The Poetry Marathon

2022 poetry marathon hour 2 – “the fading fae forest”

Prompt line chosen from

“Stopping by woods on a snowy evening” by Robert Frost

~line selected: ‘Whose woods these are I think I know’~

The woods were astonishingly beautiful

They were

They WERE

Lush, a verdant green that was an invitation in and of itself 

So SO achingly lovely that even now, years later, the longing bites deep in my chest

It really should have been a clue

Being so green

Nothing here is like that

So whose woods were these?

I returned, to find them gone

How does one move a forest?

Thinking back I wondered for so long

Wondered on which strange land such beauty was loaned from

But whose woods these are I think I know now

And in truth the Ents seem the most likely shepherds for such a move

I hope, if I am lucky, that will I see their fair forest pass by before I leave this world

To see that truely *impossible* green just one. more. time.
…. and sooth the longing in my aching heart that has truly never left it

Merry – LordCricket 2022 poetry marathon

“And miles to go before I sleep”:

A league of tasks light and deep,

Must errands to run without delay,

Multi-tasking without thanks or pay:

Noses wiped, shoes tied, tears dried,

Fights stopped, yet I’m sorely tried.

Of course, the photocopier’s jammed!

Sometimes, such little things overwhelm.

Papers to grade, meetings to attend!

Tonight, our team plays.  Will we win?

E-mails to answer, enter those grades!

Bill is failing! His dad’s enraged.

But Ann and Tim were extra clever,

And Raul, he disappoints–never!

Finally, in bed by eleven.

Saturday, I’ll sleep ’til seven.

“The darkest evening of the year” -Robert Frost, Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening

the first time you hold his neck

he tells you that it is a palace only a queen enters

you tell him you are his queen

then he shows you to the throne

you sit a kiss on it-

that is the same spot you drive your knife in

you are awakened by a noiseless wail

intuition makes your hands rove the bed

you feel the cold of absence

it tells you it has been empty a long time

you take your pocket knife

years of abuse builds a monster

you roar out of the room

your daughter’s door is shut

you hear the noiseless wail that woke you again

you’re careful when you open it

it is your baby’s graduation the next day

you do not want to wake her

it takes seconds for your eyes to find comfort in the darkness

you do not scream or call on God

you do not run to get anointing oil like your mother

you walk forward and drive the knife into him

history might have repeated itself

but this stepfather must die

The Woods

The woods are lovely, dark and deep

immersed in them to me is sleep.

Because I often waste my time

with thinking that’s not worth a dime.

What is this life all about?

A reuben sandwich with sauerkraut?

Mouth full of cheesecake

and trying to shout?

Immersed in trees my mind goes still

Bird symphonies so bend my will,

while a chipmunk racing by

tells me that I have to try.

To understand that there is more

than all the things I try to do

and all the projects in my mind

there’s everyone I’ve left behind

there’s everyone I’ve left behind.

* The woods are lovely, dark and deep from Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost

II.

Birdsong, birdsong,

– dawn to dusk

birdsong follows the light.

Bird surround-sound gloriously

envelopes this sun filled day

cascading melodies

Interrupted only by computer hum

as I write this ode

to bird song, bird song.

Do the birds remember which notes

their dark throats trebled into forest and field

when bird first found her voice?

Was she winged and feathered –

or did dinosaurs sing…

A doily is a grandma thing

It exists in a house on Linwood Avenue

in Pittsburgh

on the back of a parlor chair

a protective creation upon which to rest a tired head

But that was sixty years ago

it exists now in memory

like the smell of liniment in that house

a smell found in a grandma’s house of that era

but I can’t remember the exact smell

although I know it as liniment

another word out of fashion

But the doily was a minor character in the parlor

Grandma sat in that chair

while a thin man in a bowtie worked on her feet

He brought his own tiny stool and tools

sat low and hunched over before her

He cut nails and sanded callouses seriously

head down in concentration

while grandma smiled and laughed

I remember her laugh

and remember thinking

I don’t want a job like that

Spend your whole life an Other

until the Other becomes the trend

now they want our story

when theirs can’t match

and why would they want it anyway

oh wait.
they always have

because our strength frightens them

and weakens them more

wouldn’t trade a day in this skin for the “privilege” of “normalcy”

Not now or before

Dragons Tithe

An Acolytes tithe, throat teeming and hands bound tight

Within this holy and sanctified crypt, sacrificial.

The wanton sow brimming with savoury’s delight,

For with in my potentiality, we feast on her tonight!

‘A consort’s tribute received with resurging adoration!

For such sweet suffering, could be painted on blank canvas!

Durations of which, relevant on her last view and exsanguination!

It continues struggle’s upturned pendulum, true pirouettes of relevance!

You have done well this night, my flighted aberration!’

With inspired license I commence my artistic homage.

Drawing swift and deep of this writhing aesthetic,

Revelling in the gaze of veracities haemorrhaging carnage,

Simpering quells, resistance once deemed pathetic,

My chalice is full, lifeforce of the oblation, my art theatrics.

‘Join me hence, my half-dismembered plaything,

Sup of her essence and join me in the banquet!

Absorb a creature’s life, hasten the deadening,

Abound in my mercy of Nosferatu’s dragon, my becoming!

Marjorie says we let kids should arm themselves.
Oh, no, say the neighbors.
What about last year’s kids?
Won’t our insurance rates go up
because they weren’t armed, either?
Well, Netta twists the phone cord –
she won’t let go of the landline in case
of the border wars Teddy whispered about –
if Marjorie says so, nodding her head
as she watches the scroll
and reflexively clutches her heart
when the face of the man she didn’t vote for
comes on the screen.
Marjorie says we need more guns
and to return to God.
Netta is calmer now.
Nothing bad happens at church.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening      Original poem by Robert Frost

As I walk this dusty path                                     acres and acres of neutral sand                         stretch to my right stretch to my left

Merging with the yellow muted sky                    above the monotonous desert                      Unmoved by the ever present

shades of beige and tan and gray to retain            my humanity my very sanity my sight my mind      sees the woods are lovely dark and deep