properly, and fix a new meal plan.

And then, your weight will drop a hundred pounds, and more!

You’ll be wearing clothes like you never dreamed, for sure!

But the news that’s best of all, is your health takes a turn–

That diabetes takes a hike; sure glad you finally learned!

So learn from my mistakes, and do yourself a favor:

Change your diet now, to a new plan you will savor.

 

 

Dear Harvey, Who’s about to be Born

 

Poem Eleven

 

Dear Harvey, Who’s about to be Born

 

Make sure you’re born on May 8.

Do not rush things and come out the day before.

Repeat: NOT THE DAY BEFORE!!!

That’s a good little boy…just cozy in and relax.

 

May 8 is a great day…three years after the Nazi’s surrendered to end the war.

The week the state of Israel will be formed – spurred on by an article in The Nation on May 8.

 

You’ve been dodging genetic bullets for a long time.

Great grandfather murdered in a Pogrom.

Grandfather escaping the Czar, alone as a teen.

Parents facing death and certainly no you if hitler had won and taken over America.

 

So just cozy in and surf that wave that rolls you out on May 8^th , child of mother May.

Because May 7 is a Vietnam Draft Lottery death warrant…as is the tenth and eleventh!

 

If you are born any of those days you will definitely get drafted, way off in 1969.

So just relax and enjoy floating the pond.

 

Your ancestors have been through enough war.

You need to grow up in Philly and randomly go to Woodstock.

Then join a hippie commune to give you the idea of hitchin’ out west.

So you can leave on that summer vacation and never come back.

Rather than have to worry about that dirty ol’ Draft.

 

So chill out Harvey…it’s more important than you know!

Just chill…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Me, Age 29, About to Get Married [11 – #dearformerself]

You’re going to regret this.
He’s not “the one;” he doesn’t even love you.
You’re going to cry on the way back up the aisle after and they will not be tears of joy because somehow, you already know.

But marry him anyway, because for you there is no other way to learn this lesson–
that God is a God of grace, not judgement; that He is the One True Love of your life;
that he has more grace and goodness in store for the rest of your life than you could have ever imagined.
That you are beautiful, and worthwhile, and courageous, and you have so much to offer the world.

It will take a long time to get there–years, and then a decade or more, but you will see so many sights along the way and have so many new experiences; you will wonder at this man’s lack of courage, thought, love.

And one day, someone will show up at the door of your own home and look at you, and you will begin to learn about love.

This marriage is a terrible doorway to a new world and how it’s going to hurt going through but in the end you will be so grateful for the entire thing you would do it again.