The Poetry Marathon

Closeted Threats ~ TW : sexual abuse

“Closeted Threats”  

Trigger Warning ~ sexual abuse

 

at the tender age of five

unknowing, in the ways of 

the sexual needs of men

 

the attention, was different

my own mother, absent

in her own hell

I’m sure

 

the light burned high above

his head, as he towered over me

blinding me ~

squinting my eyes

 

 

I heard ~

you can’t tell them

or else

 

the words fell

to the closet floor

where I sat

 

later,  a mindful adult

asked, the secret spilled

in the parking lot of the local bar

where my mother tended

 

my mother devastated

her patrons gathered round

 

his car, left by the side of the road

he was never found

 

that’s how it ends for those

in a small Texas town

 

Hour 12: Door to Memory 🚪

Closets are a wonder and a terror, both – for childhood
A place for them to hide, or monsters – or even both?
A place to explore clothes, identities, and social roles in innocent dress-ups
To imagine who you might be, who your family are, and were
To begin to learn how to create stories
To begin a journey as a storyteller
To create a slice of your own, very personal “Narnia”

My closet was old already when I was young
Old already when my father was young
Warm brown wood with darkened brass hardware and a small inlay pattern
It was everything the BBC children’s tv said a magical closet should be

When I moved away from home I was unable to take it with me
In later years it was damaged beyond repair
There was a particular grief in that
But I remembered my childhood stories
Of salvaged wood, and magic, and how it was held in the wood.. not the closet itself
Knowing this
Believing this
I saved the doors
These days they live in a frame in my home
These days they aren’t technically a closet
But if you know your lore, and respect it
And remember the land between worlds and recall the true speaking of the deep magics
Then they will always be a door to magics, because they remember that they once were part of the forest
And for me?
The doors are to memory
Doors to that place of childlike wonder within
With the doors I still have a way back, should I ever find myself lost
{Onward and upward!}

Reflections from An Old Poet

HOUR 12

(my own prompt – more of a wrap up really)

Reflections From An Old Poet

 

Rhyming came easy to me

Words flowed, descriptions vividly told many tales

My first poem was in Kimmy K’s autograph book.

(she had to tell me what an autograph book was…haha)

Age 10 maybe

I think I have saved most of them

But they are scattered here and there

I think I have my first after-retirement project

I wonder how many I’ve written

Poems became singing telegrams for some years

That was both fun and scary….way out of my comfort zone

Being a text book procrastinator, I was often finishing those

Little ditties driving to the actual gig…what a daring move!

I enjoy my writing and appreciate it as a talent.

From this marathon I have learned that having time to craft a lovely piece

Is more satisfying than the rush to complete one every hour.

Yet the challenge is just that…..challenging.

I think i was channeling some of those rushed feelings of the

Singing telegram years! Can you say anxiety?

What 2024 will bring to my writing opportunities is anyone’s guess

But for now I thank  all the wonderful poets and organizers for

the love and encouragement of the written word!

Goodnight from Ohio!

 

 

 

 

“Circle Of Life”

You’ll got to do what you got to do,

And so, life will present one for you.

A symbol of you,

And what you present,

Is what life will present to you.

Karma is a shadow,

Following you around,

It’s a full circle,

Up and down.

And what goes around,

Comes back,

No Doubt.

 

 

#POETRYMARATHON2023 #HOUR12 #24HRSCATEGORY

Dear Death7pm

Hello there!

Bet you never thought
you would hear from
or see me again.
So sorry to disappoint

I’ve had a lot of time to
think about you in the
years since we last spoke
not all of it bad, yet, not
all of it good either

There was a time when
you were my best friend
always there to listen,
but never to judge
I miss that about you
sometimes

This world is so judgmental
these days
I don’t understand it

Like the time when I was
in my 20’s and I was convinced
that I needed to die because some
guy didn’t like me.

You didn’t let come home with you
instead, I found things to occupy
my time-
you said someday, I could come home
with you. Thank you

There were also the times where I
hated your guts, where you could
have taken me home with you and
I was like NOPE.

what was rude as hell is that you
took my parents instead. I guess it
had to happen sometime

I only have one reason for writing
this letter, dear death.
and that is to tell you

I don’t need you anymore
I have a reason for living even
though my life hasn’t exactly turned
out the way that I planned, and I didn’t
accomplish nearly anything near what
I wanted to as of yet-

Everyday, I am accomplishing more and
more of what I want and what is best for
ME. Even though, I have no idea what it’s
going to look like in the end- It’s mine and
I intend to have it

So I’m sorry friend- You aren’t part of
my life any longer. I will always be
grateful for the lessons but I don’t
need the teacher anymore.

Goodbye.

Hour 12 – 85 Closets

85 Closets

On the boulevard of my mind
Sits my dream house, so refined

A skylight is above my bed
A kitchen done in black and red

A pool, of course, a hot tub too
Libraries, yes, one or two

And closets? Yes please, just a few
Eighty-five or sixty-two

One just for my silky nightgowns
One for black shoes, one for brown

One for Christmas wreaths and lights
One for summer toys and kites

One for dishes I don’t need
One for books I should reread

One for stones that I find quaint
One for buckets of old paint

One for string to short to save
One for kids who misbehave

The others will find a purpose when
I buy more useless stuff again

When building castles in the air
Have extra storage space to spare

Hooray! Finished another Half-Marathon.

Thanks.

Pulling/Pushing

You take so much for so little
Your victories are a meal for one
that you bring home in a doggie beg
to share with me, waiting for
something good
to land on your shoulder.

what is love

  

 

Because of your aphasia,

I read your mind and speak for you.

I’ve become your daddy

I am now your husband 

and your daddy:

 

Adjusting the shower 

As it fluctuates 

From too cold to too hot,

 

Wrapping your skinny body

In bath towels, giving you a hug

 to stop the shivering.

 

Brushing and drying your hair,  

We create a quiet  bond

That cannot be calculated.

 

I love you now, even more than before 

Because you’ve provided a sacred space

Where I can serve.

 

As your flame diminishes,

I volunteer to burn brighter,

And give myself to you with reckless abandon.

Early Spring Dreams

You stand at the window,

whipped cream hot coffee satisfies breakfast.

Morning light beckons thought.

Across the flowered meadow,

aspens quake, shiver in morning breezes.

 

Ready to bolt, deer pause in shadows,

hesitate, sniff for danger,

wander and taste wild strawberry, seeds, wild lettuce.

In a clearing, early twin fawns wobble near mother,

sun now warm on speckled backs.

 

Rise up, float out window frame.

Azure sky draws you onward through forest.

Winding through branches, leaves caress face,

drift over arms, shoulders, thighs.

You are content.