The Poetry Marathon

Prompt 12, Movie Crowds

A couple wandering the streets of Spain,
a mother whose daughter is keeping a strange creature in her room,
and a trio who bicycled across Asia
all seen while I sat in the dark
in rooms of varying occupancy
at an underground film festival.

Talking with other critics
waiting out the screening intermission
between the two parts of Che
at the old Tivoli.

Stepping out of Last
Temptation of Christ
and immediately fainting
to the amazement of my date.

Seeing Taxi Driver on TV
when I was a kid
with my parents at one
of their friends’ homes, and going to their bathroom
to take off
and stuff into my purse the bra that I wasn’t used to.

Not being sure what just happened twice
(but everyone in the theater being likewise taken aback):
Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction.

Seeing Roadrunner at the Armour
with Ron; it was our first movie since/during COVID
and everyone wore masks.

Haikus

Shall we all gather
At the river, the diner,
Or at Granny’s house

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The good times will roll
When two or more are gathered
To eat, drink, pray, love

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My favorite place
Is when I am surrounded
By those I love most

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cherries in a bowl
My life is often like them
Sweetness and some pits

Hour 12: Canceled Flights

We huddle, we hope, we play card games on the floor, eat takeout for every meal. Pizza, lo mein, cheeseburgers, and Gummi bears.

We watch each other’s luggage, and sleep in dog piles against the wall. We walk around the same terminal that we already scouted out this morning. We laugh, we crumble, dreams of travel thwarted.

We continue to belong to our time together, despite the walls falling over on us.

 

Hour 11: surviving

the twisted tree is hit by the storm

grandma forgets me

but remembers the young sapling

right outside her home

she checks on it hourly

but walks carelessly to her bed

getting scrapes

she asks me questions

gives me names that she likes

 

the twisted tree survives the storm

she lavishes love and affection on the survivor

 

my grandma still does not remember me

the storm in our house rages on

Curated Memory: Hour 6/Prompt 6

Hi,

I hope you are safe and sound.

Speaking of sound,

this old age

is a payback

for all my nagging at you students.

I can no longer hear anything

but your words

and chaos is still in my memories.

The Mighty River – Hour Twelve

The mighty river flows along
Spray rolling o’er the dam
Babbling its own melodic song
As gently as a lamb

Spray rolling o’er the dam
While kissing each rock and twig
As gently as a lamb
Nestled amid the fig

While kissing each rock and twig
The morning dew refreshes the earth
Nestled amid the fig
Though uncertain of its worth

The morning dew refreshes the earth
Its scent as fresh as it is strong
Though uncertain of its worth
The mighty river flows along

HOUR TWELVE ~ FOMO II

FOMO II

 

somewhere there is a party

friends are drinking and laughing

somewhere people are together

and I’m not there

 

maybe it’s better this way

I wouldn’t want to ruin the fun

or put any undue pressure

on an evening with anyone

 

but I wonder and I worry

if I’ll be there at the right time

to laugh and smoke and intertwine

to socialize and really unwind

 

I hope they remember me

while they’re celebrating together

I hate being alone, and feeling forgotten

languid and abruptly devouring me whole

Prompt #12: we gather together

We gather together ~

We ‘gather’
in echo chambers,
scorning the company
of the ‘other,’
that dangerous believer
of untruths, of fake news,
of demagogues new & old…
We gather to scorn and mock.

And yet mothers still love
their children, red & blue alike.
And the young still cradle cats
while their elders stroke the fur
of rescue dogs, the feathers of birds.
We are still the children of love.

 

Hour Ten: Heartbreak Hill

I wrote all of these poems
without wifi,
without the internet,
with nothing but a single bar of data
on an outdated mobile phone
and a folding keyboard
that wants to do nothing more
than capitalize letters at the

start of lines. The thing
doesn’t even have
a delete key.
Deletions have to be
tediously erased with the backspace key.
Even the bloody dog knows
that the backspace key
can function as a delete key,

but he is pissed off,
and I don’t blame him,
because I have not
walked him nearly enough today.
He is of no help.
The same is true of my intellect,
straining to find words
and form them at this hour.

Hour 9: Scorpio Moon

He almost captured

My heart… prayed that it would be

True. Not the first time.