My day seven entry for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. This is another one that feels somewhat unfinished to me, but I’m calling good enough for now.
Pick an escape, any escape Knock on the door of fate What does the glass orb show? A way out or a way in? Which way out, which way in? Or is the vision dim? Let the stars chart a path If no path can be seen Venture into the darkness. But take a light. Pick a light, any light.
My day six entry for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. I decided today to follow their prompt which suggested using rhyme in some way. I have a feeling I will add more to this later, but for now I’m calling it done enough.
Things I Am Choosing to Ignore
The widening crack in the bathroom wall The box of “decluttered” items in my entry hall
The plan I made for this day last night The opportunity to make that right
The distance between my heart and head The number of books on my list “to be read”
The conspiracy theories of a stranger A growing sense of impending danger
Criticism from people who have no clue And the agendas they want to pursue
Day 4 entry for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon. For this one in particular, I feel the need to remind everyone it’s a rough draft. I only had a few free minutes today. I chose a list of random words and tried to connect them without overthinking.
Among Faces I Know
Among faces I know Time has made many deep Change coming in the enrichment of details Dimes spent to cover the etchings, Pursuing erasure, can only stretch so far The face will do its job of showing the Threads that create a life story May my eyes seek the depth, the details, The story, the human within the story
When urban deer, well adapted to our city ways, casually grazed everything else to the ground last year my milkweed survived unscathed, their pearly glue-like sap a genius survival trick. I watched each day for monarchs. Two appeared eventually. I planted these just for you, spread the word, I would have said if I spoke butterfly. Spring again. Green shoots break through and my watchful gaze is renewed. Soon emerald leaves will unfurl spreading like hands in supplication. I hope the plea is understandable to the monarchs: I’m here to serve. Please come. Bring your friends.
I already have some sponsors among family and friends. If anyone else feels moved to donate, you can click on the link and scroll down to “donate to a participant.” Find Ida Fogle on the drop-down menu. That’s me.
The coordinator is sending writing prompts to participants. Today’s email contained a few, including the Katie Peterson poem “At the Very Beginning.” In response, I decided to write a poem called “At the Very End.”
At the Very End
At the very end I want to be in the middle of something a poem half finished, a bite of pecan pie in my mouth taste buds in the act of signaling my brain; a shovel in my hands, turning compost, making blisters eggshells and broccoli stems peeking from the dirt; hiking a newly discovered trail, water bottle lifted; observing the magnitude of the Milky Way head tilted to the night sky, my ears open to owl hoots; feet on the pedals of my bike, thigh muscles burning; a laugh making its way up from my belly while gathered at a familiar table with friends; finger clicking photos of magnolia trees and peonies; searching for the answer to a burning question, mind churning; creating what was planned to be a memory; telling my family, I love–