The Poetry Marathon

Season of the Drought – Hour Twenty

The sunflower dirt has turned to dust
The blue skies and wispy clouds are all we’ve known for months
Just a foot of rain in half a year
And next to none in an eternity
Occasional five minute sprinkles tease then
Serve to bake our region more
Dangerous temperatures pose an additional threat
It is becoming scary
I hope we don’t catch up with a hurricane at our door
I wish I had a crystal ball to look into the future
But there is no way to see
Rain has been promised in the past
To no avail
I guess only God knows when
It will finally bring us a gully washer

Broken Pump and Motor

Broken Pump and Motor

Broken and hissing loud and clear,
ruptured leaking
out the side of the pump.

Keep with the pressure and the glue.
Everything dry
neglected now it’s seeping.

Poor Charlie is left high and dry
undone, forlorn,
me and his burrow.

Poor Charlie, poor solider.
And then he’s gone
neglected now he’s sweeping.

Down in the dust pit, planning
meet there. Inside
over the fountain by the rocks.

The farmer unstuck it and set it
on top of the
river bank and left if it to dry.

Hour twenty, 4 am
Broken Pump and Motor
(form Acrostic/Triversen )
Charlie the Mayfly.

v.j.calone

Hr. 8 prompt 5

Silently she left putting the wine glass on the pavement outside the cottage

He begged her not to go and took her satchel down the road to where
She had stopped by the old oak tree

She pulled up a sunflower
Handing it to him as she grabbed the satchel and together they disappeared

Hour 20: Books for Beginners

I hear it’s best to practice every day

in the morning, journal splayed out

just to the left of the cracked mug

you hang on to for sentimental reasons

 

They say, let the ink of your favorite pen

skate across the page in an unbroken line—

capturing each thought that drifts by

allowing it to have its moment

 

This is what I’ve heard, anyway

 

I know a few people chipping away at the marble,

chiseling chapters as they go. Some are strafing potters,

running their hands from bottom to top,

smoothing out the wrinkles with each pass—

at times creating more chaos in their wake

 

I am a bystander to their Herculean efforts,

cheering them on, suggesting sharper synonyms,

checking in on the antics of the side characters,

and fishing for a mention in their acknowledgments

 

They ask me when I will start my book

 

Repeatedly, I raise a hand to wave them off my trail

of brimming notebooks, coffee-stained prose,

and half-baked premises. Don’t you see

the safety cones? You can’t walk there yet!

It’s riddled with plot holes—the world has yet to be built!

 

They say, I already sound like an author

Hour Twenty – Second Breakfast

Second Breakfast

The three bears, they went out before breakfast
To wait for their porridge to cool
When they came back, a girl had destroyed it
Which just seems to me rather cruel

Did they chase her away in raw anger?
Did they treat her as their new-found foe?
No, they invited her back to the table
To fill up before she might go

They served her eggs over easy
And pancakes, stack upon stack
Ham and sausage and bacon
Which was just the first course of this snack

There were waffles, French toast, and fry bread
Muffins: berry, banana, and bran
There was fruit from so many seasons
Fresh, frozen, dried, bottled and canned

They had yogurt, and honey, and custard
Orange juice, grape juice, and milk
Coffee with cream and with sugar
And cottage cheese softer than silk

Eggs over easy, well I’ve said that
But also, hard boiled and fried
Some that were made into omelets
And some, as for Easter, were dyed

“Try a little bit more, sweetie, won’t you?
See, you’re hurting our dear mother’s pride!”
“Not one more bite,” she choked out
“And it’s time I was saying good-bye.”

The bears waved as Goldilocks sped off
As fast as her tummy could stand
Killing with kindness is one thing
All bear families do understand

22~18

Smashed up against others

So crowded it scared me

Then a flash above me

Begat more just like thunder

My heart how it pounded

And filled me with joy

Didn’t know the kid in me

Was laughing so loudly

Smiles stretch my bright face

Shiny with happy tears

Bridge beneath my feet

Shaking with each explosion

Ashes fall stinging

But I do not feel them

Ears full of ringing

Sky flowers so sparkly

They light up my eyes

Birthday of my Country

(Who keeps touching my butt?!)

18 New Old Hair

18     New Old Hair

 

Hoping for long white braids at eighty

I am on my way despite hair thinning

I had wanted thick wide lusty braids

Those witches wore around a midnight fire

 

Accept my fate with what now endows my head

Perhaps I shall add ribbons of many colors

To show an old hippie is inside this person

As braids of thin hair slip out at night

 

True white silky tresses are my blessing

Many comment as others are merely mid-gray

I hold by breath each day as I discover

Too many slivers of silver on my pillow

I desire to sue for peace

I desire to sue for peace
but the war in my head goes on
for another hour, or day, or month, or year
until my mind has been raised to the ground
and devastation is all that is left

HOUR TWENTY ~ Second Breakfast

SECOND BREAKFAST

 

the way we wake, lazing against each other’s warmth

when your voice breaks across my mind like ocean waves

 

I drink you up the way my skin drinks the morning light

my iris opening to hold all the beauty bestowed upon it

 

this oasis itself is my breakfast, shimmering sustenance

whether or not I slept through the night, I feel restored

 

so we wander out to the kitchen for coffee, dazed and half-dressed

I’m smiling with a secret glow and not quite ready for second breakfast

20. Hide and Seek

Knock knock,
“coming to get you”
quick,
under the bed,
behind the door,
in the cupboard.
Hide and seek,
wish it was a game
and not the life.