24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I continued through the dust and debris
Hearing voices, faint and unrecognizable
Adults, children, trapped
Had I left them in my memory that long?
Were they me?
Am I saving myself?
I swear I didn’t mean to leave you there
When my multi-story facade collapsed
Into a pile of yesterday
Power’d down, no hope to shrimp
Comes down heavy, the crash of a blimp
Gi’d arms go in, carotid crimped
Gurgle for breath, body goes limp
Out at dawn
Her favorite trail
Open, before her
Soles, strumming the dirt
she finds a rhythm
Her heart, picks up the beat
Lifting her face
to the sky
She smiles
Inhaling deeply
Fresh Air
Sunshine
the path varies
Shadows
cast and tossed
Birds twittering
Tickling the air
ground creatures
Scuttle
Rustling the leaves
in the underbrush
All this savory
Sensory
Grounds her soul
Perfect reason
for a
Saturday stroll
POEM 06
I have strolled this path many a morning. My daily constitutional I choose to call it.
The suns above the horizon already drying the dew. The red squirrels already having a fit.
Sometimes my pace is hurried. My mind won’t grasp a thought.
The birds calling above mere noise, as peace on this tarry I’ve sought.
Sometimes I amble along slowly, matching the rhythm of the breeze.
My soul is labored sometimes on these treks. Sometimes I’m so at ease.
This footpath meanders through a scant woods with clearings here and there.
The shadows grow and shrink with time as light drops without a care.
I journey back home mostly on the straight way. I peer down a crooked leg of the woods and wonder where it goes.
Ah maybe someday I’ll travel there into its cool, damp darkness, rushing along as my fear grows.
Each footfall brings me farther from you
and I know it is cliche to miss you
in the length from your doorframe
to the front door of my Ford Escape
but you’ve closed the sliding glass
before I had the chance to look once more
at those melting eyes that blend so well
with the leather of the couch you had me on
so rather I will think of the gravel beneath my feet
wearing away at the soles of my shoes
first at the heel, then arch, then tip
imagining what nakedness feels like
amongst the stones.
Somber Samba
Rapturous bodies heave in the lust urgency of becoming one,
We were willing witnesses to the scene and grotesque masquerade,
The vision of our new unity brought to life as life was undone,
Phantoms of the rapacious demise before our collective conscious displayed.
Satisfaction retreats in the wake of our transient beings,
New flesh to be extracted to satiate the ever-growing desires,
The next whirl of the massacred lechery to must be found and unwilling,
One pirouette at this new camaraderie stoking my own fires.
The wheel shall ever turn in favor of the choice of execution,
My salacious Valkyrie shall bequeath our next target,
Her choice should be ever just in favor of the unjust expiration,
A heightened challenge to test our venery and testing object.
A new laceration in dance begins,
She will choose,
Blood driven step.
Before finally giving up jogging,
the voice of a 5 yo
had asked out loud
why I was running so slowly.
I stubbornly sped up
for a quick burst
to leave her and mother behind.
On my longer runs I used to encounter
a very fast paced hiker type
who also got my competitive
juices flowing.
Now, I take to the trail
at an leisurely clip and
have not attracted unwanted
attention by young whippersnappers
and have not been bothered by the comings
and goings of the other trespassers
of my path as I stop to watch
the pileated woodpecker fly
from tree to tree.
I don’t miss the jogging.
a penny saved is a penny earned
so put your money where your
mouth is unless
the cat’s got your tongue,
and he does, until he cries over spilled milk—
you run for the hills.
time heals all wounds
except yours
because all is fair
in love and war
so you’re back to the drawing board
and all bent out of shape
but at least—
curiosity killed the cat.
good things come to those who wait
so you better hold your horses,
and you do, until they take off
at the speed of light. it’s the same old story—
let the sleeping dogs lie.
you only live once,
that’s the silver lining. soon, you’ll be
dead as doornail and
opportunity doesn’t knock twice.
knock knock! who’s there?
look what the cat dragged in!
that cat looks like death warmed over!
and he’s got your tongue again!
Swirling heat
behind the beat
of sun and golden ray
We gather on the hillside
Along the banks we play
lingering a moment
beneath the heat
of day.
Swim sweet songs of beauty
ripples in the stream
Breathe beneath the water
Mermaids in a dream.
I will sleep beneath the trees
as soft a wind to sway
Awakening to birdsong
There is magic
in this day.
Poem 6
Creativity
Where do I find creativity?
It’s often not at my desk
where nothing much changes
except on this electronic gadget
that wants something from me.
I enjoy strolling amongst
an ever-changing landscape
that speaks in a language
all its own.
I trek past lush gardens
that sometimes can’t
contain their exuberance
and overflow onto what
used to be boring grass
strips by the street.
I hike trough the woods
where once in a while
a house in a clearing
has a Rapunzel like tower
just lacking her hair.
I march into downtown
met by overwhelming input
from so many directions.
I don’t know where to look until
someone so down on his luck
no longer pleads with his eyes
which says much to me.
Other times I plod through mud
turn head down from the rain
and remember a time I was lost
in a storm that altered my life.
I promenade through my neighborhood
and catch up on news that might
sound a lot like gossip if you’re not
from around here.
Where do I find creativity?
The answer might be nowhere.
When I look up
from my fog…
and notice…
the bright red package
that is parachuting down toward me
I stand with open mouth
and watch it float in the breeze
with a fluorescent green label
that has my name on it.
I reach out to grab it
and a voice screams
Don’t be greedy!
Another package will come
but you need to trust rather than want
because after all…isn’t that why you’re here?