The Poetry Marathon

Abel has come

Abel has come to visit me

And I take him in the garden

We go to the pond

Abel counts the tadpoles

We have reached eighty two

And there are plenty more.

We give up.

Autumn has touched the trees

with its little finger

The cherry tree is already turning flame red and yellow.

I tell Abel to go and play

Go in and make myself coffee

Abel has found a stick he is sitting astride

And shouting Giddy up, Henry, Giddy up

Henry is not so obedient

Abel gives up and wants his lunch

I make him peanut butter sandwiches

Bring him some apple juice to drink.

His mother comes to collect him

The garden is so quiet now

And I too miss him till next time.

—

HOUR 7: WHEN TALKING TO A BEAR

When talking to a bear
It’s tough to listen
Those teeth you know
That peppered breath
Like sandpaper

It’s easy to lose track
When talking to a bear
You get roughed up in
Rocks falling around
Flutes shrieking

Rabbits become an issue
Hunger creeps in
When talking to a bear
But you’re aware that’s
What got you talking

So rattle your brain a little
Scrape a picture in the mud
Use a stick use your shoe
When talking to a bear
Get down to it

Get up at a reasonable hour
Shave and shower
Scrub your ears
You’re darn lucky
To be talking to that bear

Hour 7 – In Focus

In Focus

 

I focus on the sun’s rising

rather than on the heaviness of my tongue

drooping in my mouth 

with the weight of the unspoken

with the weight of your lips

not taken back with a kiss.

 

I cannot sleep.

I focus on the sun’s rising

even as the moon projects itself into the sky

After all, what is the moon without the light it borrows.

Though in fairness, who are any of us 

without the light of those around us. 

 

I will comfort into my muscles

and pray for the return,

I focus on the sun’s rising

filtering through frosted window panes

a spidering memory emerging behind falling eyelids.

I try to taste the coffee that has not boiled yet.

 

And is dreaming not a virtue?

In a garden somewhere

I whisper secrets to the flowers about how 

I focus on the sun’s rising

more often than I think about where it is in the sky. 

I make lullabies of these confidences.

 

The petals weave themselves back into youth.

The words will taste the same when the buds turn again 

to blossoms, the second-coming metamorphosis.

But perhaps my tongue will differ, perhaps then

I focus on the sun’s rising

only at dawn.

 

When I wake, though

the frost lingers, no flowers today.

None except the one I mold for you

hands sticky with clay and promises,

realizing my love has always been born when

I focus on the sun’s rising.

Food

Hour 7

Food

 

I like to eat,

perhaps too much,

put undo focus

on my food.

 

Of all the foods

I like to eat,

can’t think of

one I wouldn’t try.

 

I cook for fun,

can make great food.

I like to eat

junk just the same.

 

Pizza, chili,

cheese, chips, ice cream

are some favorite foods

I like to eat.

 

Sue Storts

09/02/2023

Paintings On the Walls

Squinting, holding the grease lamp low.
Squeezing through the gash in the cliff
Pushing into Cave’s tight tunnel.

Adjusting to the light in the darkness
Squinting, holding the grease lamp low
Finding bones of cave bears littering the floor.

Touching claw marks on the walls.
Adding hand prints and paintings to the art
Squinting, holding the grease lamp low.

When We Bend (a Viator)

When we bend

instead of break

we can withstand

a quake.

 

We show strength

when we bend

we are flexible

through the end.

 

Our courage reveals

we are agile

when we bend

we are adaptable.

 

All can feel

our powers mend

the inner soul

when we bend.

Dedicated to Emily

Where are you my little mermaid? I miss you so
much.

I have had so much desire to see you more often,
to hug you, to touch your soft skin, to see your
beautiful smile.

I have seen your videos playing with your sister,
Maddie, and the joy of those moments.

Your laughter is like a blooming rose, it brigthens
my day like an early morning sunshine.

I miss you so much, my little mermaid.

I have asked your mom so many times to come
to visit you, her asnwer has always been:
“I am ver busy.”

I am tired of hearing the word “busy.”
Suddenly, everybody is busy. What a pity.

I am thinking of going to Colombia to live in
a farm, to be close to animals who will aways
have time for me.

I miss you so much, my little mermaid. I am
sorry that I will not be asking to visit you,
anymore

 

I

 

 

 

Serial Killer

You’ll know when he comes.

The smell of cherry cola will be

prevalent & the violins will turn it

up to eleven.

 

There’s also the distinct possibility you’ll

see a disfigured face or mask in the pale

moonlight

staring at you from across the street

or through the trees in the woods.

 

You might also notice a machete or other

weapon of choice dangling from his

grotesque, misshapen hands.

 

Then slowly he’ll begin making a beeline for you

never too fast

& you’ll try to make a break for it before inevitably

tripping on a root, fallen branch or whatnot.

Then he’ll raise up his (insert weapon here)

& strike.

 

Finally, you’ll sit up in bed,

regain your faculties & thank the universe

you’re not laurie strode.

Words (Hour Seven, Prompt Seven)

Words can come out easily,

They can be cruel or can be kind.

They can fill pages of a story,

Or a poem filled with rhyme.

 

When thoughts are racing through our heads.

Words can come out easily.

Filters fall away.

Words come out that we regret each day.

 

Words can freeze upon the tongue,

We can find what needs to be said,

Words can come out easily,

What will we choose to say.

Fire

FIRE

Fearless Angel walked with me

In outdated with joyful whispers

Resting her

Enormous wings

 

She hugged my worries away