The Poetry Marathon

A Child

A child plays in the park,

Smiles at strangers

Laughs openly

You could see the cute dimples

 

Child is returning home now

Parents are friendly

Their kindness is in the child too

 

Looking at the child

made me think

How the kid

became a reflection of a family

How an image was sketched

 

Children are mirrors of our society

If you see a child alone

A child crying

A child begging

Ten think about your own steps

we as a society are going wrong

 

When you see a child

You see a mirror

It shows you

What you gave the world!

MISDIAGNOSIS

I can’t compare myself to Sleeping Beauty

but I might say I’m like her castle

buried by an intricate maze of thorny

symptoms that incestuously feed

from each other but maybe I’m the princess –

buried somewhere inside the chaos

in a tower that doctors can’t find.

The Place

There is something I need to say about this place where I live

Not the structure that protects my head from rain

This body, my living frame that I live in each day

It follows me everywhere that I go

It is broken and tattered, but clean and warm

It sometimes welcome’s the happy friend; that sometimes leaves as a willing stranger

This place where I live hold the Joy of celebrations new and old

It is a place that embodies my immortal soul and

It is the place my soul will leave behind when living here is no longer right.  

 

This place where I live has stood strong through all seasons

Its windows have been clouded and clear, its door has been locked and left open.

I want to say, about this place that I live, that I love it more every day….because it is mine

I have, yes, had occasion to want it destroyed and sadly have purchased my own wrecking ball

But I’m glad permission was not granted to tear it down.  

This place, where I live, will be the place where I am nurtured and nourished

This place, where I live, will be the place where I am comforted and caressed

This place, is where I will Live

INSULIN RESISTANCE

This is what happens when you let yourself go

greasy fries and Coca Cola

processed foot

saturated fat

sugars

 

-that’s what they judge when they see you

not the hours at the gym

sweat, tears, menu restrictions

visible torture summarized by two words:

insulin resistance.

The Girl Who is Left Wild (Hour Twenty)

The girl who is left wild,

As she should be,

And not tamed,

Will freely follow her Fox and her Bear,

Wherever they may lead,

For they know exactly where she needs to go.

A girl who is left wild and not tamed

Will trust things wild,

Wild wisdom,

And will walk straight into the heart

Of your decaying civilized world,

Where wildness strains to reclaim what isn’t working,

And she may scare you with what she dares,

But she will show you how to reclaim yourself.

SPEED DATING

I’d like to invent

a speed dating event

for doctors.

 

I don’t have the time

or the energy

or the interest

 

to invest in the horde who only want me for my money

who, like the true mysoginists they are, say I’m making my issues up

label them as “women’s issues”

prescribe a one-size-fits-all pill.

 

No – I can’t take more of them than

the satisfaction of looking in their faces

and saying No thanks. Moving on.

Pixie

 

  Coalition  by Kevin Peterson

Pixie

 

She walks in

courage,

cunning,

and strength –

head high,

chest out,

a pixie of the

lot

abandoned to Nature’s grasp –

Nature always gets

Hers back.

 

Owl perches on her head,

giving her sight into

places where others are blind –

it is as magic

as she –

pixie of the

lot

abandoned to Nature.

 

Her fox medicine

leads the way –

integration

of city

and not city –

she adapts

to any space;

as at home amongst

graffiti’d walls

as forests,

she is the

pixie of the

lot

abandoned

to Nature.

 

And,

to complete

the coalition

of the

funky

girl-child

psyche,

is Bear medicine:

introspection,

mother-wit,

the wisdom of the ancestors

that will keep her

safe here

in this world

between the worlds

of concrete

and

sapling.

 

She strides,

proudly,

wildly,

assured of her place

as

pixie of the

lot

abandoned to Nature.

(c) R. L. Elke 2016

Trompe Le Monde

“I can see why it’s gonna be their last one,”
a nose-ringed young girl at the Estee Lauder counter is chattering.

Mrs. Mary Anne MacLeod Trump shudders inwardly,
her chin a vice-grip of disdain, and allows a pair of hands
to drape her fur over her shoulder.

“My compact broke,” she’d told her husband
and called for the chauffeur, fuming.
Another blonde to welcome into the family!
We’d only just broken the Czech in.

The driver watches his mistress’ hair in the rear-view:
A Leaning Bouffant of Pisa represented in a concoction of Aqua Net and Brass Balls #109.

“Would Madam like to stop anywhere else?
A slight but firm head shake informs him to remain on the Expressway.
He shifted. It would be easier to enjoy the quiet
if she weren’t so silent.

Poem no. 20: The Summer Clock

If she could have her way, she said,
She would have liked to own a summer clock;
A gleaming, simple timepiece
To gather time – not pass it –
Placed snugly in a corner of the room.

It would take hold of summer time, she said,
Catching the moments of light each day
To keep away the long, dark winter hours.
And there would be a corner of her house
That would remain afire.

She said this in a wistful tone, soft as a dawn,
Then turned her hopeful gaze to me.
But in seeing, she looked far beyond me, now,
To the lowering darkness of the October day.

© Anne McMaster 2016

BODY ISSUES

My body is a liar

it’s a cheating hoe

that never listens when I give it compliments

never logs my dairy/wheat/sugar free menu

 

My body is a liar

its a dealer gone dirty

that won’t give me insulin

though I’m dying.

 

My body is a liar

that looks unloved and uncared for

though I lavish it with care and attention

and believe me, it is loved.

 

My body is a liar.