Poetry class #8
ESCAPE AWAY HOME
Home. I walk out of my shoes,
My briefcase thumping to the floor,
My coat and my day
Discarded in a chair.
Feet tucked beneath me, in Gram’s comforter,
I am swathed against day-end cold.
Coffee cuddled to my chest,
I plan my escape.
I munch on a granola bar, longing
For waybread and South Farthing wine.
The recipes both treasure-kept
There, and far away.
The steam rising from my coffee cup
Is mist enough to let me
Slip unseen beneath the lines
To wander familiar paths.
Fingers rippling through the leaves, I meander
Seeking memories to select my way.
Each vista has its charm.
How can I choose?
The Lay of Leithien to quiet fear
As evil black creeps up behind?
No, Weathertop is not
The place to start.
I’m called by bantering of old friends,
By laughter and by merry tales,
And poems forged beneath stars
Shining on homey Rivendell.
I will not start at Balrog fire.
I can’t lose Gandalf once again,
And weep aloud with friends
The loss of hope.
I am tempted by the golden elanor
That grows beneath the mallorn trees
In sweet Lothlórian, so fair,
Home to Queen Galadriel.
Maybe to Fangorn Forest I’ll go, like
Little hobbits travel worn, to hear
The Ents converse and sing,
And plan their war.
Bilbo’s party is the place to start:
Let it all begin once more.
I’ll start afresh to meet
Again my friends, anew.
Hobbits, wizards, elves, dwarves, men ~ and I
Will meet them one by one,
And find their world again
Both old and new.
What can I bring for Bilbo’s gift?
What present for this hobbit friend?
My briefcase?! Just the thing:
A mathom, yes, indeed!
There are songs and laughter all around,
Food enough and then some more,
Fireworks to thrill the crowd
And call me home.
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