The Poetry Marathon

Hour 9 Writing Prompt – Write about a food memory

Food memories are the best!

 

Becky’s dad, his name was John

Made the best flapjacks, at the break of dawn.

We ate ’em up faster than he could fry

Ole John he was a hell of a guy.

 

Johnny Marzetti was a dish new to me

I found it was one of, Faith’s best recipes.

They also grew their own corn on the cob

Which I enjoyed with Kim and Red, Faith and Bob.

 

One summer day, quite some years ago

Judy grabbed from the garden, a big ripe tomato

On toasted bread, with some mayonnaise, too

We went through that whole loaf, before we were through.

 

At my house my dad, had mastered the grill

His rotisserie chicken really gave me a thrill.

Dinner in a dish, was my mamma’s claim.

If you ate it just once, you were never the same,

 

These days Johnny D is the cook of our house

His pandemic pies make him number 1 spouse.

His kitchen creations, keep me wanting for more

But he’s waiting for me to  try evening the score.

 

With all this talk about food

I am starting to drool.

I’ll put down my pen cause

A fork’s my new tool.

 

 

 

 

Semolina – hour NINE

My mother couldn’t cook.

Her cream of wheat was always lumpy.

When I finally realized it was supposed to be smooth

I had already grown to love the lumps.

 

Butter, not sugar, allowed to melt into a savory

pool of yellow before stirring it in.

Oven door opened to heat up the kitchen on winter mornings.

 

In India, I eat upma — semolina lumpy because it is supposed to be.

Spices that make my eyes hurt and

my nose run, eaten in

cafes that smell of coffee and cardamom and sweat. Eaten in

a place oven hot.

 

Americans ask me, “Don’t you think upma is weird?”

Not at all, I say. Semolina should be sharp and not smooth, I tell them.

I wipe the sweat from my face.

My mom made it like this, I say.

It’s a cream of wheat lie that is white and lumpy.

New Foe

Snow White took the Queen role.

Aurora turned into a dragon.

Ariel is the sea witch.

Mushu created a cult.

Sven kept Anna until he got carrots.

Cinderella turned into the Evil Godmother.

Heart Chakra (Hour 9)

Everything is interconnected.

If I lived under this principle, letting you go would be impossible.

The perceived inadequacies and unveiling of one’s true colors.

Once vibrant and alive as the sweetest juices fell from my lips.

Replaced with chronic fatigue, now stagnant and somber.

Dried cracked lips burning from the desert sun.

A familiar landscape now foreign territory.

Untouchable, I replace my lingerie with body armor to shield my nakedness from your hollow eyes.

I vow to hold myself in the coldest of nights.

No more rejection or unintended pain.

Everything is interconnected.

 

Of Journeys Past

The morning of a flight, its sandwich time
The grill is hot, and the staples are out
Sourdough bread, pesto, your meat of choice
Veggies if you fancy
And of course, goat cheese

We sit there, taking turns with the grill
Slicing, loading, closing, grilling
The sound of sizzling cheese fills the air
So simple, yet so delicious
The flight daunting each of us this very morning
Now has something we can look forward to

Holidays always excited us
With their potential of discovery, enjoyment, memories
But it wasn’t just the big sights that enriched our lives
It was also the little things, the simple acts
Teaching us to cherish the destination, and the journey

No. 13: A Nomadic Life

My family have been on the move
Ever since I can remember
During my elementary grades
We moved every two years
I attended five different schools

We lived modestly in housing projects
Duplexes of blue or pink
Floors of concrete, cinder block walls, and evap cooling
One bathroom, one or two bedrooms
For a family of two adults and five kids

We kids learned to be ready in a flash
When my parents decided it was time to leave
Even when we didn't want to, we had to go
What else are children to do
No one wants to be left behind

I have no childhood home or childhood friends
I do remember them in my mind
What some of their names were, what they looked like
But I never found any of them
How many served or died in Vietnam I'll never know

My teen years were no better
Different towns, different high schools
Different housing
I began to think
"I can't wait to leave"

I left after high school
And moved to the heartland
Back to northern Arizona
Then on to southern California
Until I enlisted in the Women's Army Corps

Still moving around but with some purpose
Basic training in Alabama, signal school in Georgia
Then assigned to southern Arizona
Finally reassigned to the Pentagon in Virginia
Where I finished my enlistment in 1973

After Virginia I continued to move
New York, Missouri, Colorado
Back to Arizona (for the final time)
Then on to Florida, and now I have
Found a home in northern California

