The Poetry Marathon

Invincible and Ancient

Invincible and Ancient

It is true the Mayfly, Shad-fly, Fish-fly or Up-winged fly
named so because the long tail and wings don’t touch the belly.
Victorious, invincible and practically eternal the innocent
invertebrate is quite the insect. They have been around forever.
Note that they serve a very important purpose.
Creating a menu for those in the food chain above them.
Interesting fact; the Mayfly is amazing!
Before man, long before the dinosaurs
legions and legions of these winged short lived beauties
existed. Long ago, even before time.

And they have no time to eat
no time to talk, they have no mouth parts–
don’t speak. There is no time to sleep,

All they want to do, all they need to do…
need to do is reproduce and fill the seat.
Centuries and centuries they’ve been here
in perpetuity. Helping the farmers and the fishermen
earn a buck. If you come in contact with one they will
not harm you. Charlie couldn’t even hurt a fly.
The exquisite Ephemeroptera… or Mayfly to you and I.

Hour twelve, 8pm
Invincible and Ancient
(form Acrostic/ Free Verse)
Charlie the Mayfly.

v.j.calone

May Morning

They amass to raise the sun,
The ropes a braid of chord and song,
The darkness folk to cheer them on
As through the night they gather on.

In the starlight, start to weave
A netting out of ringing feet,
And momentarily believe
As the shout goes up to ‘heave!’

First light like a banner pale,
A gauzy dawn, perhaps too frail?
To lift the weight of summer’s sail
But never do the dancers fail.

As she mounts into the air
Unimaginable pennants flare,
Amber, gold and yet more rare
To celebrate this cosmic care.

They amass to raise the sun
Their ropes a braid unfailing strong
Of love and hope and dance and song,
And though they laugh to move along

They will be back again, ere long.

Fear left without a backward glance (hour 12)

Black, white, and brown skin colours lost meaning

when we gathered to celebrate the One

who had so much done

in need and in deed

 

the worship was electric

the mood ecstatic

the environment terrific

 

Time lost its meaning

as no one was in haste to fly

we were not done

we were one with the One we sought

 

The guns hired to keep watch

surrendered their arms

under the influence of the anointing

fear left without a backward glance

 

the worship was electric

the mood ecstatic

the environment terrific

 

Good Medicine

We met at the gym
and found what we’d been missing,
friends our age.

We worked out together,
shared recipes,
went out to dinner.

No one lost weight,
but we all felt better.
Friends do that for you.

The pool closed,
and I found a new gym
and a new set of friends

until 2021 happened.

The girls from the old gym
got new knees,
and we learned new skills.

Vaccinated and boosted
we meet now to weave baskets
and talk gardening.

New friends and I
have returned to the gym.
We’re all wiser now

knowing
that absence really does
make the heart grow fonder

but gathering
makes the heart lighter.

Changing My Mind

Dear Joy,

I love you, too. I always have.
From the moment I saw you.

Remember? I stared. I couldn’t play anymore.
I couldn’t think. “I just had to tell you that.”

Who was this woman standing in the crowd?
I walked away frozen in time.

She stayed. My wife. Wannabe wife.
She chose me, and I couldn’t escape.

Like you, I could not escape the control.

We are old, and I can’t write
Poetic letters projecting pain.

I am sorry you felt that way.
I am sorry you were hurt.
I am sorry your mountain of baggage
from birth kept us apart.

We are one in the afterlife.
I am the one you love.

Yours eternally,

Her Husband

Yes, that was an interesting poetic prompt. Write a letter to yourself at 3 am when your muse is the right guy who came along at exactly the wrong time. Then again, exactly the right time in so many ways. He was the catalyst, and now he is my muse. So, really, what would he say – realistically? Let’s try this again.

Joy,

Thank you for not contacting me. I appreciate that you have left me alone, though it does bother me a little that you still think you love me. I mean, come on… that’s scary. So, I’d appreciate it even more if you would at least TRY to move forward. Find someone else, please. You’re a beautiful, talented woman. What are you doing alone pining over me? Please move on, sweet Joy. You were good. It was just bad timing. It’s just not what I needed at that time, so no offense. I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt you. I mean that. I don’t want to lead you on. Please move on.

Sincerely,

Her Husband

Then… I’d be tempted to write back, acknowledging that I was hung up on him periodically over the past 3 decades. I laugh at myself in retrospect. So silly of me to remain hopeful. But I did for far too long.

