Monsters lurk behind the door.
What lives beyond it?
Am I safe?
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
John Dutton has taught language arts to middle school students in Prince William County for more years than he can remember. Seeing that the life of a teacher is filled with stacks upon stacks of papers waiting to be graded, he prefers spending his time as a classroom scribe writing alongside his students. He enjoys writing poetry and stories because anything is possible when pencil hits paper! In January 2015, John began hosting Spilled Ink. Spilled Ink is an open microphone night celebrating the written word held on the fourth Friday of the month at Jirani Coffeehouse in Old Towne, Manassas. It is open to all writers, authors, poets, or scribblers. All are welcome to read or listen. Please see his website at www.SpilledInkVA.com. John has published three books: "Armadillo Lost Her Pillow," "Argument at the Airport," and "Billy Pug’s Bad Day." All are now on Amazon!
Monsters lurk behind the door.
What lives beyond it?
Am I safe?
I took the worn path.
My life has been a struggle
by the choices I have made.
I’d do it again.
For conflict builds character,
And I do not fear conflict.
Alone in my chair
The T.V. all to myself
Netflix at midnight
An ice-cold beer in my hand
The dog asleep at my feet
I grab our buckets off the carport floor,
as the soft glow from the lightbulb welcomes us.
The taste of cinnamon still on my lips –
I will have another cup of tea upon my return.
I wrap my winter jacket around me,
as a slight tremor of chills greet us on this December morn.
Grace holds my elbow for support,
as we walk the soft, damp grass around the ballfield.
Without a word, we gather the wild beets.
As I watch my daughter fill her bucket,
I know there is nowhere I would rather be
than wandering Elk Bayou Park in Tulare County, California.
The Night Sky arrives ever so slowly
Bringing forth twinkling stars
Every twenty-four hours.
Each star formed from a mass of gas and dust.
He leaves only when his largest star needs to sleep.
Surrounded by sunflowers
Sitting on a swing
Toes dragging in the dirt
My mind wandering on her
–
I try to gather courage
Surrounded by sunflowers
Toes drawing hearts in the dirt
Wishing she was at my side
–
Toes retracing her name
Seeing her sitting on this swing
Surrounded by sunflowers
Just snuggling with me
–
Sun high in the sky
A shadow passes over me
“May I join you?” she asks
Surrounded by sunflowers
Outside my classroom window
The world waits for me to explore it.
Trails beckon me to tread on them.
Creeks whisper, “Come and fish.”
The Open Road spreads his arms wide
while shouting, “I am yours!”
“Mr. Dutton, can you repeat that?”
disrupts my daydreaming.
I warp back into the enclosed walls of my classroom,
and I continue with the lesson.
Mom passed in July.
Her apartment is now bare,
And she is at peace.
Mr. Exhaustion
Arrives home after another softball weekend –
Sunburned, hungry, and hating that Monday’s coming –
Ponders dinner options
Deciding on peanut butter bread
Eating over the sink
In order to avoid washing dishes
Wiping the butter knife off with a napkin
Disposing said napkin in the trash
Slipping the “clean” butter knife back in the drawer
Leaving the open peanut butter jar and loaf of bread out
Stumbling up the stairs to bed
Stepping on his daughter’s dirty uniform
Leaving the laundry for another day
Sprawling onto said bed
Without even getting under the covers
Mrs. Exhaustion is already asleep
Tomorrow waits for him, them
Always
Life is a prison made of brick walls that reach the sky.
Loads of responsibility like laundry and landscaping,
Along with chauffeuring the kids to tournaments every weekend.
Just wishing you could curl up on the couch and fall asleep.
Loads of responsibility like laundry and landscaping,
Chores that are never completed even when you finish early.
Just wishing you could curl up on the couch and fall asleep,
Knowing that your prison walls will never fall.
Chores that are never completed even when you finish early.
Along with chauffeuring the kids to tournaments every weekend,
Knowing that your prison walls will never fall.
Life is a prison made of brick walls that reach the sky.