24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
A list like any other
Would include purple socks
Red pepper hummus
A flat-head screwdriver
And coffee beans from exotic sounding places
A list like any other
Would include step by step instructions
To a recipe that still needs
A couple extra cloves of roasted garlic
A list like any other
Should always include
Mint chocolate chip ice cream
Text Prompt
Write a poem using at least 5 of the following 10 words/phrases.
Still Life
~willjxn~
Upon the old oak stump
is nailed a make-shift table
covered with a linen scarf and—
set with these:
An empty wine glass towering, globalement—
a plate of cheddar cheese,
antique satchel
yellowed by time,
filled with bitter herbs,
And there also—
an open hardback
to be read
of Emily’s Returning.
Knitting life into one space—
by wild sunflower framing.
Far from the sounds of city pavement.
Still life there—
revealing.
Image Prompt
Hi everyone!
I’m very pleased to be participating in my third full Poetry Marathon!
I fell in love with this concept as soon as I heard of it in 2017 and excitedly joined just a few weeks before the launch date. I missed the 2019 Marathon, but participated again in 2020, a few months before my doctors diagnosed me with papillary thyroid cancer. Having missed last year’s event because of low energy and recovery from surgery, I’m extremely glad to join in the challenge this year.
Writing is different for me after facing my mortality, as so many do when they receive a cancer diagnosis. It’s more important than ever to find, speak, and write my truth, even and especially when it’s hard to do so; but I realized that this sometimes leads to unfinished writing due to perfectionism.
This is where I find The Poetry Marathon helps me most, for, in this challenge, I must write, even if it’s hard, even if the rhythms and rhymes aren’t perfect, and I must go on to the next poem, even when I’ve not completely grasped the message I wish to iterate in the last.
As we near the sixth prompt, I find I’m already proud of the work that I’m creating; and the challenge is inspiring me to push myself even in my fiction and nonfiction writing, once this is through.
Thank you to those who are responsible for this event, and thank you all for participating, since it keeps the momentum going. I made a few lasting friendships in the last events and hope to make more through this one — so, if you wish to reach out, please do!
Good luck to everyone!
I remember
the taste of your lipstick
on the rim of your wineglass
The smell of your hands
lingering on the pages
of the hardback you left
unfinished by the bed
Sunflower yellow dress
hanging in the space left
when you packed your
bags and departed
Someday soon,
this will all go out to the pavement
But not yet, I think I will
pretend this is temporary
a little longer
Neighborhood hangouts
used to be
taverns, Legion Halls
blue-collar guys
perched on vinyl-slick
swivel stools
Community nowadays
revolves around
coffee shops, breweries
a distillery that
serves lavish concoctions
Everything sounds
the same
every space a twist on
mod, industrial décor
galvanized steel with
overtones of oak –
wait, the beer? The whiskey?
The faux-wood floor?
Gone are the days of
shot-and-a-beer
watch the game regulars
replaced now with
hoppers
young couples, groups
seeking the
latest craft brew
boutique booze
whatever food truck
is there tonight
What once were
smoke-filled joints
now home to
hip cribbage players
board game aficionados
knitters who deftly knit one,
purl two without
knocking over
their wine glass
while they talk to the
new arrival
pulling laptop from hand
embroidered,
fair-trade satchel
and I sit there amidst it all
and wonder
where will the nostalgia
for all of this
eventually go to look back?
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2022
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
Why are we afraid to sign up as number one on a piece of paper,
first reader in a setting?
A coffee shop, library, reading, or celebration.
Why are we so shy to start the race for others to follow?
We are easily remembered as we are forgotten.
Being first helps that shy guy in the back row
resisting feel the comfort of a room.
As a new Poet Laureate recites and remembers those we lost,
I feel comfort of going first today,
raising the glass and the bar.
The futuristic laureate just might be sitting in that back seat
I know I sat that in shyness seat once.
Reading is like dancing even when we feel insecure and silly,
crowds appreciate those who have balls to stand out.
In the forest,
there is a soul,
a calm, caring presence that envelopes me.
I call her mother.
She is my mother
when my mom wasn’t there.
In her shades of green
and earth tones,
she sent Doe’s to guide me.
On days of unbearable grief,
I heard her call
to walk the trails of her creatures.
I felt her embrace in the wind
when I sat and cried
asking “why”
to a boulder that supported me.
To me, she is my mother.
She was there as the moon
when I felt alone in depression.
Urging me to go on and take strength
from her silver light.
To learn from her cycles,
everything has a turn,
everything will come full circle.
That is why I call her mom,
which is why I heed her.
She is the path I know
that I can’t get lost on.
She is Artemis.
Goddess of the Hunt.
Protector of Girls, young women, and women.
Goddess of chastity and childbirth.
She is what I call mom.
Hour Five – Gone Mary Pecaut
Today, outside our house
looking at your window I
want to believe
that what I see
in the pane
is sky –
the same wide-open sky we
once shared.
The sky that never denied
an obstinate hope-filled sun
& held our constellations
through the dark.
Now, I doubt the cumulus full sky.
Cauliflower clouds carried
by the wind do not question
where they will go or what
their purpose might be
or when they must dissipate.
Droplets fill the stream
stream to the ocean
left wide open.
We never talked about it
but I hear the blame was mine
and only mine. Like you had nothing
to do with it too.
Keep spinning that lie
to anyone who will listen
if it makes you happy-
I get it.
Shred my reputation
If that’s what needs to happen
my honesty will answer for me
you’ll see that I’ve never tried
to hurt you.
I don’ t understand why
you hate me
I know I’m a horrible person
I know you no longer care
did you ever?
I don’t think you did
Surrounded by the notes
and the pictures of our past
It’s not hard to see why
we didn’t last as friends
Ever felt the tender kiss of a sunflower?
Her scent forever bound to remember
It’s soft petals rubbing against your cheek
Swaying to the lyrics in the wind like old lovers
As it were, alone in a field of dreams.
Every whisper, every touch chronicled in your hardback.
Old wine in old wine skin I would never pass.
A rich elixir swirling in a wine glass
A wealth beyond kingdoms promised with every sip
O permit my being a journey through space
Power beckons at the very tip
This world indeed I sure must take.
What about that old timer?
Once fabled to have traveled the world hopping on one foot
Knitting a web of tales for his journey to suit
Pray tell, what I must expect on my journey around the world.
From his satchel unbound echoed words so profound
“If the world it is you must go around
Then the kiss from a sunflower must surely be found
Never forgetting the tales from towns in the clouds
Then riches from the old wine skin might just lead you to the crown”