The Poetry Marathon

Unnatural

Tattoos on each extremity,
a barbell through my tongue,
a squid trails behind my ear.

Outside in the sunshine
I feel most at home
amongst blossoms and leaves.

How naturally unnatural I am.

Sleepless

Sleepless from a dream of
Scotch-Irish eyes meeting mine
as he closes in for a kiss,
I linger at the open window
let humidity stifle my desires.
It takes a while.
I lay back down, pretending
I can feel his heat
against me, but know he is
oblivious to my heart.
In his sound slumber he
dreams instead of World Cup
finals – Slainte! and that
long ago girl he can’t forget.

Classroom

The empty classroom echoed,

books boxed, papers filed, shelves clean,

awaiting the new year.

The busy classroom echoed,

papers shared, problems discussed, bodies in motion,

energized by the new day.

I yearn for both.

Prompt 10, Hour 8

The orange tabby kittens were found together.

Brothers of other mothers, bonded yet the same.

A package deal for adoption, they came home.

 

She was one of three remaining in the litter.

Wrinkled, wriggling, wrestling with her siblings.

She was smaller, then she grew.

 

Separate species, super siblings.  Four footed family.

Resurrection Fern (prompt 9, Hour 7)

From another day
and far away
soft memories like ghosts
float through my mind
and ruffle my soul.

A love of simple things,
long summer days,
kind people with flaws,
baby goats, big dogs.

Our young eyes saw everything.
We noticed small changes
and wondered at beginnings.
We studied it all..
And loved all we saw.

It formed our bones and it became us–
the songs, the sounds, the smells,
ashes from old fires, rusty barbed wire,
stored in a heart made large for memories.
It was our life.

And through it all,
the spreading oak bowed low
to show a resurrection fern,
its message from the past
saying it is never too late.
We can always go home.

prompt #10, hour 7 ~ sevenling

Sevenling

My father was a complex man:
Honourable, wounded, dark of wit & mind
Not always good with children.

These things he also gave into my hand:
Myth & legend, healing, the books I read of every kind,
Family to pass down to children.

I am as contradictory as he was.

Awaiting

books sit on my shelf waiting
poems, fiction, always baiting me on
none want to make me yawn
books they want to spawn visions
some even use fission
i never saw a Grison so used
though i may be confused on that
attempts are sometimes scat you see
others make the marquee
those that have found the key we read!

Sevenling

Kids at the zoo come to see

Dolphins, zebras, lions,

Monkeys flinging from the trees.

 

But they never see the men

All in white, scooping up trash,

Putting cherries in their cones.

 

When they go home, it’s never alone.

Seven-something, I think

My brain is starting to hurt.

My mind is weary.

I’m not sure I’m doing this right.

New stuff is scary.

It’s like standing naked in front of an audience and you’re all hairy- especially if you’re prone to like being a hair-free zone.

It is  watching your child jump from the roof purposely doing their best to give a ginormous fright.

This is motherhood. Are you ready?

Poem 8: “The Impossible Blessing”

how do you explain