24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Diabolical, the night. Mist in the void.
Yet, there is clarity under its parasol,
Beauty in its sincerity, and rest.
Diabolical, daylight, an empty chasm.
Filthy in its mire, cold under its burn,
Hideous in its lies, and unrest.
ANGELS ON EARTH
Dressed in white with a caring face
Is that an angel with an angelic face?
Who is the person walking with majestic steps?
Is he the head of this place called paradise?
Does he have magic in his hand?
How does he cure aches and pains in every land?
What is the bitter-sweet portion given in a pill or a bottle?
Will that portion make us immortal?
Where is the magic wand which is found in every angel’s hand?
This angel has a strange thing called stethoscope in his hand
The stethoscope claims to hear the beats of our heart
Will it now give us only happiness in our cart?
The angels have descended on earth
And its our duty to realise their worth
The angel on Earth is called a DOCTOR
We should only love, support, respect our protector and benefactor.
BY
SHREYA SURAJ
the ascending falcon
has a lofty goal
to use their talon
and find a supper vole
the night is closing in
testing their eye
it’s about to begin
I’ve always found it haunting when the old tales spoke of death
Maybe ones more obvious like Macbeth
Always a glass of wine ready to be served
Makes you wonder if the dead got what they deserved
But lift the glass and take the sip
Of the blood spilled that fight once dripped
Where is your young lad?
I’ve never had a son! Stunned.
Who do you talk to?
My lover, and friend.
You came here alone, in grief,
What sins do you bare?
Writhing shadows etch,
He runs from the memories,
Sea embedded feet.
Hour 21
9/3/2023
“…By Any Other Name…”
The petals wither,
fall and shiver – as each stem
begins to slumber.
Come tomorrow will awake
and dance with their life anew.
Each garden echoes
movement and song as birds preen,
and mates abound.
Their warbling throats fill the grounds.
The vibrant hues soon beguile.
Chris
(C) Chris Twyford 9/3/2023
She’s singing again
why can’t she understand me?
I know the others need her, three
but more so do I
so I get louder, why?
But need is in order
please pick me up
I’m more important
ah, I like that song
calm down, not for long
and that elephant sound
my screams, they will drown
goodie, my turn
a bottle, I earn
and her smiling face
my yells are erased
a cuddle or two
a whispered coo
rocking, swaying
I forget why
I cried.
– Sandra Johnson, 9-3-2023
Grape Jelly
My favorite lunch was peanut butter
and jelly on white or whole wheat
with the crust cut off and cut on a diagonal
or I wouldn’t eat it. Crunchy or smooth
peanut butter, I vacillated between them.
Grape jelly. Not strawberry or raspberry
or orange marmalade that I still dislike,
and the only butter was peanut butter.
Grape jelly, like I put on white rice
and still do, though I don’t know why,
maybe because rice is sticky like
Nana’s farina and she always put
a spoonful of grape into the middle
and let me mix it up. I didn’t always
eat it but I liked it.
Today, my favorite lunch is Goober’s,
the brilliant invention of peanut butter
and grape jelly in a jar; a spoon, no need
for bread or cutting crust or diagonal cuts.
Once, I bought strawberry Goober’s,
just once.
Some people put grape jelly in sauce
saying it cuts the acid from tomatoes
but I’ve never done it. I did find
a recipe for meatballs cooked in
grape jelly and ketchup, another favorite
growing up, a staple for hiding my peas
and drowning anything I didn’t like.
I’m going to make these meatballs,
my kind of simple. Frozen meatballs,
store bought ketchup and grape jelly.
Slow cook, serve hot over white rice.
Perfect pairings.
~ J R Turek Hour 18
ABILITY
I thought I could become a Mathematician
Till I came across Differentiability
I thought I could become a Chemist
Till I came across Malleability
I thought I could become a cook
Till I came across palatability
I thought I could be a gymnast
Till I learnt about flexibility
I felt as if I was lost in the world
I seemed to be only focussing on my disability
Then God made me a mother
And taught me the importance of love and responsibility.
By
SHREYA SURAJ
