The Poetry Marathon

Hour Four – The Crystal Set

The Crystal Set

“You want a try?”
my brother says
lifting the headphones from his own ears
and placing them on mine

At first, I hear nothing
but my brother scratches the wire
across the crystal
and the sound of stringed instruments
fills my head
Astonishing!

Then, a voice
almost lost amid the static at first
then louder
and clearer

I am too stunned to pay attention to the words
the sound of a man’s voice
a man not in this room
nor even in this house
but as clear as if it was!

Two miracles:
first, that it could be done
and second, that my brother
just six years old
could have brought this miracle to me.

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note – A crystal set was an early radio, usually homemade, that was popular in the 1920s. In 1922, President Harding brought the first radio into the White House, and many US radio stations went on the air for the first time. The BBC was founded in 1922 as well.

The Old Piano Man – Hour Four

Across the room, a relic stands
It has many a year
The tunes of generations’ bands
Heard by many an ear
Played by a man, up in his time
He’s seen and heard it all
Requests are grand, critiques are few
From open to last call

No one knows why he stays and plays
These songs that span the ages
And yet, he sits, days upon days
Without a workman’s wages
Is it merely the love of song
Or something deeper still
All we know is he’s going strong
And hope he always will

His dedication to the craft
Spans the years he has known
He’s signed many an autograph
As “Piano Man” alone
No one knows how he came to be
And still, it matters none
He plays each timeless memory
As if he were still young

Maybe this is why he does it
His own Fountain of Youth
Within the notes and lyrics
That speak a life of truth
I’m sure one day I’ll visit
And only hear the chords
Raining down on me from Heaven
As he plays before the Lord

For now, though, I’ll indulge him
Drink in each note that he plays
These moments are his legacy
To stay with me always
Music is as universal
As time is but a flash
And the gift the Old Man gives us
Is worth so much more than cash

His dedication and commitment
The yearning in his soul
Paints an everlasting portrait
Of a half that makes me whole
For music is the color
In a world of black and white
And the Old Man, like none other
Can still move my soul just right

Marathon Poem #2

I search for

the tip of your tail

to circle around my bed.

I listen for

your high-pitched chirp

as you nestle against my head.

I glide my

hands along

your silken tabby fur

as you

sputter and purr

and gently knead your claws

on the crushed velvet comforter.

I wait for you

to rest atop

the crook you carved

between my hip and thigh

only then and there

can we gently sigh

and bid each other

a sweet good night.

Prompt Four – The Football

Hour Four – Write a poem set a hundred years ago, or a hundred years from now.

The Wooden Football

 

The boys played ball, that’s what I’ve heard

They kicked it around whenever they could

Boots caked in mud, and sometimes blood

The football was a good ball, carved out of wood.

 

They clambered out of trenches, forgetting their wenches

Pushed and shoved and joshed around

While guards watched over, shouted to take cover

When bullets began to rain on the ground

 

These teenage boys, the rifles their toys

Out to save country and king

They didn’t grumble, or weep or crumble

As they hummed the tunes they used to sing

 

Of victory marches and enemy lines

Of bringing the villain to his knees

Of the green, green grass of their home so fine

The English roses and buzzing bees.

 

And as they came out that night to play

What they saw was two wooden balls, not one.

One was theirs, they knew it well

The other, kicked over barbed wires, just for fun.

 

Restoration Blues

Maybe it wasn’t such a hot idea to bury free-flowing streams in culverts. Let’s restore them, one by one, above ground. We’ll plant their banks with certified riparian plant material. Low growers to line and stabilize their banks. Shrubbery behind the sedges and reeds, and trees behind them. Fast-growing trees will provide cooling shade for the salmon who will be sure to return, natal waters still flowing through their stream-lined bodies. Another glitch: there’s a mass die-off of cedars in our area. Probably due to long-term drought. Better consider species inexorably moving north to take their place. Lodgepole pines? Whatever. We changed the face of the earth because we could, and understood too little. We still do. Change too much and understand too little.

climbing the steep
learning curve
time immemorial

“The Death Of Music”

Can you hear that? oh la’… oh la’…
As the piano key speaks.
Can you hear that? Oh la’… oh la’…
As the melody creak.

