Ode to Big Bertha – Hour 21
$1000 in hard earned cash
My first car
My freedom
My way out
1972 Chevy Impala
Poem 22: A Tribute to Maya Angelou “Slow Drag”
Futile attempts to break
The wind
in its land of nooks and crannies.
Our dreams dictated
by news that shakes
rattled
and helpless
except to be.
Endurance
Survival
Walking, talking
Amidst rumours
The drag of our day is a celebration, though
We might not know it
Not believing, believing
Unheeded
The giant urban blanket stretching
Immunity
Doughnut shops
and sports palaces
Reality TV, a form of death.
Destruction
Of a third kind.
ODE to a Flea
Dearest little jumping flea
I truly wish you’d not picked me
To play the host so you and yours
Can live in comfort with food on our four paws
To snack whenever and take a nap
Within the fur around our backs
The feeling is really not nice
As you hop about like demented lice
I’m feeling used
And strangely abused
It’s said you once were circus creatures
Playing all well-known theatres
Now unemployed your living gone
You plague us pets which is so very wrong
Our humans care not for your skills
Of jumping from pet to pet as is your will
To suck the blood from unknown hosts
And leave red spots and itchy coats
To be honest I don’t know what’s in your head
Cause if you’re not careful you’ll end up dead
Mankind prefer to deflea their beloved pets
With potions and sprays from the vets
One Spot on our necks or collar of drugs
Will have you dead as doorknobs on the rugs
To be swept away to the great cloud in the sky
As we wave a heartless goodbye
So stay outside
On creatures that are wild
If you want peace in your short life
Don’t cause us pets so much trouble and strife
Hour 20: Walking the Night
“I have been one acquainted with the night.
… I have outwalked the furthest city light” (Robert Frost).
No remote nature road for me
Where small rustles in the grass chill my gut,
Where moon and stars play hide and seek
Behind brooding verdant branches;
Where cackling cicadas watch over me,
Warning me they are waiting.
Spare me the desolation
Where something howls at the sky;
Where my lonely steps
Crush the paths I walk.
Where friends are empty echoes
Of memory.
Give me city lights in my night,
Solitude in a crowd,
Feeding all my senses:
Reverberating voices tripping over each other,
Smoky roastings tempting my tongue,
Blasts of heat and rot beneath,
Colors rioting beyond the rainbow.
Give me the city
Where wishing stars
And moonlight larger than the sun,
Play along the asphalt;
Where other walkers and I make music
Like jazz, dancing our variations,
Watching each other prance
In the glowing darkness;
Where I hear laughs of mirth,
Sobs of grief, hums of life.
#21- An Ode on Reading
Taking me to different universes
My own personal medium of transport
Books whisk me a way leaving nothing behind
Heart of mine racing
I love them so with all of my heart and soul
Reading always makes me feel like I am home
Affiliated with my very being
Peaceful and enthralled
Without reading life is devoid of magic
The sheen and sparkle that keeps you up missing
Mundane, insipid, unimaginative
No use existing
~thryaksha
Puds
I can’t imagine a life
Without his smile
That bright beam that lights
My way through
The worst days
Shining brighter
My best…
He’s a silly tease with
Innocence abounding
Simple toilet humor
And a penchant for
Causing my senses to revolt.
He’s mama’s boy
With golden hair
Sunflower eyes
Just like his mama-
Shimmering with mischief
Just like his mama-
Silly humor and a cause to give rise
To temper, he quells with
Sarcasm.
He is so my child.
Without a word, he brings me flowers
I fasten to my journal.
He notices my pain
And finds ways to make it better.
He’s thoughtful, albeit a smidge
Manipulative,
Playing upon my weaknesses-
His smile and that slight
Almost undetectable squeak
As I tickle him
Threatening to make him pee.
The honesty and closeness
We have is something that cannot
Be broken
Or marred
As he opened his eyes to truth
And sees with clarity
And knows what is right and good
And what is wrong and uncalled for-
But lacks the courage or conviction
To stand for himself-
But in ways he can’t
So I stand for him
and my protective boy he
stands for me
and life has a learning curve.
I was blessed with this monster
Who’s the spitting image of myself.
We drive each other crazy
But we love each other fiercely.
He is the greatest gift ever given to me-
The crowning joy in my life
the greatest thing I’ve ever done
was bring him into this life.
My son, my boy, my Puds
I have never been more proud
Of anything I have done
More than how proud I am
Of you.
Ode to my father-in-law #thepoetrymarathon #prompthourtwentyone
Who came into my life even before I was married
As I followed his Court for the sheer entertainment
A man of temper, particular to a fault, no mumbling
And bumbling in that Courtroom was allowed.
He tried to take the place of my own father when I married
Had me chafing at the bit. But he was unputdownable,
Won me over bit by tiny bit. An untamed mare was I,
Wild curls and glassy eyed. He poured enough love
To snare a perfect fit. A man of high morals,
He lived by his own code, never shied from the truth
No matter what consequences would hold.
Generous and kind, he gave of himself and showered gifts, nothing
Was too dear for those he cared about, nothing to be feared.
Much loved, much revered, when he died the world trembled
The skies opened wide and poured its’ contents into the night
Life came to a standstill, our world held a collective breath;
As for me, I was broken, another father lost to Death
Snuffing out another light long before its time.
(P.S. I have never even attempted an ode before. Any suggestions would be welcome.)
I Miss This
The way that you curled up wanting to be close. Breathing could be heard softly in and out. Your skittish nature even though scared me it also showed you did not like something. Time went by and I still try to remember you. A current reminder present but does not replace you. It has been years now not a blinking moment. I misss you everyday.
Winter
The crows were paper cut-outs against the light,
The tree an ink spill.
Their voices cut-out voices as they took their flight
Whilst the birds in the hedgerow trailed watercolours.
The endless clouds were writer’s block,
Dampness eating through the page,
And at the skyline, bleeding up,
The church towers leaked villages.
In shattered fields, between the trees,
Beneath the troubled sky,
Barley was vivid only as a memory.
And the frost built sparkling sculptures too ephemeral.