The Poetry Marathon

Mothers Growth

She gets excited with you.

They get anxious when things are not right.

They feel the sorrow that brings grey clouds.

Mothers share all these things.

 

She gets happy when you are happy.

They know that they are special

when you remember them on Mother’s Day.

They know when you are not at your best.

Feel bad when you are at your worst.

Mothers share all these things.

 

Mothers know when to speak up.

They know when to hold their breath.

Mothers know they are special.

And don’t let you forget.

Mothers know when they have it all together.

 

Mothers know best as they can.

Mothers are aware of their child’s stress

and let their children grow.

They allow you to become who you are today.

To allow this poem to be put down on paper.

To allow their child’s heart to smile with pride.

 

 

5 The Window

I sit and look out my window
but the veins of the tree catch my eye.
The wine glass and cheddar cheese plate
stay untouched by my lack of desire.
I sit in the hardback chair and look out my window,
see the sky of my dreams
and the blue of my hopes.
The oak tree stands upright and proud
as it clings to the earth and longs for the stars.
I sit and look out my window
and do not see the empty space
leading to the pavement below
but instead the sunflower touched by the dew.
I sit and look out my window
but the veins of the tree catch my eye

Hour 5.5: Cozy Corner

After a long, long day
When exhaustion has seeped deep in your bones
It comes to your rescue
The cozy corner at your home!

It’s tiny, barely enough
But it has space for all your treasures:
A hardback copy of your favourite book
And your knitting gear on the oak table

A perch for your wine glass
With just enough room for a plate
Of sunflower seeds and maybe
Cheddar Cheese, if the day was extra tough.

And of course, hidden under all the blankets
Will be your satchel of knick-knacks
For the days you are longing
To relive a part of the past

Of the days long gone when you had
More as a way of comfort
Than just your cozy corner
Tiny, barely enough to hold your heart.

A Haiku on the Irony of Writer’s Block

Doubt on my shoulder

Humid summer afternoon

Pen in hand…pensive….

The Garage Building Adventure

We can manage the cost and inconvenience

to have another workshop

with saws, drills, wrenches, clamps, etc

and a space to park and protect the car and riding mower.

 

The cement floor will be Plain Jane pavement,

Hooks will keep tools within easy reach,

a drawer will hold the screws, nails, drill bits and such.

No need for fancy oak or cherry wood.

 

At the cost of clearing the rock garden with its sunflowers

and poke berry bushes — beautiful wild nature —

we will be practical, cars will not be at the mercy

of Ohio winter storms. wearing out batteries.

 

A collection of manuals, mostly soft cover, some Oxford Dictionary- sized.

The Chilton’s Manuals, now as rare as hardback books on carpentry,

stored on a shelf, away from the sawdust.

No sense knitting pretty things, where practicality rules.

 

Next week it will be completed, and it will be

celebrated with cheddar cheese and real wine glasses —

much fancier than the satchel of crackers and juice drinks

that I offered as Irish hospitality.

 

By Nancy Ann Smith,   Poetry Marathon prompt #5,  June 25, 2022

 

When I Grow Up

when I grow up
when I grow up I want to be god
I want to kill Satan
And all the satanic people
Who terrorise good people
Especially children
I will champion children’s rights
Will make sure all children
Are well feed; balanced diet
Well dressed
Shielded from harm 24/7

I will makes sure chocolates, sweets, candy…
Grow on trees
And every child has access
I will close schools in winter
Infact I will remove winter season from the yearly seasons
I will be assistant god
I will work closely with God my creator
I will change the world
I will make it safer and equal
I will do it,I will be a fair god

I will make my parents rich
Very rich
I am sick and tired of seeing them toil
They barely have enough to spoil me
It’s all hand to mouth
The other day they couldn’t afford to buy me a simple cake on my birthday.
I see this and it pains me
That’s why I want to be a god
When I grow up
Don’t worry mum and daddy
I will rescue you and our neighbours
They are toiling too
Hang in there…

Poem 5 Hour 5 Love

 

Walking through the park with her satchel across her breasts; she stops.

A sunflower touches her nose and she breathes it in and closes her eyes.

Everyday she takes this walk to visit the flowers and clear her head.

Back at home she will add cheddar cheese to her Chilli, fill her wine glass to the brim and watch the oak trees dance in her yard.

Being divorced has been healing.

She is free to do whatever her heart desires.

For now, she just enjoys the space.

And fills herself with love.

#5

A quiver full of arrows, she shot me through the heart, now I’m in love, caught up in the moment, and I don’t know where to start.

Destination : unknown (Hour #5)

Where is the road which one must take? I’ve been searching a while now for a signboard – oh! There is one; but, wait, what does it say?

This way is the right path carved out by someone ranked knowledgable. A decent sized job that consists of pulling all hours to gain someone else profit leaving little time for yourself irrespective of the certificates you’ve sweated for throughout your youthful years. This is legitimate.

The fonts are way too small and it makes me feel dizzy trying to focus on it. Great. Now I’m at an intersection with numerous signs.

All the future celebrities; over here!

It does look appealing and very flashy, but it’s doubtful. Too much people flock over there and the agent right by the sign seems shifty.

The short cut – let’s all live it easy.

Oh, I know that road. I’ve seen the end of it once; it leads to a cliff. A path of no return. Why cut corners anyway?

But then, thinking about it… these weren’t pliable roads before. Someone must have started those three paths that it leads to such lengths.

I turn and head off the road.

Me too. I think to myself. I’ll forge my own path. 

Something I’m comfortable treading on. 

Better Days

I’m sitting on the pavement knitting
sunflowers,  eating cheddar
cheese. Remembering better days. Times
with space enough and
more.

Hardback books lined my walls and
I hung my satchel on a
nail before  sitting in
front of the
fireplace drinking wine, and
tossing
my  empty glass onto the hearth.

Days it was cold enough to
need a fire. Seasoned oak was piled
high in the wood room.

Not like now. Not like
now.