All were from the narrow road,
Now haunted, Not wanted.
Can you hear that?
The eerie sound as I speak,
now, hear it now, now ….

The end of the song was played,
ages gone…
But for me, its not yet done.
I found someone, someone else’s body.
I found someone, someone, that is me.
.
.
.
Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour04, Image Prompt04

Farewell Playground11am

Walking in the woods
Fall colors
sweater weather
so beautiful

I remember the way so well
though it’s been over 20 years
since I was last here.
The memories are very strong
today

That’s where I used to camp
and that’s where I would go
down to the creek and look for crayfish
that there is where I had my first big kiss

This used to be the place
I would run to in order to cope
with everything that life threw
at me
when I thought I couldn’t take it
anymore

my friends were here
solitude and the wild animals
I’ve missed you all

We’ve missed you as well
as you can see- the creek
kept flowing without you here
time changes everything
Life had to go on

It’s been so long since I ‘ve
come here
I’m so sorry, life just got in
the way.

Well I’m all grown up now
and I found that I didn’t
need to run here every single
time something didn’t go my way
that’s really why I came here all the time

I was a child and didn’t know how
to cope with my emotions when
they got to be too, too much.
I know how to now

That’s good. It is good
to see you today- so why come
here today? It’s been years-
You could have just stayed away

I had to come here today
I just had to make myself
understand that I didn’t have
to feel guilty or hurt that I was
growing up and didn’t need you
like the crutch I used you as

I’ve grown up and to move forward
means putting away childish things
I had to come say farewell to
my playground.

Speech (Hour #4)

This is when the going gets random,

Surprise attack! 

My word tank just ran empty,

there’s nowhere the words come from.

Should we retell the story of the ark?

Or sit at a quiet tea party?

I’d rather sugest silence to be a norm,

but I’m afraid that fact society lack;

It excels at bodyshaming, whispering ‘fatty’,

and a combination of red carpets and prom,

while it’s impossible to turn time back,

it’s time to quit acting so petty and be taciturn, for when we-

 

… listen

quietly

we’ll find

even in the silence

word are

spoken.

Grist

There, amidst the dappled reach,

Beneath the willow bending low,

As endless waters flow and froth

Over pebbles, like a broth,

A walkway through the wood once brought

Both stranger, neighbor to the door.

 

The mill, now silent, stood full-bright

And changed the fortunes of the grain;

From field-grown fodder to flour there;

Or was it wood to lumber bare?

So far long-gone and legend now,

That none can recall its tale for sure.

 

The stone that once drew grimly ‘round

Now leans upon the bank, reposed.

A cedar thrust up through its core

To mock the labor it once bore,

Through snow and bluster, weather foul–

In endless daily grind no more.

 

Now shines the sun through willow branch.

And so, the rain in vernal dance.

Yet grind the season round the year.

And make life, so daily vivid true,

Into mere powder, dust, and grist,

As sun and globe spin as they do,

Spare little trace of those before.

Hour 4 – In the Eyes of the Law – Text prompt

In the Eyes of the Law

What are you doing that for?
Aren’t you afraid of being caught?
Remember when this happened last time

Now it repeats what history forgot!
Even as it changes, small details here and there
Variations through the ages
Exceptions to small details
Remembered by a few

Can’t have that happening again
Have them at the doors, up in arms
Against the new status quo
Not happy with our choices
Get on with your lives proletariat
Egress from here if you must
So what if you don’t enjoy our choices

So what if you want back your rights
Or to get out of the corner you were backed into

We the people, don’t make me laugh,
Even the people voted for us

Made the mistake of trusting us
Under the impression we would
Stick to their needs and beliefs
To the morals they ascribed to.

Forget the people, forget their fight
Ignore their suffering ignore their plight
Get them while they’re down
Hold them ransom from their own rights
Til they think this is how it has always been

They won’t remember joy or happiness
How it felt to go outside
Even the color of grass will fall to the wayside

Stop them, stop them, they cannot brew their booze
You must keep them docile now
So we’ll never lose.
Today’s tomorrow will not be the people’s
Even if they wish it. They’ll fall in line eventually
Make them think they wanted this and we can’t lose.