The Poetry Marathon

Hour Ten – Tiny Bubbles

Tiny Bubbles

 

I didn’t expect a full guffaw anymore.

I was thrilled with a little side-ways

grin towards the end.

 

The nursing staff helped

set up the Face Time

chats with the ipad.

I told her she was a

very cool Nana these days!

 

Sometimes that would elicit

a bit of a smile.

Then she would tell me

her woes. I told her how

very sorry I was.

 

For the Pandemic.

For the broken hip.

For the Assisted Living

and missing her own home.

 

The last time we were allowed

to visit Mom, it was outside

with masks on. She told me she

didn’t need that damn thing

and left it off. Harvey got her

to sing “Tiny Bubbles” and recorded

it on his phone.

 

I can’t say I would full-on chortle,

remembering that day. We’re probably talking

my own kind of side-ways grin.

And . . . a few tears any minute

if I don’t stop myself.

 

 

 

 

Pixie

Her wings float on air

as she flutters here and there,

happy hums, no cares

Hour 10 or 11

Poetry requires a radical honesty
that we are rarely equipped to deliver,
The sort of shocking truths
that produce nervous laughter or painful giggles
seeking social approval,
like masturbating away the fear of death.

XII.

And let me say this,

I watch Ravens pump

glossy black wings

 

Hear them beat the air down as they

fly low over the garden,

over my head

 

Or see them black

at a distance, passing smoothy

in front of Mt Abe

 

Or listen to their chatter and deliberation

at nesting time, and the first flight

of gawky fledglings

 

Cherish glossy curled feathers

found under their nest tree.

 

And I just come out of myself and soar

with each Raven sound and sight.

My totem animal not doubt –

or my next reincarnation.

 

 

 

Hour 11: Narration Patulus

I could see his epiglottis

how could I not have

his upper lip almost kissing his nose

with lower lip revealing strips from last night’s dinner

he was a wonder to watch

how could he not have

left ear and shoulder tilted in greeting

as he hobbled his head in the moment

and his small eyes sparkled

without a care that he had no place to call home

this is all he had, no-one could take away from him

who could have…

Prompt 11, hour 11_ laughter a haiku

A bubble of mirth

Guffaws jubilant in glee

Burst forth from within

Cross Country Trip – 1968

I had just graduated from college. I
was leaving home to seek my fortune.
Traveling by greyhound from Detroit to
San Francisco.

My sister and I sat on the side of the bathtub talking
about “Come Back Little Sheba”, a movie we had
recently watched on television. Why we
were in the bathroom sitting on the
side of the tub I don’t remember. Something
struck us as funny., although the movie is far
from humorous. We cackled. We chortled. There
was even a guffaw before we began to howl.
Right about then, tears started and the chuckles
turned to tears. Arms around each other,
we managed to bring ourselves under
control and rejoin the household.

I did leave and go to San Francisco for a week or so,
Traveled by train back east to DC where my
sister was in college. Getting a reference from
one of her teachers, I moved on to New York
City where I stayed with a friend of his and got a
clerical job at City University. About that time
a letter from my one true love caught
up with me. After two months on the road, I
caught a plane back to Detroit and began
the rest of my life.

 

 

Our palm tree

A palm tree planted itself
many years ago
on the edge of our yard
and now it has grown maybe 20 feet high
with big beautiful green and brown fronds
hanging down.

It provides shelter for so many birds
– mockingbirds, finches and
even an occasional Oriole —
who alight on it and sing
in the early morning light.

The palm tree is an oasis of life
in a tough desert world and
I am grateful it chose us
for its home.

Hour 11: Laughter

I used to chase it

venturing into the world

night after night

like a child with a jar

hunting for fireflies

flitting through high grass

 

From a stage

I did my best to sneak up

with surprise,

to lure it out

of hiding places

burrowed deep in the chest—

sometimes it sleeps

at the back of the throat

or nestled in the stray hairs

of the nasal cavity

 

It’s not easy to coax it out,

that takes skill.

You can’t capture it,

but, if you’re lucky

you can catch a room full of it

and it’s beautiful to behold

 

Hour 4: One Hundred Years Beyond (Haibun)

To be the caretaker of this old farm is a precious thing. To be present for soft summer dusks, silent winter nights of glittering snow, the vibrant  light of maeshine, and a small country road silvered by the harvest moon – all these mark our time and place, when the heart, called to each new moment, gives voice and sings, ‘Do you see? Do you see?’ That I seek and find someone will come to know and care for this precious space as I have loved it and thrived within it is my future wish.

Step into this space.

Feel the heartbeat of the soil.

Know that you belong.