The Marathon journey is in its third year. Put Pen to Paper is the current incarnation.
On January 17, 2019, I headed to Montco. Were the students back in school? Yes, they were. Parking lot shows the proof.
It was a cold day but sunny. We are expecting snow and ice tonight so they have brined the sidewalks in preparation.
I set up on the main floor of the library. I changed my work order today – I did Little Vines first thing. That took until lunchtime.
I was hungry today and thought about eating in the cafeteria but – the water in that portion of the building was off so the cafeteria was closed. I headed for my other lunch spot – the grocery store café.
There I wrote a variety of things. I focused on haiku today – I had a miscellaneous-subject list of 5-syllable lines that I used for inspiration. Now, in my world, haiku (and tanka, too) focuses on expressing a feeling or thought inside the syllable count – I know it’s not traditional, but I just don’t care. I like the challenge of expressing myself inside a structure, that’s what I like, I think. Anyway, now you have been warned!
I did not write any stories today because…I gave them their own afternoon earlier in the week. It fit my schedule and maybe it fit my mental processes, too. I don’t know if I need a separate time to focus on them…I am thinking maybe I do. Well, we’ll see.
All right, here are some samples of today’s work.
This tanka relates an actual experience – it happened at my house earlier this week and the incident has stayed with me.
little mouse curled up
in the corner by the door
left for dead. The cat
done with you when you could fight
no more. Now you count your breaths.
At the café, I overheard someone mention golf… When I was young my family belonged to a golf club. Since then, I’ve played off and on all my life, though not recently, because…I do not belong to a club, and golf is expensive, and I like a lot of other activities a lot better… Still, the skills I learned are there, I am sure, though rusty… but the memories I formed are clear. This shadorma chain is based on experiences when I first learned to play.
Golf clubs and
you remember those
fifty years ago we played
six holes at seven.
slow play. Nine years old
lost balls and
in the rising summer sun
Our chaperone game
someone’s mother who
did her time
for the kids
avoiding wild tee shots and
swinging seven irons
while we walked
the dew-drenched course with
in soaked sneakers
flailing at an inert ball
that sometimes we hit.
How about a few of those haiku I mentioned? The first line of each is the one I plucked from my notebook.
come in the window
crawl along the wool carpet
lay your eggs in it
or occupied somewhere else:
naked nouns shiver
After a few drinks
recharged zinnias perk up.
Pick fights. Clash colors.
Removing your head
at night. Let the bats fly out.
Let their radar hum.
A human being
gossiping with another
exchanging snide smiles
Now, Little Vines.
takes a look around
chooses the lady with red hair and glasses
and suddenly the stranger
was a friend
a souvenir of that long-ago vacation
the nurse just making sure
you still looked nervous
as a patient awaiting a double root canal should be
to unfast and loosened
so it’s all wrong
interrupted by the ringing in my ears
after that time last winter
when a thousand and one
icicles hung on the eaves
as for veering off into serious double vision –
it’s not worrying over nothing, is it,
to see two giant lizards reaching for your steering wheel?
oh that poor fellow
went out through the cat flap
anything to avoid babysitting for those kids tonight
I hear you breathing
holding your breath
you know perfectly well
a green person with green eyes
shouldn’t be swimming in the fountain at the park
it’s just too cold for it at this time of year
interesting first day at work
it turned out to be
take the money and drive away fast with a great group of guys
The loyalty that is colored in deep blue shades
I don’t want to be blamed
for the fading that occurs over time
in the dark
I was quite certain
this street was not entirely free of ectoplasmic skid marks
because I specialize in contemporary work
the medieval monk scam was a stretch for me
short order cook dishing up contraband chili, no problem
my apologies for interfering
but that semi-dead body in the front hall
what are you going to do about it?
not doing anything illegal
but I am living with a secret
a lonely echoing voice that only I can hear
some of it I like
most of it I’m indifferent
Thank you for reading!