I prepared for two whole days before this marathon. I reviewed my poetry already written, reviewed old prompts from past years and played with possibilities, wrote a couple poems for practice. I was totally on board and ready for today. Then I woke up with a very sore throat, ten minutes before the first one was due, and dragged myself to my computer. Despite everything, I could not stay awake and could not think poetic thoughts, could not feel any emotions aside from a desperate need to go back to bed. I stayed with it for three hours anyway. I am disappointed, deeply sad that this event that was so important to me could not go as planned.<\/p>\n
After sleeping a few hours, I still don’t feel great, but at least I’m not falling asleep on my keyboard and waking up with seventeen rows of the letter N where a poem should be.<\/p>\n
I have reviewed the prompts given, and the one that spoke to me the most so far was Hour Five, a childhood memory.<\/p>\n
Redwood Cathedral<\/strong><\/p>\n What do I remember most?<\/p>\n The smell of redwood dust<\/p>\n Every inch of ground was made of<\/p>\n Pulverized redwood from the centuries of rotting logs<\/p>\n It was a summer campground under tall, tall trees<\/p>\n Many numbered clearings formed the rented sites<\/p>\n Each with water, hookups, a ring of stones<\/p>\n Containing ash and charcoal<\/p>\n Daddy loved to build the fire<\/p>\n Mommy loved to cook over it<\/p>\n What is it about food cooked over fire<\/p>\n That tastes ten times better?<\/p>\n Every campsite backed up to wild redwood forest<\/p>\n Each with a character all its own<\/p>\n Each year, a different site we chose to occupy<\/p>\n Each year, new explorations to be made<\/p>\n The seeming-untouched wildness drew me<\/p>\n I a child of eight or nine or ten<\/p>\n Always in my thick soled flip-flops<\/p>\n Set off alone to see what I could see<\/p>\n Even as a little one I sensed, I loved<\/p>\n How spiritual it felt among the shrubs and ferns<\/p>\n So far below the roof of greenery, the redwood canopy<\/p>\n Perhaps the residue of happy times<\/p>\n Rituals of growth and gratitude and familial love<\/p>\n Practiced by the native peoples who once dwelled<\/p>\n Who worshipped everything they saw and felt<\/p>\n Emotions not unlike the way a child like me<\/p>\n Experienced the green<\/p>\n The sunwashed yellow green above<\/p>\n The dappled ground around me, undisturbed<\/p>\n By any human feet<\/p>\n Yet always full of motion, tiny changes<\/p>\n Full of unexpected wonders<\/p>\n A cathedral built of close set living redwood trees<\/p>\n Standing in a circle close together, so close they all were touching<\/p>\n The stump of long dead mother tree<\/p>\n Inside it, and one gap, one tree<\/p>\n That wasn’t there, as if,<\/p>\n As if to welcome a footed occupant<\/p>\n To come inside, stand against the mother tree<\/p>\n Look up and see<\/p>\n A redwood starburst shape<\/p>\n Converging on a pulsing, sunny center<\/p>\n Brilliant yellow green with beams<\/p>\n That shot down on my head and shoulders<\/p>\n Ever moving, ever changing, warm and sweet<\/p>\n Blessing me like God.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n ~~~~~~~~<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I prepared for two whole days before this marathon. I reviewed my poetry already written, reviewed old prompts from past years and played with possibilities, wrote a couple poems for practice. I was totally on board and ready for today. Then I woke up with…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1027,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-38215","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-miscellaneous"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38215","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1027"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=38215"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38215\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":38594,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38215\/revisions\/38594"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=38215"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=38215"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=38215"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}