Prompt #4
If we come together
link our finances, our
fatigue with this world, our
hope for something better for
our kids, how can this
be a bad thing?
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 – 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.