PROMPT #120 – MAKING A LIST. CHECKING IT TWICE.
In this day of little computers disguised as phones, paper-and-pencil lists may be going the way of the dodo. Nonetheless, many people still make lists somehow. For this week, you do the same. Write a poem that is basically a list of what you like, or don’t like, about something or someone you like, or don’t like.
MARIE ELENA’S ATTEMPT
“On October 27, 1967 I met with my mother. She’d been dead since September 30, 1959. At 8:00 P.M. local time, Con Thien, Vietnam, as artillery shells landed within inches of my position with the Third Marines, my world, my body and my mind explosively turned upside down and inside out.” ~ Daniel Paicopulos
THIS IS WHAT VALOR LOOKS LIKE
What do I know of my mother
D e a d
at my teenage feet.
What do I know of being
in body and spirit
at the hands of an enemy
I didn’t choose.
What do I know of channeling
into charity for my fellow man.
What do I know of love,
benevolent and boundless,
born of anguish.
What do I know of smiling
for every being in my path.
What would I know of heroism,
but for you?
© copyright 2010, Marie Elena Good
THE GRAND OLD GAME
Baseball is spring and summer
blessing autumn with a burst of green.
Baseball is hot dogs and beer and peanuts
and all the time in the world to eat them.
Baseball is ballet afield, a circling chorus
dancing around a square,
forever rounding it off.
Baseball is waits, pauses, meditations,
punctuated from time to time by explosions.
Baseball always returns, to wait.
Baseball is failure.
Most of the time, you’re out,
yet now and then you cross the plate.
Baseball, therefore, trains you for life.
Baseball is coming home again.
A game of nights and lights these days,
baseball nonetheless brings eternal days,
for it is never punctual;
it is ruled by runs, not time.
Baseball is a game;
the umpire says, “play ball,”
not “work ball,”
which is why we can’t do without it.
© copyright 2013, William Preston