The Poetry Marathon

Hour 20: Chai

On a rainy day, or a Friday afternoon, or a Sunday morning after a long Saturday night,
I make my way to my kitchen.
I take out the special saucepan and the special cups,
reserved for this very special drink.

As the water begins to sizzle in the pan,
I take out the spices of my childhood.
Grind the cardamom, grate the ginger,
Losing myself in this rhythm, as if in a trance.

The water bubbles, the ginger cracks.
And it’s time for the most special ingredient of all.
Chai, black ground tea leaves.
Their strong smell overpowering my senses, their color turning the water a homely red.

I add some milk, the pan is now tan.
And now, I wait, watching the transformation of this concoction,
till it slowly darkens to that beautiful golden brown,
frothing, beckoning to me to get it off the stove.

I pour it out, with the same childlike fascination, each time.
Chai – this marvel of water, acid, and heat.
And as I take my first sip, enjoying the chai of my labor,
There is nothing else that matters in that moment.

Unassorted Chaos

It is the first thing in a long time

keeping my head buoyant above water

I’m pleased to be able to share it with you

(Hour 20)

Hour 19 prompt

DO I NEED YOU?

I wrote your value on my hand,
But the soap washed it away.
I wrote your value on paper.
But the wind blew it away.
I protected you in my bank,
But my busy schedule kept you away.
I toiled day and night,
Just to save you for the future.
You are just a piece of paper,
Yet you are invaluable.
Who are you?
Why do people forget their morals and ethics for you?
Why can’t we live without you?
What is so special about you?
Why are you so famous?
Why do people call you with so many names?
Nobody can answer these questions.
You are nothing to nature,
Yet you are everything to us, human beings
You are the crux of our life,
Your name is MONEY!

POEM BY
SHREYA SURAJ

Under Constraint

It goes without saying

that on Sundays we dress,

paying attention

to what would be best

for focus on God—

not on what others wear;

not their hats,

nor their shoes,

or the style of their hair.

Clothed in the armor of God-

And the garments of praise

perhaps bowing in silence,

or shouting, hands raised.

Not a matter of clothing,

but the best we might bring,

as we gather to bow

before Savior and King.

Yet each saintly lady

who squirms in her pew,

when the speaker speaks long,

as they often do—

Isn’t thinking of kickoff—

as he winds up his speech—

or the roast in the oven

not sand at the beach,

not even how hot

it’s gonna be in the car—

she’s itchin’ for ditchin’ that

push-up,

underwire,

Sunday-best

bra!

Companion, Hour Twenty

Companion

Life during our early retirement
more often than not is busier than work,
and so we create means and methods
to be together, innocuous routines
that bring us near to one another again.

I make our coffee at the keurig in our room
and in the meantime he makes the bed.
When the coffee is properly creamed and sugared
I carry it outside to our patio retreat
while he fills feeders for hungry bird and squirrel hordes.

Plans for our day, hopes for our future,
all are hashed out at that morning table.
We walk the dog, and the grandson, too,
to his bus stop, and wait for his ride to arrive.
When he’s on his way, we and the dog trundle on home again.

Silly, but sweet, the lengths we will go to be near one another once more.

#Prompt 20 – 2023

Morning Shower

Opens the door
Eyes still closed dreading the day
I’m getting too old for this
Take the cat out the sink
Brush teeth
Take the cat out of the sink again
Wipe up the splatters of water from wayward paws
Undress
Take the cat out of the shower
Turn it on to heat up
Take cat out of the shower banish it behind a closed door
No deterrent
Door too easy to unlatch
Take cat out of the shower
Close glass door quickly to prevent an invasion
Concede defeat
Take a shower with the cat
Rinse shampoo out of my hair
And cat’s fur
Despite my best efforts … cat always beats me through the door
Makes a b-line for the bed and disappears under the duvet
Retrieves cat
Turns back covers to dry out during the day
Take cat off work clothes
Finds some more
Dry one
Brush my hair
Hunt the floor for bands and clips
Grab cat before it launches itself out the window
Makes a mental note to invest in a new locks
To trap cat
Out of my way
So I can get ready in peace
Promptly forget
Thus continuing to jump on same merry-go-round
Every flippin morning

Destination Unknown – Hour Twenty

Destination Unknown

I hopped in the car, destination unknown
I had no direction in view
I took off in the morning, for a break from the chaos
But where I was headed, no clue

Many choices before me – Air, land or sea
And whether north, south, east or west
The road guiding and deciding my choice
Figuring that the road always knows best

I changed course several times
As I witnessed great oceans, small hills and plateaus
Each stop, I saw the world at its prime
Kissed by the sun’s radiant glow

I knew not what I wanted
What I needed found me
I was grateful for this little whim
For I had uncovered much joy in the spree
That led me to hear nature’s hymn

 

Curse of the self employed #20

Monday morning, I wake
To the incessant complaining meows
Of the neighbour’s cat,
Giving voice to the fact
That I haven’t given her breakfast.
It may sound strange
But it’s become our ritual
For her to have another breakfast
While I have coffee.

I notice that pretty much everything hurts
As I peel away from the bed
And I sigh as I silently chastise myself
For working yet another weekend,
But I know in my soul
That I’ll undoubtedly do so again, and soon.

It’s the curse you see, of the self employed,
The ever present background fear
That they’ll never work again,
That forces us to say yes
To the all but impossible.
Yes, I’ll do this job even though
I’m fully booked.
Yes, I’ll work the weekend. Yes, yes, yes, the perennial yes man.

I shuffle down to the kitchen
Doing a rendition of a zombie
From the walking dead as I do.
I open the fridge,
Take the tupperware container
And tip the smelly tuna into a bowl.
The kettle goes on and in a few minutes
I’m sitting on the front step
Watching the cat, Puka, so called
Because she’s white as a ghost,
as she devours tuna steak,
And I think to myself that I work weekends
So I can afford to feed the neighbour’s cat
In the style to which she has become accustomed.
Then I console myself
That the coffee is good,
Hot and expensive.

After all,
If I’m going to work myself to death
There should be perks.
The phone rings and in seconds
I’ve already said ‘yes, I can’.

Can I Really Do This? Or Is It 2 Late?

I thought this Marathon was next week

So I wasn’t prepared for 2day

I was out of town taking care of

my sister recuperating from surgery

Can I really do this?

Or is it 2 late?

 

I came back to Houston Saturday

cuz one of my Monologues

was being produced this weekend

I didn’t get home from the theatre

Until  11:30

(the performance was great by the way)

Tired, sleepy

Can I really do this?

Or is it 2 late?

 

Then the internet and hotspot

weren’t working

And I couldn’t find my tablet

I was at my wits end

About to cry

Can I really do this?

Or is it 2 late?

 

The light bulb went off in my head

And at 1a  I called my SisterFriend 2 see if I could type on her couch

She said yes

And here I am

Can I really do this?

Or is it 2 late?

Imma try to do it until 8a 2C what I come up with

And then I’ll answer the questions

So here I go

See ya at 8

Hour 15

Woot gunna get caught up soon! I hope

 

Hour 15

 

I have always loved stories

So it was no surprise I entered fandom

A space about stories 

And the tales they create

It’s where I found my favorite plots

Those enemies to lovers

The only one bed

The pretend we’re dating

The we’ve been in love but they can’t love me

And I’ve noticed I’ve always loved love stories best