24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
In this short bio, my every breath.
Cat cry breaks the night
right under my bedroom window.
It has a burgundy wildness
that is the opposite of my
outward tame energy.
We are not adversaries, this cat and I.
we compliment each
Like autumn and spring
like sky and sea..
Together we own
the brash spells of night.
J. Pratt-Walter
6/22/2019
There, right there
on the living room floor
lays the last of an
old growth forest.
Hemlock, military- tight straight grain
that never again will smell
the rain, the hungry draped mosses,
the first sun of summer solstice.
Even horizontal with death,
this wood listens, still misses the
flowery haze of
bird song.
J. Pratt-Walter
6/22/2019
I am grasping the art of flight.
It might be a different method
than you think,
no machinery or wings required.
I prep the airy path
behind my eyes and down the throat’s runway;
the pre-flight check
is buzzing and complete.
A magic air strides through my lungs.
I take my leave of the common and mundane.
I greenly fly. I’m more alive
than life.
I land next to you.
J. Pratt-Walter
6/22/2019
Like a paper old cocoon
I have bent back the husk
of another year
and scuffled it open,
and only time will say
if it reveals a dream
or a nightmare.
J. Pratt-Walter
6/22/2019
in those so-long-ago days
oh. how felt born to dance with you
i know none of those dance-dreams
jiggled in you nor loosened arms
in tingling wingling circles
about your hips
nor tilted the slight quiver
of a mouth alight with unspeakable
savor briefly smoky then
buttery with honey on the side
and all the way
down
it all begins with
the dance damn it
j. pratt-walter
6/22/2019
Hot Day
Hard Rock Cafe
Jesus is trying to find
someone to grind.
He’s very pale, wearing
red shorts.
In the pool he’s trying
water sports.
In the corner
girls are twerking.
I wonder how his salvation
is working.
He’s rather dry
and orders a beer.
Good thing there’s
no crucifixion here.
J. Pratt-Walter
6/22/2019
‘
Butterfly glory
clamors for your attention.
I’m still a brown moth.
J. Pratt-Walter
6/22/2019
My love is not so loud
as trumpet’s blaze,
but mystery of leaf
in Autumn’s haze.
I love you like the mountain
turns to sand,
as snowmelt, drop by drop,
reforms the land.
(this will be added to)
Jennifer Pratt-Walter
6/22/2019
You don’t know which words
to even dig for.
You’re paralyzed as rock
but at least that keeps you
from jumping off the cliff,
at least you recognize all the problems
lining up to take you even lower
past all the heaped-up piles
of useless syllables
that jumped.
J. Pratt-Walter
6/22/2019
We’re old enough to recognize
how wise and cool we are,
and young enough to apply
our wisdom almost almost
forever.
J. Pratt-Walter
6/22/2019