The Poetry Marathon

the assignment is to praise – first prose attempt

RECENT ACTIVITY

(name)
Nine down! 3 to go!! I’m so tired!
I think silliness has set in!
Paul Robert Sanford You are wonderful to have come this far. You have the stamina and determnation to make it!
You have come this far and put out a great and focused effort. You were terrific before, but now you are enobled, and example for your future self.
Silliness is a perfectly legitimate mood.
You will rise up like an eagle when you see the next prompt!

(It is an exercise in praise.)

Poem 9

Chapter 9: Escape

 

 

We leap and hit the water

Running.

Fleeing.

 

Lost Sister, gone. Left behind.

Grasp slips in cold water

Plunge deeper, scramble up.

Current steals us downstream.

 

Catch a fallen tree.

Grip the necklace like a rose

And scream.

 

The fallen tree slips by, no grip

Shadows fall on us from above,

Many hands take hold.

Wings stir air, splash water,

Deliver us.

 

 

In Praise of Garden Tomatoes

Today it rained
and then the sun burst through
and more rain, and more sun
tomatoes on the vine burst into crimson
I pull one from its stem
still wet, still warm
sink my teeth into its paper thin flesh
juice runs down my chin
I suck the seeds
mash the pulp with my tongue and teeth
how can you possibly describe
how delicious the earth tastes
fresh from the garden
I can only say, Mmmmmmm
So good. Thank you for tomatoes.

Hour Ten: To Books

To Books

 

They’re home to me, books,

my history, my medicine, my love

They’re the ship, the map,

the X and the trove

 

Friend, foe

Wound, woe

Bound, free

Ink on pulpy tree

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cathedral

Cathedral

 

People bring it all to the forest:

worry

joy

serenity

grief –

the ready-made confessional

where we

whisper our sins to the ripening berries

and the promiscuous bees…

they understand.

 

Each step puzzles out aches

of the mind

and

confusions of the heart.

 

Wandering in and out of

light and shadow

in search of

clarity

or

clear vantage points

from which to view

the mountain peaks

or

treasures hidden in valleys.

It’s the true,

what they say,

we really cannot see

the forest for the trees

but while we are there,

face to

moss bearded face

with these mute priests of the grove,

we are contented

to have the solitude,

the sacred space

to whisper confessions

to the

rose hips or

spotted foliage

and

unfetter ourselves

from care.

 

(c) R.L. Elke 2016

 

 

 

 

heart warrior

this sweet little girl
a fierce warrior
born into the world
although her lips blue

truncus arteriosus
a single large blood vessel
instead of two

after the procedure,
the surgeon was cautious of her survival

my girl fought through
the blood loss, the intracranial hemorrhages, the seizures, the acute kidney injury

my baby girl battled for her life
and won

every day, i take her in.
filled with unimaginable joy.

grateful for
her steadfast spirit.
her unyielding will

Ode to my Coffee Pot

You make the product that warms my heart,

deliciousness,

oh, how you wake my mornings,

the aroma you produce, as beautiful as each drip of energy,

you have me in a trance,

please– fuel my body,

I click start and my mouth waters,

2-4 cups of water turned yummy,

I will wait for you.

Prompt Hour Ten–a poem of praise

Mirrored Love

My body is not young and tight,
its skin is no longer taut.
Crow’s feet fan from my eyes,
and freckles speckle my face and arms.

Hardened callouses encrust the heels
of my feet, their edges split and bleed in the cold.
A long, smiling scar bisects my torso
from hip to hip, stretch marks from breasts to back.

I love it.

My body brought into existence four babies,
three to raise to adulthood and one to lose,
my reminder of their bodies’ fragility.

My body bears the brunt of many smiles
etched into its surface for all to see.

It continues to draw my love to me
in the middle of the night, an irresistible pull
in full view of my many imperfections.

It will never be perfect, never again young,
it will never turn other’s heads,
but it is mine, a mirrored reminder
that I have lived, and loved.

Tracy Plath

That which I thought which was not true

Child of the city

so I thought

I knew my streets:

where to get bread,

where to choose sweets

and where to find soup.

Yet here I am

in what I thought was

My city

with unknown signs,

never tasted foods,

untraveled parks.

Its one city

and

One me,

split experiences

Need to be more complete,

need to be brought together:

learn those names,those parks, those snacks

to really know this city that

I am

part of.

میں اس سے محبت کرنا چاہتا تھا

He had dark, rich skin
And hands with long fingers
His lips formed a perfect bow
And his hair was black as midnight

So sweet
So innocent
A man who had waited
For someone like me

I was his first kiss, as he pulled me close
In the midst of Time Square
With lights shining down
And Tourists parting around us

I was his first lover, as we dimmed the lights
In my tiny apartment
Well North of the “good” places
Well South of the “frightening” places
Carving out a tiny little haven
Between Harlem and Bronx
To find a moment of bliss

And to forget, for a moment,
that it was never going to work

His wife, I’m told, is lovely
His parents picked her out
She has skin as lovely as his
And prays when he prays
And believes what he believes

I am happy for them, truly

But I was happy for us, too