The Poetry Marathon

Christmas Eve with The Darlingtons

(my apologies but this is less of a poem but more of a tale of love and triumph)

Over the years, Christmas Eve with our family has evolved and only gotten better with the addition of new

family members; spouses or significant others and best of all babies!!  We went from hosting the festivities

in a living room barely bigger than a White Castle bathroom to our beautiful five bedroom old Victorian style

home.  Three years into enjoying our new setting, with enough room for kids to run and adults to mingle, Covid hit.

The separation has been devastating. Cousins have missed an afternoon full of games and stories and running

up the front staircase and down the back one again and again laughing till they had to stop to catch their

collective breaths.  Siblings and their spouses shared pictures and stories and laughter even Santa would envy.

Speaking of Santa, the festivities would not be complete without the traditional white elephant or dirty Santa game.

At the Darlington Christmas bash, dirty Santa has that extra component of the returning gift that no one wishes to

get stuck with……..the infamous horse head mask.  There is a story there but that’s for another time, another platform.

This gift and the story behind it is legendary.    All of this plus food, gifts and so much love.

This year we will do whatever it takes to come together again as a family.  The hurt was real, but love always wins.

Only 183 more days!

The Funny Bone Speaketh

Staring at us with confusion, the baby, eyes wide an attentive,

takes in the sight of parents acting the fool, over and over and over

til the baby can no longer contain the pure belly full of joy and out it comes.

The first “tee hee,” in the beginning is restrained, but as the merriment builds, the child

who only just recently felt the same emotion upon it’s first  “passing of the gas,” episode,

can no longer hold back, what is about to be one of the greatest gifts that

parents and grandparents alike could ever ask for….a full blown, burst of air coming

across the vocal chords and out into the world as baby’s first chuckle!

From this point and until the child reaches puberty, parents everywhere will do

anything and everything, and I do mean everything, to get said child to commit

again to that top of the charts expulsion of glee.  Much to the parents dismay, they

are unlikely to see this occurrence until they catch them doing something they aren’t

supposed to and they try to recreate those precious moments to get themselves off the

hook.  Parents will get the last, you know, chuckle, though at their high school graduation

party or when meeting “the one” and they pull out all of those extremely embarrassing

baby photos.

My advice, if you arejonesing to hear that wonderful sound again, take them to a comedy show.

Chances are you won’t get the jokes, but your kids will be in stitches!

Blocked, stuck, out of focus

Words gone somewhere, can’t find them

What’s a girl to do!!

Creative juices

Where are you, when I need you

Maybe I’m “hangry!”

Not even half way

Poetry Marathon 3

3 for me, that is.

Second wind, maybe

Gibberish I guess for now

Come on second wind

Words, words, words, words, words

Picture prompts, text prompts too

Gonna stretch my legs

Food memories are the best!

Becky’s dad, his name was John

Made the best flapjacks, at the break of dawn.

We ate ’em up faster than he could fry

Ole John he was a hell of a guy.

Johnny Marzetti was a dish new to me

I found it was one of, Faith’s best recipes.

They also grew their own corn on the cob

Which I enjoyed with Kim and Red, Faith and Bob.

One summer day, quite some years ago

Judy grabbed from the garden, a big ripe tomato

On toasted bread, with some mayonnaise, too

We went through that whole loaf, before we were through.

At my house my dad, had mastered the grill

His rotisserie chicken really gave me a thrill.

Dinner in a dish, was my mamma’s claim.

If you ate it just once, you were never the same,

These days Johnny D is the cook of our house

His pandemic pies make him number 1 spouse.

His kitchen creations, keep me wanting for more

But he’s waiting for me to  try evening the score.

With all this talk about food

I am starting to drool.

I’ll put down my pen cause

A fork’s my new tool.

I should have rights, shouldn’t I?

As a woman of this earth, this day, this year.

I do have rights, or at least I did two days ago

Along with half of the world’s population….half!

I’ve never lived through such a time of inequality.

Maybe I’ve taken for granted, those rights promised to me

Through the undying fight from the women who have come before.

Their struggles and battles fought, their ridicules and humiliations suffered

Serve as their badge of honor, so that we may be considered equal.

May, be, considered, equal?  How is that even a question?

I should have rights shouldn’t I?

Maybe I’ve taken for granted, those rights promised to me.

Why are the hands of the clock going backward?

What will it take for women to be truly equal?

When I die, I hope to come back as a praying mantis

So I can bite off the head of any male that fucks with me,

Weather Report

(a haiku)

“What’s the temp out bro?”

“It’s melt your skin off degrees!”

“Chill dude, just askin’!”

Angels on Earth

There are members of our families

Acquired in many ways.

Some stay with us a long, long time

And some for merely days.

2 legs, 4 legs, sometimes 3

Fur and feathers, too

Squawks and barks and whistling sounds

All those kisses just for you.

They’ll walk with you and rest with you

They’re sad when you aren’t there

We scratch their ears and squelch their fears

When storms are in the air

Their bubble baths will make you laugh

That skunk smell not so much

Once they’re out and squeeky clean

They’re oh so soft to touch

So here’s to all our family pets

Loyal from the start

There memories will always hold

A place within our hearts!

The sunflowers seemed to dance as she stared at their beauty through her

tilted wine glass.  She drew in the oak like aromas before taking her last sip.

With her eyes closed, she was taken back to her trip to the vineyards.  She vowed

to return but leaving now was not an option.  She would have to settle for her

memories.  Grabbing her satchel off the nail behind the back door, she headed

towards the garden, her special space.  There she would dream of Italy, the vineyards,

the people and the one she left behind. With the sun warming her face, she pulled

her hardback journal from the satchel and begin to write.  Would this, too, be

her next adventure?

Mannequin or Mannecan’t

Is this what it looks like at the end

When so many of those would’a , could’a, should’a moments

Are left to wither away only to return as something brilliant

Your dream, but with someone else chasing after it with nothing to fear

Something you knew it could be,if you would’a, and you should’a but you didn’t

You didn’t believe in yourself, you let fear guide you to someplace safe

Someplace with no sharp edges to cut you, or cliffs to fall from or water to deep

Someplace old and cold and sad and lonely but safe……….maybe, maybe not

I beg of you,

Understanding Change

Magnificent, isn’t it?

Picturesque; fields combed, each blade in it’s place

Tree plush and tilted at a pleasing angle to the eye of most of the onlookers

Bluest skies embracing the edges of our view, with the most careful placement of each cloud

Colors picked with intent and purpose, pleasing to some, contrived possibly to others

Would you dare venture into this masterpiece

Or would you fear the disturbance would cause change to it’s beauty

But change must come, it’s inevitable they say

Maybe you shy away leaving it to the next brave soul, or being or element from the heavens

A curious child or gentle wind wanting to explore what might be perched in the boughs of the crimson topped tree

A flock of birds darting about those blue skies or a wayward kite hanging in the cloud’s billows before it’s departure

Beyond the landscape searching for another perfect horizon

Trying to find their fishin’ hole, just over that hill, young anglers bound through the perfectly combed blades

Anxious to begin their story, their canvas, not concerned with the intent and purpose of the canvas

Time changes, colors fade, limbs and leaves fall, grasses go dormant and loose their joyful hues

Skies darken with snow or rain or clouded obstructions of the sun………..it’s change, it’s inevitable.

But beauty never dies, it circles back, eager to please those who return and those just beginning their adventures