I am home

2022 prompt/hour 7: “Don’t call me inspiring”

2022 prompt/hour 7: “Don’t call me inspiring”

People sometimes tell me I’m inspiring

People sometimes tell me I’m strong

People who stay that are kind

People who say that do not understand

They seem to think it’s a certain kind of culturally acceptable praise

They don’t *really* know

They don’t know I see them looking at me

They don’t know I look back and see them and know

Know that they don’t *really*, viscerally, comprehend pain

Know that they know *really* understand what the choice of keeping on going actually *really* means

Know that they don’t *really* understand that there a point where it’s possible to stay down and not get back up

Know that I’ve been with people who made that choice

Known that it was their choice, and that was ok – for them and that was strong af too in so many *many* ways – and I miss them still

Knowing in that choice that ‘staying down’ can, legitimately, lead to difficulties including death

Know that they don’t understand that you can choose between ‘getting up’ and ‘going out’ – daily, hourly, even every goddamn minute

“Fall down 7 times; stand up 8” is not *necessarily* an inspirational message

Sometimes it’s just instructions on how not to die on an unending route march

Sometimes it’s literally getting up

Sometimes it’s literally doing it again

It’s knowing I need to

Knowing that the alternative is to ‘lie down’

Knowing that’s the first step in giving up

Knowing that of each of my cohort for each 5 years half die, most by their own hand

Knowing going out ‘feet first’ is not the ‘best foot to put forward’ if you want to live

Knowing I choose not to “go gentle into that good night”

But please – let me be mother fking gods damn CLEAR here

I am not your lesson on ‘clarity of purpose’

I am not your ‘motivational of the day’

If I am anything at all?

I am the middle school PE teacher you loathed who made you do every sport half

I am the basic training drill sergeant

I care – so my inner drill Sargent forces me up into the day to fight once more

I care – and care doesn’t always look soft

I care – and sometimes care is a swift kick from me, to my emotional self, to keep me going

Get up!

(Fall down)

Get up!

(Fall down)

G e t the goddamn hell U P

We can do this

We can

We CAN and we gods damned WILL – are you listening?

GET UP

 

Merry – LordCricket 2022 poetry marathon

Corn bread and Collar Greens

Corn bread and Collar greens bring back childhood memories.
My momma in the kitchen cooking red beans, beef neck bones and rice.

There was a special corn bread pan that momma would use.
It looked like ears of corn and was as heavy as a cast iron skillet.
The greens were baptized until the water was clear.

The smell of corn bread and collar greens meant love is in the air.
A pressure cooker was my momma’s favorite pot for beans.

Baked yams or sweet potatoes were hot on the scene.
The fried chicken make you scream, Hallelujah.

I never knew hunger as a kid; my aunties and uncle always kept a family fed.
Corn bread and Collar greens bring back childhood memories.

The smell of corn bread and collar greens meant love is in the air.
Grandma stirring those cakes making that meringue from scratch.
Over a double boiler kept all her clients coming back.

Corn beard means stability no matter what else you have corn bread completed the meal;
You can tell my people from the south, put a little Arkansan and Mississippi in them collard greens,

What the king wants4pm

He doesn’t want much
just people to talk to him
NOT that difficult-
starts with Hi.

People to hear Him
Sweet, sweet Spirit
Pour out your Love
Over me

Pay attention to
what’s going on around
You
From this Mess I’m in-
Save me.

Follow that star-
You know, like you follow
Music, Sports and other
earthly Things.
You know everything about those
What do you know about Him?

Still doesn’t want much
Just the pain from the
Losing your loved ones
slowly

The Joy from the Love
that came through your
open door
The hope for a better tomorrow
and so much more.

The anger at not getting
what you wanted
The guilt over the fights
The sleepless nights
he wants those too.

He wants to know your identity
Who am I>
that you would look at me
here on bended knee
and bow to me
that you would be my servant?

He wants the fear over
not taking a step
over not sharing something
you held back

This is not a relationship where
you fish.
He doesn’t ask that you cast and then
reel it back in

He merely, humbly asks
that you let it go
drop it on the floor
and walk away

He wants everything really
he did not promise it
would be easy
Did not say there
would be no cost
Did not say that he would
leave you

He DID however say:

I’m here
I love you
I died for you
It was worth it

Nice Days?

Rain pours energy

Sucked into soil

New life created

Yawns, sleep, repeat

Now the heat

Now the cold

Pour energy please we want it