The Poetry Marathon

Sister Patricia

Sister Patricia

 

She had never run a marathon

until she received word from

her sister that her cancer was

malignant. That changed her

phone-call greeting from “Hi, Pat.

What’s happening?” to “Hi, Pat.

Is there anything I can do for you?

How about lunch?” Pat always

replied, “Yes!” When they exited

the car to go to the luncheonette

Pat lagged a bit behind, bent over

like a scalene triangle, but

remained game, despite her lack

of appetite. Food smelled like

shit and tasted like copper.

“How ‘bout we split that check?”

she said, pulling out her purse,

smiling.

Bath Time

I’m in the tub,

where every night

you sit and read,

turning the corners down

on the pages you like.

 

It’s been almost a year

since you banned me

from your life.  i know

your symptoms and

can never, ever tell.

 

You would damn me

to hell and outer Mongolia

if i tried again to get you to

ask your doctor about the

pill they give sometimes.

 

You know the one I mean.

It could have given us

a little more time. I really

liked living here, making you

French toast and bacon.

 

Now I only visit

when you’re gone.

 

 

The Sun Sets

bathing the sand in swatches
of tangerine, indigo, lavender

your hand rests on mine
there in the reedy grasses

just like it was at the beginning
but weren’t we tentative then–

fumbling toward something
I wasn’t sure you wanted?

we’ve learned to bend into each other,
these days between our first words

and last and how lucky it is to have
a nodding acquaintance with passion,

veneration for the inevitable
without being ransomed to either

Even the Ghost is a Comedian

We were playing a board game, Dixit, with our daughter and son-in-law, in which one player says a phrase to clue a picture card. The clue shouldn’t be too obvious, or too difficult. Our son-in-law said, “bad times.” Immediately the power went off and we were plunged into complete darkness. After a few seconds, the lights came back on.

Years before, we were having one of our rare summer heat waves, and we had a fan on in our bedroom. I woke up with the distinct feeling that there was someone in the room with us. I told my sleeping husband about that sensation, even though there was obviously no one else there. A few seconds later, the fan clicked off. “Who did that?” asked my half-asleep husband. “Must have been that guy. Who else?” We were both in bed, across the room from the fan.

Across the Sea (Hour 11)

Across the sea you call to me;
call to me from home.

Across the sea I cannot be;
I cannot follow you home.

Someday I’ll travel o’er the sea;
Over the swells I’ll fly.

When I see you again what joy will be;
And ne’er more will I cry.

Colours

we are born not knowing the curve of our hips

or the texture of our hair

prejuduce.

 

We are born well-versed in the language of love.

The bitter taste of derogatory adjectives

are learned or passed down.

To destroy.

One More

Scolding our waitress, “Last time I asked for three olives.
It came back with only two, just like this one.”
Surprised, she apologized, and replied, “Be right back”

Sure enough, one server returned, martini in hand,
Four green swimmers decorating the ginned vodka,
Only my dirt sat aside soaking a stained soda glass.

”Why separate them like that?” inquiring minds ask.
Well, that new bartender makes them dirtier than scum
So aproned Sophie confessed (tattled) all a’ flutter.

Five last drops glugging down a salty gullet, “ahhh,”
Smacking briny satiated lips audibly, complainer
No more noted, “I’ll mix another, please.”

“Twelve – Twelve Jars of Wine”

For the Tang Immortals
Especially for Li Po
One of my Favorite Poets
In a Style He’d Like

 

Twelve jars of wine beside a river bank,
each one a friend and for a friend to break
the seal of, letting out the breath of grape
and age and love and how all things must end.
My friends are never with me when I’m rank
and drunk beside the water, so I shake
my fist up at the clouds and let the shape
of all my sorrows flow like them again.

Shaped clouds, like vines, like rivers, and the wine,
divine in every way that heaven knows,
are always friends. I answer as they pass,
for drunkards hear cloud voices in sunshine.

The jars are empty. Wine’s like friends, it goes
away, and leaves me, cloudy, on my ass.

Rumberos Baile….

So beautiful art thou an I,

nothing. Shadow,shadow,

shadow, against light. I will not

steal the light of one so beautiful

land can’t because the rays blind

me and I am blinded by love and

none is returned or ever will be. I so

believe in the light and bathe

in the light and create my own light

to share with others. Glowing. I

shudder by his spell. For just one

look then I am reborn and all will be

well with my soul. To touch beauty

is what has moved my darkness to

light I am baptized in joy with just one

touch to dance with the devil and

dive into rapture he is what I need.

Say yes to me beloved and I am

in your arms tonight. Deeply, hotly,

pure bliss at last as lights dim. I

am yours to dine to taste you are my

encore and the taste that fills me. I

seek no other. Let the light inside

consume this lust and the fire

burn this ever ending desire just

for you, my beloved…..

Tonight l dance into a frenzy. My

body will be covered in sweet

sweet sweat and drops will roll here and

drops will pool there. I made a promise

and will keep but the rhythm calls me

louder and I obey  My spirit will be

cleansed. I will be native. Wild. Free.

So, L transcend to another realm using

my body to call in the rescuers and do

the bidding of its mistress. Obey, obey,

and the music takes me to another planet

I allow spirit and other worlds,to meet as one.

Mystery,oh the beauty, the nectar,

the Dance eternal.

Foever protected and bond to each other

for all time and I to mind

That’s a dance…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunset

The coy sky
Hides its brilliance until the final hour.
Only then,
Does it reveal its violets,
Its flush pinks,
Behind a slice of orange sun,
Washing the horizon in fleeting, sacred splendour before
The call of the loon,
The chill evening wind,
And the choir of crickets
Unite in grand chorus
To announce the arrival of darkness.