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.