The Poetry Marathon

Sailor Tobe

The sea was a churning fall of scree
Slate amongst the sonorous greys
The sailor Tobe was bound for Spain,
A Charmoise sheep his second mate
(The first, a fox, had flown away
But will, once wed, return again)
He pulled a line which lit the stove
The steady sea a tabletop
On which to have his sarnie of
Scrumtrulescent lemon drops.
The sun appeared, Tobe wailed atop
The towering mast of feathertop
‘We’ll never make the port Jaén!”
The ship said ‘Or return again!”
“T’en fait tout un fromage” – the mate, and then
The writer let the rhyme scheme… fail.
“Cheers drive!” said a stowaway,
The valued titmouse cabinboy,
“At least we’ve seen the jewelleried fish
And smelled the steaming seaweed soup,
At least we’ve felt the roughwood boards
Beneath our wetsock footsteps caught,
At least we’ve tasted lemon drops.”

hour four – marriage

I wove our worlds together,

silk, cotton, linen,

wool for the cooler months

nothing synthetic

I would have picked the flax and cotton myself, sheared the sheep even,

but I was in the garden picking herbs and vegetables

for the soup I was making for dinner,

which I would put in the handmade bowls

I made just for us,

with the cups for all the tea I would make for you

and plates to serve meals to our friends that I found and collected

like heart-shaped rocks from the shores of my own travels,

I brought them together over food and sometimes wine

I grew and picked the flowers for the tables we gathered around

I painted paintings to adorn the walls,

knit blankets to keep us warm

and found all the ways I could to make our life beautiful,

even when things got hard.

I grew our children,

in my body,

I carried them through the nausea and fears.

I fed them for six months with my own body.

My body stretched wide and back again,

never to be the same as it once was.

I made it my priority to serve and protect them,

to nurture them,

to love them so fiercely that the love itself became a protection

to keep them from feeling the ways you and I once did

Their tears, their pain, their sadness, their heartaches, their flesh wounds

were all mine to carry and I did,

I do

It is a gift like none other, I know this,

It has been a privilege, I know this too,

but when you stand there and tell me I need to work more,

to make more money,

It makes me want to throw all the dishes at the wall,

tear up the fabric I have spent years weaving together,

and leave everything for you to clean up

My Love

My love is actions, not words

My love does, but says little

My love is strong, inside and out

My love inspires me to be better every day

My love takes me on adventures

My love is movie star handsome

My love puts heart into all he does

My love works too much, to provide for us

My love and I grow beautiful babies and flowers

My love is my rock, my home, my sanctuary

My love is, my everything

My reason to believe…

 

Hour Four – 2023

Using the Prompt: “write about marriage without a direct mention of the words…”
Thanks to Nancy! [2023: Hour Four, Half Marathon].

 

Dancing bouquet,
as Fate leads the way –

Together we sway,
toward the dawn of new days,
Our souls; embracing Union.

Joined in bliss;
Bonds of love,
Sealed with a kiss.

2023 Poetry Marathon — Hour #4 — Noon

A siren roars over the regular town chatter

its wailing disrupting the rhythm of a Saturday

At any other time on any other day, a warning

Today, the Saturday 12 o’clock whistle

Alone

He sits and empties the air so he can see.

But the noise creeps into his brain, slowly at first.

Soon it is as loud as  it was silent.

He falls out of his chair,

but no one comes to rescue him.

He waits for them to notice he is on the floor,

but to them he is still in the chair staring out at nothing.

Hour 4 (Haiku)

Our desire

for wedded bliss drives us to

impossible things

Hour 4 – The Bride

The girl stands still before the closed doors in front of her,

Her hands shake a delicate petal tumbles to the red carpeted floor beneath her.

She feels the satin ribbon around the stems dampens with perspiration.

 

The girl turns her head slightly careful to not undo the elaborate perfect curls,

Her father’s sparkling eyes meet hers and he gently pats her hand that grips his opposite arm.

She relaxes her grip slightly and exhales slowly.

 

Her planner orbits her smoothing the layers of lace, tucking in a stray hair,

And fluffing the long train behind her before standing in front and ensuring all is ready.

The planner smiles broadly at the girl who nods.

 

The planner whispers into a small radio and the girl feels her father stiffen slightly beside her.

The music begins as the double doors swing wide.

She is frozen until she looks at the end of the aisle and sees him.

 

Her vision blurs behind tears of joy as the crowd rises and turns toward her.

She takes a breath and steps forward.

The girl moves down the aisle to walk toward her new life.

 

– Diana Kristine

Hour One

About us draped the past

 

Please understand that we have always

Had the past wrapped around us,

Echoing the moments that we lived…

 

We wore it proudly because it made us

Into the people that we were,

Folding us like origami into individual selves…

Perhaps it was too heavy for some,

That cloak of memories,

But it still was a part

Of the way that

Humanity dressed.

 

 

hour 4: half truths

I can’t help but show my annoyed when she’s proving something
The deception of the face shows itself to me and I want to walk away

I think, ‘talking over someone might as well be yelling’ and she’s doing it right to me
Neither of those, mind, went undisciplined in my childhood home

But who am I to judge the growing up of others, even adults
I’m crying on the inside and clawing out from my brain to fake an easier face and hide my pout

Until I make it, as they say