3 PM

The pen in my hand

the clock on the wall.

Can the pen write fast enough

before time passes?

Ideas swarm in my head

words reach out.

Some land on the page

others fly on by.

When the right ones get together

a poem may be born.

2PM post

People come and go

all the time

some want coffee

some a doughnut

others it seems

come to enjoy the scene.

Never sure what they want

or if they want at all,

what they need

can’t be bought.

Someone to talk to

just a short chat

loneliness hurts

we can all help

with a smile.

 

Death 1 PM

the end

that’s it

gone forever

remembered maybe?

By whom

and why?

Did I do something great

or even good?

What does it take

to be remembered?

Is it how I laughed

or my crooked smile

Or my stubborness

about never giving up.

Short on Time Noon

Noon time hour

Time is running short for this hour

yes, I took a nap to recharge brain power.

Still searching for words…

My muse isn’t participating

which has me worried.

I forgot to say it’s mandatory

To be here for the 24 hour duration

without compensation.

Sounds easy

Writing one poem every hour sounds easy, not so. It’s an emotional process. Poetry is about feelings and how we react, both reading and writing

(one of) My Poem for Today 11 AM

11AM

Quiet

cloudy

dog and cat are sleeping.

Husband and son are working

daughter is at volleyball practice.

I’m here, writing

words barely flowing.

Stepped outside for a few

cool and nice end of summer day

feels like fall in New England(CT)

10AM post

Too quiet here…

Did I say that?

Can’t be.

Someone is bound to appear

not quietly either.

Hey mom, can you help me

mom, I need…

mom, can we go…

School starts when?

Oh yeah, today is Saturday…

 

Time

9AM Post

Writing from here today

a bit strange

The house is quiet

I like this

Had trouble with my CD player for music

it’s working now

Had trouble learning to post

figured it out, I hope

Already 40 minutes past the hour

Wow, time flies

 

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