The Poetry Marathon

Hour #12: Intricate Patterns of Delicate Lives

I wore a lace kerchief kneeling with my great-grandmother in church.
Holding it, putting it neatly over my hair, and sneaking a peek in the mirror,
I always felt magic and a kinship with her and her far-away first home in Mexico.

A doily was atop the bookcase of my Polish grandmother, ivory and intricate.
Sliding my hand over its rich textures, I marveled at the elegance it brought.
A stark, silent house held a corner of wonder with dainty sewing and wisdom in books.

Both women left for a new country when no home was left for them.
Their lace was for home, no longer for bridal dresses, dance gowns, or tea parties. 
Lacing their lives anew, they were intricate and delicate. They were made of the strongest silk.

Daylight Comes

Lying on the floor
Too exhausted to move
My tears have all escaped
The carpet just barely dry
The room is getting brighter
As seeping through the blinds
The first rays of morning
Make their way into my world
Stretching forth across the floor
Reminding me how
No matter the darkness of the night
Daylight always comes

Poem 12: A Haiku Sequence for the Twelfth Poem

Three windows above

my desk frame the trees outside —

green portrait of limbs and leaves.

 

I scrubbed my desk last

night so today I could write

with a cleared head.

 

Twelve hours blazed past

to now, my eyes blurred and red,

grateful for the end.

 

My weary eyes dive

into the living green scene

just beyond my reach.

The Number “A Lot”

Hour Eleven

How many grains of sand on a beach?
How many minds can one teach?
How many atoms make up this land?
How often should each soul lend a hand?
How many leaves fall in the autumn?
How many have been beaten down by criticism?
How many planets and stars in the ‘verse?
How many dandelion puffs disperse?
How many words describe my heart?
How many times does one restart?
How many days have you loved me?
How many hours spent daydreaming?
How many years should one spend in lack?
How many whispers behind the back?
How many eyes gloss over a person?
How many instances should be allowed to worsen?
How many raindrops imprint the earth?
How many return home to the hearth?
How many snowflakes build up the drifts?
How many times does the world and societies shift?
What digits constitute the number “a lot”?
Quantifying the total would be a longshot.

Nature’s breath !

 

It’s so quiet as dark, A path through woods
Some unknown walked in this path, who was unseen
Nature’s silence is a cool wind lullaby
There are so many strategies and secrets on this path

In Golden sun shade, rustling sounds whispers
under the wooden, In Nature’s trance
Cool and clam, a relaxing point
unrevealed wonders hide and seek in this path.

No footprint sign we can’t observe who they roam
it’s a nature’s cave, to the animals and herbs

Serene and verdant, secrets and techniques concealed
In this enchanted woodland, the wind sings and enjoy

 

 

prompt-Image

Hour-11

 

 

If My Closet Could Talk…

Inside my mirrored doors

my dreams hide.

My aims for a better body subside.

Inside my two door wardrobe

lies my wishes of running into you,

in a flowery flowing top

matching cute flats and form fitting jeans.

Inside the metal and glass enclosures of a cupboard my clothing and shoes hold onto my secrets,

ones I plan to share with you.

This clandestine knows you’re gone

like donation bags I fill

each year with things I’ll never wear,

like the smile I would’ve had seeing you.

 

 

Hour Twelve ( I am finished!)

We all have closets, deep within our souls,
places dark and scary and cluttered.
Our monsters are kept there,
our dreams sometimes, though I hope not.

My fears lurk there, hell, they breed there!
Clustering among the smelly sneakers and
old socks I left there as a kid,
they constantly remind me I have no value
I am not like others
I am odd

So I can see air, big deal
So everything inside my head is color coded,
who cares!
Words with “L’s and R’s are hard to pronounce
and every Fall I may stutter.

But I have found an antidote to those
evil shadows that try to twist my soul
I have found God, the creator of the universe!

I know not why He allows those demons
to hide within my self, planing diabolical curses.
But I do know He is love and power
and he decided to create me as I am,
just as I am.

That is enough for me

 

 

Poem 12, Unveiled

My closet is full of memories through out my life,
and some of my dad’s.
He didn’t want to believe his stuff had to be sold
so I hold the last of it for him.
At the assisted living, he doesn’t have a closet,
just a wardrobe.
I haven’t spoken to him for a while.
During our last phone call, he was in attack mode.
I had to step away.

In one of the boxes is my Girl Scout vests.
I could create a pillow.
In another is stories me and my cousin wrote for our grandma as kids.
Empty boxes take up the most space;
waiting for my next chapter to be unveiled.

To full Closet

Every time I open my closet I do so with a sigh.

Dresses, skirts and shirts galore, they are piled so high.

Most of these clothes are never worn, but it’s so hard to let go.

I need to spend more time in there to clean it out I know.

Memories are in the closets core,

so instead of getting rid of them

I just keep getting more.

I need to get a backbone and put sentimentality on the shelf.

I wish there was a helper, like a closet elf.

 

 

 

 

 

Fall Cleaning

Cleaning the closet of my past
Tossing out first day outfits
And funeral clothes
Scuffed shoes and torn hose
And scarves with moth holes
Dusting off the corners of doubt
That hold me back
Emptying bag upon bag
All seem to be black
I’ll replace them
With colorful dreams
All brand-new
The suits replaced
With loungewear in blue
Time to dress my age
And release from the cage
The skeletons that haunt
My book’s last page