24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I’m Sandi- An artist all my life, I began writing poetry in high school but not seriously. In 2001 I took a poetry class, and that’s what lit the fire for me. Ever since, I’ve been writing when the fire burns hot and wild. I graduated from the Art Institute of Philadelphia in 1988 and then pursued writing and poetry in the new millennium. This will be my fifth year in the marathon.
Mode of operation there
Yet to be found here
Soft cotton and crimson stain
Telltale color of wrongdoing, pain
Exposed digits peek from inside
Right hand clutching something, green
Is it paper? What can it mean?
On the table
Unaware, unseen
Sits a key.
– Sandra Johnson, 9/2/2023
She’s a brave, vibrant girl
with golden, bouncy curls
bears and foxes walk
while she skips and talks.
Not just talk, she sings
a strange tune that rings
other animals follow
into parks and woody hollows.
Why they heed her sweet voice
yet Ignore prey and noise
is a mystery to all
and they wonder in awe.
These animals, you’ll hear
raid the camps nearby there
food in tents and backpacks
they share with her snacks.
In full moon, especially
it’s really a sight to see
animal and human alike
frolic and hop like tikes.
And at night, if you please
they all slumber ‘neath trees
with the girl in between
brewing more of her dreams.
– Sandra Johnson, 9/2/23
Staring at bare paper I see light
nouns and verbs they love to pick fights
like empty canvas yearns paint
page woos brain to create
sometimes wall is blank
but mind, it cranks
masterpiece
again
wins.
– Sandra Johnson, 9/2/23
A check point vacant
this is how I start the game
wordless and alone.
– Sandra Johnson, 9/2/2023
Untitled
I’m excited to see
new prompts just for me
my brain tossed around
making poetry soft and round.
This year, will be harder
we’ll all think and write smarter
to be chosen, the author
of rare printed word’s honor.
– Sandra Johnson, 8/26/2023
Think, quick nap before I drink
brew, slow cool, askew
score, unfinished, beneath snores.
– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022
The stand, but not upright, uptight
letting fatigue drag me where it may
leaning against structures at night
spewing words, streaming plays
off the page, it makes no sense
over cobblestones, under a fence
how could I let them get away?
demand them return,
but stubborn, they stay
too exhausted to will them back
they frolic and tease me, slip in cracks
confusion blocks my only stand
my body buckling with sleep’s frond
waves will away, like a wand
but then, I cry, ‘please do return
so you may help my poem burn!’
listening then, my words now stand
back on the paper
clutched firm in my hand.
– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022
Trapped betwixt the woods and swamp
the truck is broken, stopped
like a love now stumped, bumped
tenderness began this mess
or lack of it, long after white dress
no more caress, relations either
bi-yearly, except for something other
allowed, but now an addict’s problem
eyes on screen, just can’t stop ‘em
no soft words, just anger mumbled
talking once calm, now hearing fumbled
you dare advise, when yours is marred?
Decisions she must make, but stuck
like his sputtering, stuttering truck
cares enough to strive, revive,
with tender tries
this broken thing
before love stings.
– Sandra Johnson, June 25, 2022
In a clear, small caddy
emotion eggs they sit
each one makes the eater feel
the feeling face on it.
Should I choose the first one,
frazzled, scrambled in both ends
second, worried, like I get
when itchy rash won’t mend.
Third, I like the very most
happy, sun side up
next one, scared eyes wide
must be jalapeños inside
I dare not touch that pup.
The back row, I can imagine now
sad, shocked and sick, and how
that one’s uncooked, and pallid
will never in mouth be swallowed.
The very last emotion, angering
this one’s blown out, yolk strings dangling
need this one when phone is ringing
unknown call, confront some spamming.
I’d love to share emotion eggs
they may just come in handy
love and peace omelettes I give the world
‘til together it’s just dandy.
– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022
Photo credit: Tengyart on Unsplash
I shall have a quick second breakfast
after all the words I wrote past
in between five poems last
snooze, yet not oversleep
bagels smeared with cheese
with coffee, take
keep awake
hand and
brain.
– Sandra Johnson, June 26, 2022