The Poetry Marathon

Hour Five: Solitude

Solitude (Hour Five)

Evening falls cruelly
as she sits by the window
gazing through a gauzy sheer curtain
at the unkempt garden below,
where a  gangly tangle of sunflowers bend their heads
toward earth as the sky darkens and
shadows fall across the pavement just beyond.
Her knitting lies, abandoned, in her lap;
a small chunk of cheddar cheese and three crackers
languish on an oak table beside her chair,
and the wineglass awaits draining.
It is quiet,
all still.
Only the ticking of a clock on the wall
reminds her of the passing hours.
This night will be too long.

 

Write a poem using at least 5 of the following 10 words/phrases.

5. The wife’s pain- A Limerick

There lived a couple close by,

whose story is a truth  and not a lie.

A wife an injury did sustain

as she complained of a posterior pain.

When elaborating to others,

a confusion arose,

because comparing her husband to an Ass

she always did dispose.

But(t) in reality,

The pain in the butt was not her husband,

But actually, due to posterior surgery.

Hour #5–Leaky Faucet

drip

drip

drip

drip

drip

drip

SCREECH

 

drip

 

drip

 

drip

 

 

Hour Five

What does it mean to be truly free

Retreating into reverie

Or visiting a favorite memory

Some place far away from here

 

I find myself under the willow tree

That lived across the street

Laying in the grass, the wind dancing across my face

Staring at the sky as the clouds drift by

 

Or atop a cliff overlooking the sea

Waves crashing down below me

A place I’ve never actually laid

Though I can feel it so vividly

 

My mind conjures up his face

The freckles across his cheeks

The shining blue of his eyes

His laugh a familiar sound

 

I see myself in fields of green

Dipping my hands into a stream

Ambling atop rocks and discovering things

In the Irish countryside

 

Or sometimes I think what it would be like

To be a neighborhood cat

Roaming free to follow my instincts

With no one to control me

Other times I can be found

Dancing among the notes of my favorite song

The beats swirling around me like a ribbon

Colors moving through me

I want to know what it’s like to live inside a rainbow

Maybe it is happier in there

The colors might be brighter

Filled with a little more hope

And how does it feel to return to “real life”

By comparison a duller place

A bit like falling from grace

Tethered to this physical place

And so I’ll continue to journey

To places I have and haven’t been

For these psychic jaunts are what keep me here

It’s called balance, my dear

5th Hour; Street Child

I am a child of the universe
I saunter around, every *pavement* is my home,
A learning board around my neck
And a *satchel*, filled to brim with my treasures;
A *wine glass* to remember to say, “cheers’ to any situation
A block of *cheddar cheese*, just enough to keep this guant frame going
A bunch of sunflowers,their cheerfulness to drive away any sorrow
And finally a nail to safely secure my Memories, from escaping the space in my satchel and from my life….

Melody on Wool (Hour 5)

I had a roommate once

she had skin like caramel

and she liked to tell us stories

 

One day after dinner we asked why she’d rather sit on the pavement to knit

while we drowned our sorrows in wine

 

She smiled like the sun on a dark day

her silver tooth twinkled like a star in the night sky

and she told us why-

 

“I was taught to hide my pain in knitted yarn

go for bright colours to show happiness

make melody on wool

 

I am half cast- that’s the Nigerian word for biracial

I used to say I’m half of my mother, half of my father

now I see myself as a knitted yarn

made of loom and loop,

full of each

 

I embody two cultures, two skin tones

I’m a confluence

I make them meet

 

one grandmother pounds me yam every Christmas

she teaches me to move my waist in the rhythm of the drums

the other teaches me country songs

she bought me a pony at sixteen

taught me the art of knitting

and named me sunflower”

 

that night- we knit a sunflower handkerchief

 

now when I try to fill the space in my life

I drop the wineglass for the knitting pin

Divine Tribe

I follow a path of twists and turns while anticipating the taste of freedom.

Peaks and valleys keep the destination interesting for miles.

My divine tribe grounds my truest form of self:

“E” withstands my sarcasm and passionate outbursts.

“J” embraces my moodiness and days of self-isolation.

“R” energizes my senses, overcoming my inability to express desires of the heart.

“K” reminds me to embrace my inner child.

“T” rebuilds my strength through affirmations and brings out my sense of humor.

As my divine tribe grows, the path becomes clearer and the journey becomes graceful.

 

Wish

We are speeding
toward a space
of disaster
jittery
white knuckled
skittish
with our genetics
overwhelmed
longing for a
moment’s rest
to catch a breath
to sit under
an oak tree
with a satchel of
hardbacks describing
mindfulness
with some cheddar cheese
wine and perhaps
some roasted sunflower seeds
to heal
to rejuvenate
to calm our
frazzled
excited state
of worry
fear
despair
as we are pushed along
from one convulsion
after another

Hour 5- Alexa, where is God?

“Where do you think God is?”, he asked her laughingly,

As he moved to rest his chin on his folded arm on the couch.

She sighed and said, “You have until my nails dry for this talk.”

“I think God is the magic of all things that make them real”,

Her eyes trailed the imperfect painting of the ceiling as she answered.

“God is probably in the words that make an author feel light,

The same words that make a reader feel heavy with emotion.”,

She said as she moved her finger on the spine of the hardback.

“Probably in the knitting my grandma did to make me this”,

He says as he runs a hand over the soft cloth of his sweater.

“God definitely is a part of the sunflowers in a green grass field!”,

She said, springing up as if to emphasise her point, continuing,

“Oh! And in the oak trees of the dense foliage of the Amazon forests”

“What they say is true, isn’t it”, he joked, handing her a wine glass,

“You do find everything in the depths of the Amazonian Jungles”

“In all seriousness”, he droned, “God is probably having a ball in space,

Away from all the chaos when humans sprung into their creation,

What with guns in children’s satchels and blood on the pavement.”
She shuddered, standing to reach for the cheddar cheese on the counter,

“God is probably just a belief that keeps us hoping for a better tomorrow.”

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Note: The poem was supposed to use the highlighted words.

Hour 5 A Question Without An Answer

A question without an answer—
Ivory towers

a space full of hardbacks
fills the brim of satchels struggling
to stay stitched together

Attempts at knitting theories
the promise of “the Answer,
enticing academics towards the
trap with cheddar cheese

A thirst that won’t quench
no matter how much fills
the wineglass

How can it be explained
that Miracles still exist?

Like the sunflower growing through a crack in pavement
and the resilience of the oak seedling striving for growth where
it shouldn’t be