Monday February 15th, 2010

The exercise:

Back at work today after my little four day weekend. So our prompt shall be: the return.


The house is dark, empty, and cold,
As though it has been sold.
But I know he's just running late,
So I still lie in wait.

Hunger is messing with my mind,
It's been years since I've dined!
But I will be strong, good, and true -
I have a job to do.

At last I hear a car door close
And my teeth are exposed.
The front door opens just a crack,
Now I launch my attack!

He hollers at me to get down,
While laughing like a clown!
Master's home! I can hardly breathe!
Now I can have my treat!


Greg said...

Four day weekend? Very nice! I think I've got to wait till Easter for that to happen this year in the UK.

That's a great poem, with a lovely little twist there at the end. Two comments though: you've got like for lie in the last line of the first verse; and the last two lines of the poem don't really rhyme, unlike every other couplet in the poem. I know there's a half-rhyme there, but it seems a little unfinished somehow.

And are you following our judging troubles on the poetry tournament at the moment? There's never a contest goes by without one!

The return

Muscles taut like springs
Made from quenched steel
And tightened, tightened,
Until you can hear them squeak.
The thwock incorporates,
And a momentary disappointment
Acts like rust.
But blood, sanguine and pervasive
Relubricates, and feet
snap into movement, legs
push away with power and bring
the body into pure alignment.
Arms swing, muscles unleashing
Their potentiated energy
And in a melancholy flash
The tennis ball returns again
And the point hangs in the balance.

[Footnote: Yellow is the colour of melancholy.]

Marc said...

Well, I had to use two vacation days to make it happen, but it was well worth it :)

Sigh, stupid typo. Thanks, I've fixed it now.

And indeed I have been. Just left a comment, actually.

Well, your poem certainly had me going in the wrong direction! Nicely done :)

Monica Manning said...

I got carried away with mine. Not only is it long, but a little gruesome. I have posted the beginning here, but included a link to continue reading, if you so desire. I'm beginning to think that my nightmares may have some benefit after all!

The Return

It had been weeks since he had walked through this door. Jake stood on the front porch and stared at the weathered wood. A few patches of paint remained—the only indication that the door had once been red.

Leaving had not been easy. Staying, he knew, would have been worse.

He couldn’t listen to the shouting anymore, witness his father’s maniacal tirades, watch his mother cower in terror. He knew, now, why she didn’t defend herself. She had known that if the man the law recognized as his father—though he never saw him as that—had nothing else to beat on, he would turn to her son. And Jake knew, deep in the pit of his soul, that it would mean more than just a beating.

The day he left was testament to that.

(Continue here. A warning: The story is graphic.)

Marc said...

Monica - thanks for your discretion and I'll leave a proper comment on your blog once I've read the full story.

Very compelling start, I can say that right now!