The Poetry Marathon

The Closet

I loved my father

but sometimes he drank

and the closet was the only place to hide.

I listened through the door

as he raged his inner battle

and I crouched in the dark, hiding from

what I’d done wrong. Please drunk daddy

don’t hit me again. I sobbed, hoping he’d never

find me because the closet’s the only place

to hide.

 

12 Delivered

Waiting for the mail to come

I listen for the truck

Should a new package appear

I’m happily in luck

 

I know the thump of Amazon

I hear it many times

Bags and boxes hit the porch

It’s better than wind chimes

 

Today I wait for bathroom bulbs

Mine are starting to burn out

There is a book I’m hoping for

Arrive today I am in doubt

 

I live alone except for Millie

Her hedgehog came last week

She too perks her head

Near the window she will peek

 

I must reign in and order less

As winter’s months approach

Heating bill will come to pass

As I surrender to reproach

 

Coming Out of the Closet (Poem 12) 

 

My closet was full

The clothes and other contents falling over one another

 

My closet was full

I couldn’t find what I wanted without everything toppling over

 

My closet was full

Most things inside were hidden in plain sight

 

My closet was full

It was giving me anxiety and sleepless nights

 

It was time

To get rid of the excess baggage

 

It was time

To hear the calling of the burdened one (s)

 

It was time

To reach out to one(s) tucked away in some corner

 

It was time

To let out those that hadn’t seen the light of day in ages

 

It was time

To come out of the closet for many

 

 

 

In response to text prompt number 12

Some of My Closets (Poem 12)

Some of My Closets   (Poem 12)

 

Jewish kid who just wanted to fit in like probably every other kid.

Philly streets of cement, priest telling my friends not to play with me.

Nuns kicking me out of the gym for obvious reasons.

Why did I have to be different?

My closet thought was, Why can’t we be like everyone else?

 

Being a pre-dental student in college was to keep me from getting drafted

until I could come out of the closet when a safe draft lottery number made

we immune to the draft. Any real desire to be a dentist disappeared in

about a half second or less. A college art teacher had looked me in the eye

and asked if I really wanted to be a dentist. I lied to both her and myself by

answering yes.

 

Then opening a chiropractic office in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho – infamous for the

Aryan Nations White Supremacists put me back in my original closet. “Schwartz,

is that German Doc?” was a common question. My true but elusive answer was

that it’s Russian (now Ukrainian and Lithuanian). But Jews were murdered there

for their religion and thus my grandfather came here alone as a teen.

 

And after all those years of hiding, I no longer have any skin in the game and so

it’s with great pleasure that I make it a point to always tell the truth. And maybe I

pretend to myself that I always did. Or if I don’t for some reason, I’m an expert at

telling enough of a half-truth that no one notices but me.

 

I notice that my clothes closet is always neat and clean with color coded clothes.

Maybe I want that because I’ve spent so much time in there.

 

 

 

 

 

XII- Prophecy

A young man stands still in the Soothsayer’s shack

“It is not strength, but patience you lack” ,

the seer says beneath a tattered hood

in a drafty cabin to the north of the wood

The knight huffs and turns upon his heel

but stops at the sound of a wheel’s dying squeal

A gentle voice gives thanks for a safe night passage

the crone asks the knight if he’s heard the old adage

regarding the actions of wise men and fools

of the ways in which our hearts rule

Before he can give the seer reply

the form of a maiden catches his eye

She opens her mouth but finds words she lacks

The knight then says “aye, this be the soothsayer’s shack”

He watches as she passes through the door frame

and from the old woman learns her name

But before he can ask of midnight passage

and her thoughts on a certain old adage

The seer’s eyes blacken and roll

her body contorts as the spirits take hold

The oracle speaks:

“I see a fighter, valiant and true,

a kind leader betrayed by two

but as the sun sets, so it shall rise

and there is power in knowing their lies

But for now, you must wait,

trust blindly in fate,

The pale rider stands by

with his discerning eye

Mind the cups that you pour,

and how the birds soar

With your people make good,

learn the ways of the wood

Heed the words of the Fool,

his irreverence for rule

for the Bard will sing tales

of how the wicked shall fail

You will bathe upon the hill

find your cups to be refilled

Two lovers will sit under the sun and the moon

Lovers they shall stay until they are entombed”

 

Color returns to the oracle’s eyes

Her body releases and she lets out a sigh

Go children, she says, there is much to be done

and as I have spoken, you must be the ones

The seer collapses onto the bedroll

in her shack

Go, she says, you cannot turn back

 

 

 

 

 

The Closet’s Secrets

It was a closet, but not just any closet

The wall at the back was fake

And you could push it to the side

If you knew the special way

Behind the wall were treasures

Stacked up decades high

Shelves and shelves of memories

Were stored there deep inside

It was also full of concrete dust

That covered every surface

From where my grandpa carved that room

During the Cuban missile crisis

It was meant to be a bomb shelter

To keep his family safe inside

If the worst ever happened

And bombs lit up the skies

But by the time that I was born

It was just a place to store stuff

And for a curious little girl

It was a place that dreams were made of

Grandma’s old jewelry cases

And boxes full of vinyl

Notebooks and letters and faded bills

With stamps like “PAID” and “FINAL”

I spent hours dreaming there

Writing stories of my own

Surrounded by the history

Of my family in the stone

That house was sold decades ago

And I’ve often sat and thought

If they know what’s behind

That closet’s faded wall.

~Mandy Kocsis©2023~

Prompt 12 – We’re Like Puppets in a Closet

Image Courtesy of Pixabay

 

Life, a ceaseless puppetry unfolds its play,

Each marionette trapped in its private plight,

Acting out scenes, from dawn to fall of day,

With none escaping the puppeteer’s slight.

Invisible strings, our fates forever bind,

In life’s theater, we dangle and we sway,

Awaiting destiny, our hearts entwined,

In a drama where reason often goes astray.

Continuous defeat in life’s cruel game,

Confusing joys for cravings dark and base,

The threads that bind us, our enduring shame,

Closeted skeletons hide, leave no trace.

Selfishness reigns, we’re puppets in its thrall,

Escape eludes us, closet doors stand tall.

Antoinette LeRoux © 2023

monster #2023poetrymarathon #prompthour12

Mandala #12

The spiders
weave their mandalas 
between plants and trees and 
blades of grass. Their 
magic visible only when 
touched by the sun.

Hour 12 – My Closet

I wish I had a photo of the little holes in the closet wall in our den when I was a child. After removing the rag bag and iron and spray water bottle and what-have-you, I could crawl up on the shelf into my closet; it was at about waist high to an adult. There were some decorative holes on the back of a curio shelf on the other side of the wall. They were perfectly situated for me. When I was sitting on my closet shelf, it was a perfect secret agent perch to look out at the goings-on of my family. I was the captain of a ship peering through the spyglass. I was taking detective notes. I was making subtle noises to try to get family members to wonder what they heard. It was my closet and no one could have convinced me otherwise.

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Prompt 12