The Marathon journey is in its third year. Put Pen to Paper is the current incarnation.
On December 12 I did the Marathon at home. It was a session of short poems – all shadormas, in fact. I have had a very busy two weeks and I’m giving myself credit just for sitting down today and writing. My head feels a little blurry. Like this photo of the Pennypack Creek I took a couple of days ago (how is that for a segue?)
On that same walk, I came across this bench with a sodden book lying on it. There is a lot to think about in this little scene – who was here, and why were they reading a book here, and why was it left behind?
Anyway, here goes. As I said, I did shadorma poems and I did Little Vines. I’ll get right to the poetry!
We did an art show this past weekend. As we were setting up (indoors) and running in and out of the building, a wonderful smell wafted down the street from one of the businesses near by, in contrast to the frosty air. Several of us looked at each other and said…Hmmm, I’m hungry.
in the air
floats a hot fried smell
Could it be French fries?
Yesterday I went out the door and made a sad discovery.
sound I heard
right on through the last second
unseen by the bird
I like to do crossword puzzles. Sometimes they like me and sometimes they don’t.
the crossword puzzle.
with your pen. Lose your temper
for you. Laugh at you.
did you talk to this man
whirling you as he did into his orbit
and did you make any kind of sense?
on this night it is the purpose of the moon
to delineate the outline of the house
to illuminate the dreams of those who sleep within its walls
hand in his pocket
his palm incurved
squeezing tight his wallet
comedy club and groan after groan after groan
I was ready to give up
when you told a joke that made me laugh instead
My saccharin smile more like a grimace but
it’s not easy
to shape my face into anything but utter despair
here at your wedding. I should be the one saying I do!
my kindly uncle
now viewing me with a detached expression
as if I were an insect crawling out of a drain
he meant to wash back down it
One phone call
I am incurious
Fourteen phone calls
I want to know what is going on
I took my memories
left them in a pitch-black forest
hoped they wouldn’t find their way home again
I threw all of you out of the nest
quite enjoying the scattering of my selfish brood
can you unpick the lie from the truth and survive?
answer that if you can
Two books in the library shelved side by side
separated now by a newcomer.
One fumes. The other considers the possibilities.
Once you are in you are never out again:
the definition of inevitable
is what keeps you playing, isn’t it?
two sets of
fought for dominance in her smile
smooth-spoken winners vied for the camera
seamlessly refashioning themselves
as the likes steer them
all inside a two-minute interview
even those fancy electronic credit card records
can’t keep up with me
as fleet as I am in running this con.
Hold your purse open. Let’s get this Porsche out of sight.
not that dandyish fellow
and his lisp and his zip ties.
by the blurry lady’s venom
and how tight she seems to be pulling my necktie
Thank you for reading!