No, I wouldn’t write back. I’d write poetry, but I wouldn’t write back. Why poetry? Because I’m a poet. Because I love words. Because I explore emotions. Because I am experiencing being human.

Then… oh, then… my creative mind would go into all sorts of movie plots. Scenes I’d play for the screen, which never make it to the page as good as they were in my mind.

And finally… I’d go to bed because I have a job. Like right now. The end.

Prompt Eight: (image prompt) Count and Capture

You watch him close for sleight of hand
take the measure of this man
the moves he makes
the pieces he takes
not because he has to
but because he can

So deftly he defeats his foe
through uncompromising blow after blow
and how his grin
reflects his win
reveals everything
you need to know

He will not lure you in tonight
his hook will not attract your bite
there is no sense
nor much defence
in taking part
in unfair fights

 

Photo by Tobias Tullius on Unsplash

Hour 6: I Am Here

Dearest Daughter,

 

Oh, how I have missed our mother daughter conversation

Those nightly recaps of your day

about the comings and goings of the grandkids

Their activities …

 

I’ve missed walking with you, giving motherly guidance 

A new recipe, the best way to remove 

that stubborn stain…

because you are never too old to learn a new trick

 

Even though my words went unspoken

In those last quiet years, my voice stolen

I was always talking to you

I was always listening

And now that I am gone

I am still listening

I am still here

I am in the cool mist, drifting off the lake

I am in the trees that bend into canopy  of shade

I am daffodils that bow in the sun

A rainbow after rain

I am your shelter and your fire

 

I am everywhere and always with you

 

Love, 

Mom

 

I 

 

The Sound of Amusement

Facial expressions are contagious.
The chuckle of his amusing grim was music to my ears.
It was deep and robust.

Uncle Johnny said few word, but when he was happy his facial hair
stood on end with a twisted smile with a twinkle in his eye.

He was very kind to my family, my aunt was his wife.
I named my child after her, good godparent elated about the baby.

Amusing gestures would fill the atmosphere at their dining room table.
Now that they’re my ancestors; I chuckle when I think about their southern draw.

How they ask, “how you doing…?”
My aunt Bee was the silent one, but oh she could pray.
I listened at her as she laid across her bed.

The call was clear to Jesus she would pray.
I felt good, secure, safe to know angels from Heaven was on their.

The happy faces of my clan, gave me a foundation that sustains my pursuit of happiness.
Grandma Katie’s brothers and sisters are the rock on which my liberty stands,
I won’t tolerate white folks taking my vote from me. I can’t be sure Grandma ever got the chance.

Hour 10

I have always thought drowning
a more fitting death than being burnt alive.
Though I hope to be cremated,
my ears don’t wish to bear witness to my personal demise.
I can imagine the way the flame
licks my fingers, the sheer beauty of it
would amaze me. If only my nerves were burnt
away first. If only my vocal cords were shredded
by the smoke already. If only my eyes
weren’t tearing up.
How the earth shakes with every footstep I take,
but once I am submerged in water
it all goes away. Fades into another shade of blue.
Water is more forgiving, its weight
gives space for the whole wide world
to pass through with a mere ripple.
This bodice of water uncontained,
forever floating in the abyss. The air we breathe
is part hydrogen, and our water bodies attract
each other’s poles of magnetic particles.
I can imagine it would hurt. I tried it
a few times, holding my breath
until my lungs would explode.
Tried imagining if it would be the same as breathing
in outer space, expansion of the lung
ending in rupture and asphyxiation.
A once fervent and angry ocean
breathing out, its waves slow down,
and another person,
just gone.
Maybe it’ll end like all things,
ashes returning to ashes,
water returning to calm.

Gentle reminders

My grandfather had a deep,
rumbling way of chucking
that came from deep within
at things he found amusing –
me, mostly.

Originating in a large belly
promulgated by years
of jovial beer drinking
his chortle still echoes

When he was amused
my grandfather’s best friend
had what can be described
as a cackle– a raspy whisp
honed by unfiltered Camels
and years of oil-paint fumes

He was an easy man to amuse
and I accomplished the trick
consistently, especially when the
joke was on my grandfather

Practical, immigrant men who
saw humor in the foibles of daily life
who taught me how to be in
on the joke, and on top of the joke
much of the fun was simply
in hearing them laugh

Both of them long since gone
I see things that I know they would
find absurd, or amusing and I
can hear them both guffawing in
their own unique ways and I
often find it funny that is their
merriment that still amuses me.

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2022
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