24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Jessica L. Sparrow writes Gothic fiction, supernatural thrillers, and ethereal poetry that can save or damn your soul. Currently, she has finished her first gothic paranormal novel, The Amber Within, a story brimming with Puerto Rican mysticism, love, and power. Jessica's writing is heavily influenced by the bruja Puerto Rican roots embodied by the matriarchs in her family. She's also a big fan of 19th Century literature. When she is not busy cooking up delicious spells in the kitchen, she is usually playing with her 12 1/2-yr old shorkie, Yoshi, and binge-watching horror movies with her husband, Jason.
Our cups runneth over with wine, vodka, and mead
We ingest as much as the rest as confessions begin to breed.
Emptying our chalice will tend to fill our greed.
The drinks have filled us with regret and befuddled pleads
for someone to hold her hair as she heaves.
The silver moon shines
upon the indigo sea
transcending the tide
Here me
as I bellow
my mind has troubled me
far too many times to perceive
Free me
Land of star shaped green trees that speak of atrocities
Mountain Terrains carved with sacred secret spots of our pain
Forever hidden from our oppressors
who murdered
us for capital gain
Tiny frogs
sing songs
of celestial nights
While we gathered ourselves for a fitting fight
September, we remember,
surrounded by our own elements of Earth, Wind, and Fire
As we designed a rebellion
to swiftly gain justice,
a dream we deservedly desire
He reached to touch her existence but could not further his cause.
She was far beyond his reach in a place that was forbidden,
in the stars that was never written.
Across the sun and upon the moon
Her shadow will forever be in tuned,
with a fate of a love that would be forever doomed.
No open skies
No songs of romanticism
He cannot be held accountable for trying to reach her prism
A rainbow of colors to hold his desires prison.
I found a receipt in an inspirational writer’s book
It cried out to me about past time promises and desires
Unfortunately, that was a decade or so ago.
Maritime crustaceans making their way to our stomachs
As we crack a few shells and throw the filth in a bucket.
Ready and available, we summon the spices
You know, the butter, the old bay and any other that entices.
Lo and behold, do not forget about the citrus beer
A surmountable amount is always revered.
Never too much to pile on the broken legs
Demolishing those last is the only way.
From her ancestors
she bore a line of magic
that transformed all life
The flames from the fireplace ferociously heat my backside,
As I keep my sights upon the desolate wintry fright.
Frigid and wisped, the wind blows the panes.
While my fingers trace a few letters on the bitter frosty bays.
A glacial heat vibrates through me rolling electricity through my spine
as a crack from the logs sound out from behind
But I stay staring at the bleak December we waited for.
The one that you have spoken with such fervor before.
The one with a few horrid ghost tales of talking black birds that you so abhor.
Leaving me to crave and rave for a haunting much like yours,
Forevermore.
I wrote upon the wintry glass, nevermore.
Above us…
The trees whisper
As the crisp afternoon
Swiftly breezes through the seasons
It’s Autumn!