24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I’ve never understood …
How there are people who believe there are tiers
of people, with their own kind
at the top.
What qualities can they possibly
see in themselves that jump out and
shout their inherent worth?
Where lies the beauty?
The intrinsic value?
The enduring goodness?
I’ve never understood …
The arrogance is both
baffling and
maddening.
three ravens
somehow : out of the shadows : three black birds : hover : the first we have seen : if indeed they are even there : for they float : on air : without sound : almost without movement : & do not caw or cry out : at our approach
Milky is the first : to protest : with a gentle whine : then Ben : by stopping : then Priya : till we all stand still : no one knows why : but no one wants : to go closer : something about : those three ravens : screeches : silence
Stella shatters our spell : by croaking : although I see no crustaceans : i can think of better places : to picnic
& we wander on : away : wondering : what calamity occurred here : worse than elsewhere : to flaunt its : torment so brazenly
Ghosts are everywhere if you know where to look
and you’re willing to die
just enough to get their attention
tuning your ears to the extremely low frequencies
the government uses for weapons
ELF – machine elves – basic stuff
It’s where they live
I never believed in ghosts. But now,
I look out for them
inhabiting old spaces,
cold and dirty and
ready to make me believe
they exist.
Maybe afterwards
— when the haunting
becomes commonplace —
you will reach out to me and
tell me it’s alright to
be scared. To be wary,
even, of the dark places
so old that light has forgotten
about them.
You’ll tell me I’m right
about everything except
what makes you move
so deliberately, so discreetly, away
from me.
You’ll tell me that death
is inevitable, even as I
am cajoling you to wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
“Don’t You Know Me”
what will remembered
of me
will there be moments
where my spirit
will be called
a generation, maybe two
living
the rest is ancestry
our souls, when they return
will they still choose
to know me
my words, will they
live for eternity?
Running from the truth
Always ready to take flight
Vowing to look within
Eternally grateful for second chances
Never forgetting who I truly am
Lost in Oblivion
This digital age has become an undoing
Of communication and of common sense
Whole words whittled down to mete fragments of lingo
And at youthful minds own expense
The kids of today have lost their direction
Eyes deeply buried into their phones
To where many don’t know how to make conversation
Staying trapped in their tech all alone
I have heard of some that have walked into traffic
Without even batting an eye
Not aware of surroundings or risking tomorrow
With no clear answer as to why
The phone use may be a clear sign of addiction
A pandemic within its own right
For safety concerns are evermore apparent
In each downloaded gigabyte
There once was a time when a stream was where fish swam
And viruses were only the flu
Where smishing sounded but akin to a gurgle
And humanity still had a clue
Technology has brought us many an advantage
But each forward step is one back
And sadly, the youth of today are the victims
Of common sense’s great cyber attack
A twisty tube of a shock of colours
They swirl and bend; the mirrors and glass, partner in tandem
And at every turn
A new perspective, a new world
I shake the kaleidoscope again and again
Until I become fluid and I find my heart in the kaleidoscope…
I teach
middle schoolers
Who act like
pre school kids
Everyday I hear
The same complaints
And everyday I tell them
The same things over again
∞ repeating rules like a ˜broken record˜
At least… Pretend?
And everyday they listen
only to forget.
I teach, but more than that…
I meditate.
breathe in∼
breathe out∼
yeet.
my last long relationship ended
much like my childhood felt
the vague haunting of a roommate
though none were ever seen
a shower mat left on the floor
new pile of dirty dishes
the coffee maker empty
still warm
(my bed just the same)
the doors here are like magic
open and close all on their own
when summer comes
the chilly draft is almost tolerable
if there were a sighting
it vanished on the spot
a peripheral kind of love
I had grown quite used to
the more I tried to force connection
the more ghosts grew evasive
better still than slamming objects
or screaming through the walls
without something to physically grasp
I often wonder if it was all imagined
if my paranoid mind created apparitions
to make me feel less alone
or maybe I am the ghost instead
the one that lingers after all life has gone
with no one left to tell me
that I’m not really here