The Poetry Marathon

Holy Cheese! – hour 23

Oh, cheese!

yes, please.

ricotta’s creamy, blue is crumbly

as I write, see

cottage goes in my tummy.

 

Crackers are nice

with Colby jack, sliced

and grilled sandwich, can’t wait

for Swiss to ooze on hot plate.

 

Cheddar whiz is fine

atop cheesesteak, sublime

its bubbly goo

melts in my mouth, oooh.

 

Parmesan and romano

rock breaded chicken Italiano

or shredded atop-a

my bubbly lasagna.

 

Cheez its are a pleasure

in all kinds of weather

and even goldfish

deliver a kiss

of cheesy pleasure.

 

Even cheese from a can

in my mouth, it is grand

making decorations a bunch

on my sammie for lunch.

 

Oh, cheese, I love these

you make life a breeze

and make smiles alight

each time I take that first bite.

 

– Sandra Johnson, 6/27/21

 

 

 

Holiday Hmms… (A Troika) Prompt 10

I propose ‘polar
prestidigitation’ for
‘magic of Christmas’

Are Santa’s elves
still pissed with LOTR
oddball depictions?

Was Christmas Eve the
one wearing a wreath instead
of her normal fig leaves?

– Mark L. Lucker

© 2021

http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

A Stranger in the Forest of Lights

I simply do not know this forest
Well enough to tell this story;
I claim what a stranger sees.
I see woods bedecked in glory.

If I were in Celtic lands,
I would know the words I’d use.
Sprite and glamour, fairy ring,
Will o’wisp and changeling,
But here it’s I who, stripped of lore,
Wanders guideless o’er mossy floors.
Like a story where the hero
Stumbles heedless into peril
Or ignorant of blessings given
To some strife is needless driven…

Perhaps all our myths are echoes
Chasing tails around the globe
And I should remember fables
Learnt around a childhood table
Else I come to some fae harm,
Or led away by twilight charm
Are lost amid the spirits here.
The dancing fire, the shadow boughs
Might close around me and the lights
Would ever bewitch my sleepless nights.

Or – perhaps they are a kindness.
Good fortune or a consecration,
Blessing all the leaves they touch
As well as I who gaze upon such
beauty. Maybe they will grant me
Happiness to bear away
And sprinkle brightly on my life,
So it might resemble woodland
In the dance of fireflies.
Perhaps to stray here would be wise.

Or maybe yet, a bunch of insects
Nothing more remarkable,
Apart from how they dress the night
And tumble through the forest’s heights
And form a second canopy
Of drifting, dancing artistry.
And if, perhaps, that’s all they are
I’ll take this moment happily;
Linger with them in the green
And play my quiet part in this lovely scene.

I simply do not know this forest
Well enough to tell this tale.
But either way, conclusion pending,
…I think I will stay awhile.

Hour 16 (2021) CW: Sensual Poetry

Her favorite fruit was pear
Said it reminded her
of the shape of my body
and how she’d like
to split me open
right up the middle
and feast upon me.
Oh, how I’d let her.
My darling clementine.
I’d love to peel each piece
of your clothing off,
and divide you into segments,
letting each juicy piece
roll across my tongue.
You’re the perfect snack
and I’m feeling quite hungry.

What Are the Chances?

(for hour 23—a “hearing” prompt from hour 16…coz cheese is good, but I wasn’t feeling it)

 

What Are the Chances?

 

Amid a crowded amphitheater

I become the only attendee

The only fan

For I close my eyes to the swell of the synthesizer

Under the vibrato of violins on stage

And gentle build of the snare

Somewhere beneath the note he holds

I’m lifted

Whether it’s his voice

Or the pulse of the bass

It carries me above any crowd sound

All I know is the music

I’m lost in the flow

The harmony and tender rise

Crescendo to rejoin a rhythm

That pumps my blood

To this new time signature

This new motion

Amid an airy amphitheater

Of only me

What’s left of me

Filling with chords and melody

 

 

Hour 23 – Vow

When all is done,
And morning comes,
When dark retreats,
Our foes all beat,
If you still wish
To share all this,
The come to me
And, newly freed,
Be bound again
To your old friend.

Walkin’

Walkin’

 

Patsy Cline once said,

“I go out walkin’ after midnight.”

But my parents always warned me,

“Nothing good happens after midnight.”

So, now I am paranoid.

I often think Christopher Walken

will appear out of nowhere,

so suddenly I’m in a movie

where everyone ends up dead

walking the earth forever

as a zombie in search of his next meal.

Nothing good happens

walkin’ after midnight.

Stay home and save yourself.

You never know.

It might just happen.

Fireflies at Night- a Haiku

They light up the sky
as if bright flickering stars
-obliviously.

Body – 23 of 24

My stretch marks aren’t art
You romanticize my body
just because it isn’t yours
to weigh, measure, and iron

I hear tiger stripes
I see zippers
My body’s housed my many attempts
To escape

Trapped

Trapped

 

Head held steady beneath the maroon

towel, trying to breathe in the fumes

of microwaved water, in strong hopes

that the dark will unclog a nose blocked.

Scalding water looms inches beneath

a fearing face unglassed, collecting

dew droplets rising to the sky.