The Poetry Marathon

Midnight Poet, a gigan

Writing poems long into the night.

Computer on my lap, beer in my hand.

I’m quite sure I’m a frightening sight.

Everything I write clearly hasn’t been planned

I read the words on the page and they’re so bland.

Prompts fly at me at a record pace.

I can barely keep all my thoughts in one place.

The coffee is brewing upon the stove.

I hope the caffeine unlocks my words.

Writing poems long into the night.

Prompts fly at me at a record pace.

Not wanting to quit but craving sleep

My head nods and bobs all over the place.

My body’s shutting down into a mushy heap.

As my eyes struggle to stay awake,

I gobble down another piece of cheesecake and fight on.

Spilled Ink, a lune

Writers gathered together

Passionately reading their scripted words

Into the microphone

Poets and authors

On the stage

Invigorated

Chuckling, a sedoka

I’m on daddy’s knee.

His big hands around my waist.

His fingers tickling my sides.

I try to escape,

but that will never happen.

I cackle and howl.

The Aggressive Giraffe

“I can’t believe the library is closing early today.

Everyone must get out of my way,”

Barked Annie, the aggressive giraffe.

“A three-day weekend with the kids off at camp.

My husband laid up with writer’s cramp.

I need a new book and a fresh cup of tea.”

Pulling into the lot with minutes to spare,

Annie stormed through the doors without a care.

“I need a new book, a mystery or thriller.”

Around the shelves, she started to sprint.

“I’d prefer a book with extremely large print.

The one’s with fine print are a pain in my neck.”

The librarian brought her a stack of the latest fiction.

Annie skimmed through them all with great conviction.

“I thought you had the latest John Grisham.”

Her long neck allowed her to spot it across the room

“It will be mine,” Annie assumed.

She raced to the book without a care.

Knocking down people and toppling stacks of books

The entire building trembled and shook.

The aggressive giraffe was almost there!

Touching the book on the tip of its corner,

her fingers slipped off and she became a mourner.

“You snooze, you lose,” said a prickly hedgehog.

Retirement, a tanka

Alone forever

Just a stack of books and time

Happy as a lark

Coffee greets me day and night

Now, where’d I place my glasses?

Stubborn Dog, a septet

Bowen, outside dog

Trapped with indoor family

Always loves a trip to the dog park

Racing dogs along the fence

Never wants to leave

Dad hates this

You Have Got to be Kidding Me

A birthday party for a dog?

Next, you’ll want one for every cow, horse, or hog!

Please don’t ask for one for the duck.

He can have one when he learns to drive my truck.

Weekend Getaway

A picnic blanket spread under the old Oak tree

My hardback spread across my chest as I nap

The smell of sunflowers in the air

My wife knitting with her back against the tree

Plates of cheddar cheese and crackers

Our wine glasses getting frequent use

Letting our thoughts drift off into space

Tomorrow, back on our feet hitting the pavement

Fighting tooth and nail to claw out a living

My satchel bursting with documents and contracts

But today we rest under the old Oak tree.

In 100 Years, a pantoum

A hundred years from now

Will be no different from today.

Technology will be more advanced,

But the people will be the same.

“Will be no different from today?

You must be joking,” people say.

“But the people will be the same.

Same birth, same strife, same death,” I reply.

“You must be joking,” people say.

“Technology will be more advanced.”

“Same birth, same strife, same death,” I reply.

A hundred years from now.

Oak Tree, a pensee

Sits on a hill

Calling me to sit beneath

Alone on hills of lavender

A perfect place to read