The Marathon journey is in its third year. Put Pen to Paper is the current incarnation.
Marathon split continues with this week’s work – I struggled to fit it in with preparing for teaching my new art class, actually doing to the class, getting through an eye doctor appointment and then another one for minor eye surgery. Well, that’s life and I adapt.
I worked at home both days, September 24 and September 27. On the 24th, I worked on Little Vines. On the 27th, I finished up some poems I’ve been working on for a couple of weeks (let’s see if I feel the same way about them when I do my edit session next week, but I’m crossing my fingers. Some poems overstay their welcome, I think) and then did a few new ones. Some were inspired by this card of cut-out phrases and others came straight out of the air.
Here are a few photos from around the house, because every Marathon post needs some photos of the creative environment, right?
All right. Here are some poems from this week’s work.
A week or so ago I was watching a store employee spraying the flowers for sale in front of the store.
green looping hose
tensed up tight with
heavy in the hand
rows of chrysanthemums
thirsty sun-wilted sullen
in their pots
their leaves gone limp
hand squeezing the nozzle
stream of water that leaps out
backlit cool white-silver arch
up and over and grounding itself
in splatters and on flowers and
smell of warm concrete and cold water
that rise on the sidewalk and
flow off the curb
This poem is for my husband, who loves coffee. Loves coffee. Loves coffee.
me I’m that person
that person who drinks the day thick and black
under the light from a dropped-ceiling sky
beneath a sun rolled out in strips of fluttering electrons
that shower my bent head and keyboard tapping fingers
in an all-day assembly line of thoughts
organized with dividers
color-coded in tabs
washed down in coffee
thick and black
gallons a day
I can’t let this poison ivy thing go. A haiku.
All but taunting me
the poison ivy twining
I cut through its stem
out there in the parking lot
the amber lights shine sallow
at pinched-faced shoppers
a black and white checkerboard
that old story
you hop across it with the ease of long practice
Non-ferrous copper moon
in the September sky
and yet magnetic.
I sliced through the water
a series of ripples in the lake the only sign of me
dangerous and hungry dressed in a set of silver scales
the sky clouded up
full of rain waiting to fall
on a blue jay feather angled in the grass
I’m young and naïve
spring glow yellow-green
but I still know how to put out a nice little chill
her hair a hypnotic sculpture
curled in five separate spirals
puts paid to the idea of her remaining incognito
somewhere there are some
very expensive clothes
wondering where I am right now
lamplit planet going dark
ashes in the carbon blackness
her agenda for apologies
a guilt layer cake
I exaggerated I made it all up
but come on it’s just one lie
Just a truth monoquake
Neon city. Pink streaks at night.
Limousine. Classy night club.
The rain hits the sidewalk all the same.
not a chance I’ll be outside
not in this thunderstorm
not when clouds like those jerk on the lightning cord
a necklace of big ivory beads
each one the size of a pickled pearl onion
nestled around her stringy wealthy neck
go ahead and say it:
a perfect fall crock pot recipe
is high speed access to potential mate’s affection center
intellectual snob professor
ambitious in a sharkskin suit
cruising the conference with his fin just showing
one large onion finely chopped
in the moment before I toss it into the sauce
dawn muggy gray
we begin another day
simmer in the city
slip the skin off a tomato
in a veiny naked kind of way
Here is a visual Little Vine. It looks like a plain door. But listen…do you hear the cricket who has been chirping outside it for several days now?
Thank you for reading!