The Poetry Marathon

Hour 4 – Forest Piano – Image prompt

Forest Piano

I hear a haunting melody

In the forest moving from tree to tree

Winter, Summer, Spring or Fall,

This song is not so strange at all

It plays in nature’s harmony

A piano tune just flying free

 

I hope someday to find the source
Of the song and change its course
For some days it seems so sad
And I just want to make the singer glad

So I seek out the simple harmony

Like a shadow leaping tree to tree

And though I’m searching high and low

I cannot find the damn piano

 

For years I’ve searched, a maddened man

Without much rest, without a plan

The ghostly music’s haunting me

I must find this cursed melody

I’m not saying we don’t learn – Half Marathon Poem #4

I’m not saying we don’t learn

as a species. But for fuck’s sake,
look around at what we’ve made,
and tell me we’re any better than
our grandparents in any way beyond
the superficialities.

Yes, we live in an age of wonders –
we can get to the other side of the planet
in mere hours, and communicate to
the antipodes in seconds. We have
walked on the Moon, sent robots
to Mars, so many other glorious deeds.

But, at our hearts, we are the same
as those people a century past and
shouldn’t be so smug. It’s not that we
can’t learn so much as that we
refuse to.

Timeless

I felt it when I met you.
I’ve known you for a hundred years.
With any luck or grace,
I’ll know you for a hundred more.

Whatever time and space are,
I’m just glad I found you here.
Timeless is our treasure.
And timing is everything.

1922

In 1922  many years ago

my honey would’ve been  quite dapper

I’d have been a flapper

Always on the go.

 

Dancing all night

We’d rarely fight

Drinking in speakeasy bars.

Laughing til dawn

All our money gone

Driving home

in  our Model T cars.

 

The future looked  bright

Til we lost the light

And fell down  depression’s hole.

Millions lost jobs

Hit the streets in mobs

And lived on the government dole.

 

Just a reminder to be much kinder

To those who are walking in fear.

For it’s hard to look up

With an empty cup

and homelessness is near.

 

 

BUNNY [Hour 4]

I watch Bunny, the iRobot,

scoot along the low carpet, back

and forth, spinning in place

 

when she detects

a particularly gnarly spot –

dirt alert! – her white whisker

 

sensors spinning, touching,

leading the way like a rabbit’s

or cat’s. I can’t help

 

but smile, whistle while

iRobot works. No wonder cats

ride these vacs like Disney’s

 

spinning tea cups.

Carry on, Bunny,

make my day!

Hour Four – The Troubles

The Troubles

 

She was proudly Irish

But never spoke of

the strife at home

known as

The Troubles

 

Julianne married Tim, many

years her senior, and

sailed away from Cobh Harbor.

1922.

 

Sailed away from village life, work

in her father’s pub, and the nuns

who tied her hand behind her back

to cure her of the sin of being

left-handed.

 

Ellis Island – or the Hell Hole – as

she told it.

Endless train ride

across this wide country

and a strange new town in Washington State.

 

The babies came. Some

didn’t make it.

Endless meals to prepare on the wood cook stove.

Four children in a one-bedroom house.

Later – grandbabies to care for.

Later – burying her Tim.

 

There were some good times, teaching step

dancing in the parish halls.

 

But, always . . .

The Troubles

 

Hour Four – 100 Years Ago

One hundred years ago
My great-grandmother was born
The world had no idea what it was in for

She had three children, five grandsons, and fourteen great grandkids
A legacy that continues to this day

You never know what a person will be when they’re born
She was everything good the world had to offer
Her selflessness knew no bounds

She knew no bounds

Galvanization (Hour 5)

‘Subjugation of your body and soul,

Welcomed with gracious heart, at the hands of my carnal desire,

Your will dully accepted in delight, With gratitude’s regard, and absence of mind,

New limbs I shall impart, via force of nature, and calculated dementia,

You shall be articulated this night.’

 

Oh, a missing right leg, left as stigmatized stump, grinning with keloids mirth,

Soon repaired by swift scalpel stroke, and mechanics of a Winchesters girth.

What’s that you say? A missing arm, once severed at my behest.

Yes, it was discarded, in the larder breaded and barded,

I ate it with feverish pickled herring and beer!

Have no fear, the doctor is here!

 

As night approaches, and lightening encroaches, you will be made kind of whole tonight.

So, sit back, enjoy it! Don’t plead or attempt to spoil it, won’t sting a bit.

Your scars were ridden, your body to do as bidden as the moon hides its light.

Galvanization is coming, Victor my becoming, as the electric storm wields its might!

Life Imitates Art

Woe to those who oppress others.
History won’t repeat itself.
A New World without white supremacy.

2123 year of Jubilee.
Life imitates art, you see.
“Never again” will be our plea.

Women are born free, they rule with glee.
dedication, liberation, manifestation of our dreams.
We paint the art of our tomorrows.

Our daughter’s continued the fight.
Democracy is sophisticated wear her heels.
Lady liberty is not blind to injustice.
Now we can see.

MAGA laws Jim Crow is dead.
Posterity is peace and forages the journey ahead.

Don’t think for one moment evil not lurk.
Around pulpit of vengeance and smirk’
One hundred years ago we did avert.

The conquest to control and defeat with wars.
The earth rebuilt it’s fortress of hope.

Hate closed it doors.
It was a dying cause.
Its in vogue to strive for compacity to love,

Children are safe today; 100 year ago the guns were lost.
Weapons are not used today, they’ve been outlawed with the KKK.

We are healing our nations with our neighbors we lend a helping hand.
Goodness and mercy will follow as long as there is life no the land.

No, is the answer to the question “how do I control your life.”
Our currency is gladness with that we have all we need.

We heeded the cry for justice for every, human, men, women, faith and creed.
Today we dare not stumble repeating the hegemonic ways of the past.

In the words of MLking. Thank God we are “Free at Last..”
Forget the failure of the past. Moving forward is our only task.

Hour Four: A Hazy Memory

A decaying piano left in the desert

Gathering playa and dust

You take a seat and start to play

 

The hammer strikes the chalky strings

The air fills with hazy clouds, muffled notes

A familiar and haunting tune

 

And though the sounds are flat and off

Make my eye twitch and skin crawl

Still I am mesmerized by this image of you

 

Playing as fervently and passionately as

An evocative concerto

And only just for me