24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I'm book a nerd and nature lover, an ex-firefighter and a current liver-of-lifer who has learned a lot about chronic pain over the years because I have it. I've lost my identity and found it again, I've been in some deep, dark places, and somehow climbed out, and I want to help others do the same. I want to give voice to the invisible, and hope to the disheartened. Life is now, let's live it.
Wake up
Stretch
Jump of bed
Stretch
Go to kitchen
Wait
Wait
Wait
I hear something!
Footsteps
My person!
Nuzzles
Scratches
Nuzzles
Scratches
Fridge door opens
Food is coming!
Chase tail
Bark!
Chase tail
Bark!
Wag tail
Look up with adoring eyes
Food placed before me
Eat!
All at once
As fast as possible
Scarfing
No time for breaths
Scarf
Scarf
Scarf
Scarf
Lick
Lick
Lick the bowl clean
Lick again
Just in case
Amped
Food in my belly!
Happiness
Gleaming cubes
stacked one atop another,
each housing one body, one soul,
empty bodies, empty souls.
Each cube a home,
a white, gleaming box,
spare of furniture,
screens on all sides.
Each cube a prison,
each person a prisoner,
chained to screens,
soul sucking screens.
There is only inside
only these white gleaming walls,
there is no color, no smells,
no personal contact, no outside.
There is no connection,
when always connected,
no perspective, no understanding,
no meaning, no point.
Gleaming cubes,
stacked one atop another,
each cube a coffin,
housing one person, one soul.
Standing on the rocks,
looking upstream,
I am mesmerized by the rushing water.
Water tumbling over submerged boulders,
crashing into them, cascading over them,
splashing, tumultuous, alive with energy.
Water flowing under the overhanging trees.
touched by their branches,
but never slowed, never taken off course.
Water eddying, taking a break before rushing on,
calm, still, silent,
covered in water bugs and sticks and things.
Standing on the rocks,
looking up at the branches overhead,
the sky blue through the leaves,
the birds hoping to steal my catch.
But all I’ve caught is those branches.
Again.
Standing on the rocks,
I look up at my fishing line,
tangled and dangling from the branch overhead.
I set my rod down on the rocks,
scramble to the tree trunk once more,
climb the tree and out onto the branch once more,
retrieve my line and hook once more.
Sitting on the rocks,
looking upstream,
rod idle at my side,
I smile.
I love fishing.
It’s after hours, but the doors are still open,
music spills out onto the sidewalk,
mingling with the soft moonlight.
A couple spills out with the music,
loud and drunk and falling on one another,
but they are soon softened by the moonlight.
They raise their faces to one another
as before they raised their glasses,
they quiet, feeling the night on their faces.
The moon baths them in light,
this night that was never dark,
as the sun slowly rises.
It was quite a night,
they just met, these two lovers.
It will be a good morning.
The sunlight plays on the waves overhead
and reaches me in fractured rays.
It is a warm light,
in this cold, dark place.
It is a welcoming light,
in this frightening, foreboding place.
It is a waning light
as I sink deeper, further from it’s hope.
The sun’s rays no longer reach me
As I drift among the rays of the ocean floor.
I am scared.
I am new here.
Hello fellow poetry marathoners! I am participating in the half-marathon, never having done anything like this before I’m nervous and excited, sort of like I was when I ran my first half-marathon.
I primarily write prose, I’m writing a book on my experiences dealing with chronic pain issues, a sort of memoir blended with the science of pain, and I have a blog of the same nature.
I have also been doing flash fiction for a while, which sometimes takes on a poetic rhythm. I have been reading much more poetry recently and would really like to work at and experience the craft.
I’m grateful to be here and look forward to reading all of your’s words, learning from and getting to know you all.
