The Poetry Marathon

Dashboard Clock

I try to picture your face to the point that I’m straining

But it’s a blur shot through with skin tone fractals

My mind’s eye is stuck on other things

That were in the peripheral

 

Victims from car crashes

often mention that

they only remember

the red digits on the dashboard

 

The brain trying

to create a selective memory

so that what’s left

isn’t too traumatic

 

I know it’s trying to spare me

from holding your pain too long

but sometimes

it would be nice to see your face

 

even if it hurts.

 

 

“The Gathering”

A call from an old friend at Eight,
He said; wear a black and don’t be late.
I was there just before everyone arrived.

A rose on hand, as white as snow,
Then after a moment, I let it go
And gave it to you.

But how will a dead person appreciate the flowers?
They can no longer touch or smell.
How can they even tell?

Familiar voices cracks the silence,
Tom, Gary and Mary are all here,
What a perfect way to interfere.

A wine they offer,
A talk from the past,
What a blast that never last.

Four old folks in the wake,
For the first time, I am not late.
And for the first you’re here Kate.
.
.
.
Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour12, Text Prompt12

Get To Know You Poem 9/Hour 9

Get To Know You
By: LuvMiFreely 

Maybe we can sit down and get to know each other
Don’t be afraid to open up to me
I’m not here to judge
I want to learn your past and your love language
I understand you’re not used to this kind of appreciation
But I want you to trust me
You can let go
I’ll be patient
Take a deep breath
Release when you’re ready
Don’t stop yourself from falling
I’ll catch you
Don’t hide parts of who you are
Learn to be vulnerable
I don’t have any expectations
No need for any hesitation
All you gotta do is take my hand
Take the lead
I’ll follow 

Hour Twelve: The Gathering

Hour Twelve: The Gathering

“Only one rule: Don’t wear black.”
After an absence of eight years
(despite all of the promises, the excuses,
the maybe-about-next -years?)
we will gather
this time not to reunion
(a desperate attempt to relive
those younger carefree hopeful days)
but to celebrate a life
now over.
We’ve all gotten older
inched closer to the finish line
and any attempt to ignore that
is lost as we consider our losses.

And so we will fly, train, drive
and gather.
We’ll talk of that wedding
so many years ago –
champagne-fueled hilarity,
dark sunglasses and pastel balloons and streamers.
So much laughter.
So much joy.
So much love.
So much future yet to be lived.

And after we’ve gathered,
and celebrated life,
and grieved,
we’ll part
And return to our lives
once again pretending there’s
still so much time.

 

Write about gathering with others. The specifics are up to you.

Hour 12 – The Goblin’s Wood – Text Prompt

Deep in the woods with the moon at its peak
The goblins come out to creep
Along the river on paths of moss
Tiptoeing past where naiads sleep
They clamber over long dead ents
And flee the wolf-men’s tents
To gather at the Coyote’s Fang
Where nightshade berries hang

They chitter and chatter, small words
About humans, pollution, an ocean solution
Brine, and bagels, and glowing blue swords
They share acorns and deer meat
Converse with strange tongue
They share their own secrets
With the new goblins among
The nightshade’s grove
And reveal the secret of a treasured trove

Til daybreak they gather, at dawn they do scatter
Fleeing the hills for the trees
And scattering among the cliffs by the sea
Waking the naiads and ents and the dryads
Not seen til next season
For some unknown reason
They only meet On the dragonfly’s beat
Small servants of the bobcat

Poem 12. The Family We Choose

Before the virus
we gathered at my home
orphan islanders making our own family. Humpday board game nights
quarterly whiskey tastings
hurricane all nighters playing cards by candlelight, Cameron bedded down under the kitchen table, our feet all around him, keeping him safe, and feeling protected.

Thanksgivings
Christmas’
New Years’
Fourth of Julys…

It felt like the family of my youth

familiar faces dropping by unannounced
impromptu grilling
family friends
people we called our own.

And then there was no one.
Just a Gramma and a Grandson
trying to be a bigger family than we were.

Trying to adjust to our new
quiet smallness.
Trying to hold onto each other
be everything to each other.
It was hard for us both.

.

.

.

Yesterday, a knock on our door
brought an unexpected catch up visit
over tea and long remembrances.
It felt almost normal. 
It felt like home again.
It felt like family.

I must send notes
welcoming everyone back.

I must sign them
Ollie Ollie Oxen Free Free Free!

Ducklings

Little feet, six if them
Paddling along.
Six little eyes gazing
Anywhere but ahead
Inevitable clunks.

They meander
And swander off
Swimming in zigzags of flowy lines.

But the second mom turns
Unison.
Conformity. One solid vision of toddlerhood
Swarming and screeching
“Mama, mama”
Like 3 or 4 feet of separation will sever their weak fishing line connections.

Mostly their perifery never lets her escape
But occasionally a duckling
Stumbles ahead.
What! The outrage! An injustice only a triplet can understand.

In the focus and furor over each other they forget, however brief.
They forget mom.
Tussling, pushing, running on.

“Little ducklings!
Come little ducks.”

Mother!
Was that mother?
They turn, adjust
Recalibrations complete, they swarm.

Somehow in a few feet they transform.
Ducks no more.
No.
Wolves. A pack fighting for dominance
And the prize of mom’s attention.

Mom dodges and slips and evades
Seeking breath.
She slowly walks on.

“Come little ducklings”

They fall back in place
Ducks til the next rumble
For now mom swims
In the calm.

12th Hour – Shift (Text prompt)

Circle stones of light encase us

Vibrating pillars of shock light radiate the ethereal breaths of virgin upper consciousness

as we lose earth’s

fine in sync

with spasmodic might melting the center pot

we shift 🔥🧘‍♂️🔥

Hour Twelve – Beauty

Beauty

 

Listen – I hear music!

In the park.

At the pub, in their outdoor venue.

At the festival, everyone

with picnic dinners

and beach-style chairs

 

Look – we have friends visiting!

I hosted my book group, in person,

on the front patio.

Last night we went to a

back yard BBQ.

 

We are gathering. Again.

Gathering – cautiously.

Remembering – the old ways.

 

May we be strong.

May we be wise.

May we know-

the beauty of each other.

Hour 12 – Summer nights taste better with you

The juice of a ripe plum rolls down my chin
while the citrus scent of geraniums perfume the air

Our laugher, like fireworks, paints the sky gold;
the fading fingers of the sun tangle our hair

A chorus of crickets underscores stories
shared over peach pie and wine

We welcome the moon as she inches skyward
and we do not mourn the loss of sunshine

For we wrap ourselves in blankets
and memories and know that here we are free

To open our hearts, share our scars,
and be all we’ve ever dreamed we could be.