24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
without a sound
i never heard
a quiet
that deafens
so loudly
hurting my ears
until the day i went
from here to there
standing on the edge
of a cliff
listening
into the wilderness
of the past
out west
my foot
one step to the next
worn center stones
ancient peoples
everywhere
if only you looked
with your mind
softly
quietly
reverently
hearing them roar
without making a sound
Every day, I try to take at least ten thousand steps.
Every hour, when I’m writing, I get up from my hard chair,
measure time with the clock
and the laps through the great room, down the long hall,
and back again.
The scientist in me measures everything, including how many laps
in an hour.
In the before time, there was a huge treadmill
filling the space between the sitting area and kitchen.
It’s rumbling noise bothered the dogs and
made it hard for the man to listen to the television
as I let the machine do the counting, miles,
miles per hour, the daily hour
while I read from the tablet in front of me.
I read a lot of books that way, carving out time
for two tools in my self-care kit.
Then, when everything shut down,
when I had more time than ever,
the treadmill quit.
Just like that.
I ordered the mother board from Amazon,
but we never got it set just right.
We hauled the treadmill to the thrift store,
set it on the covered porch,
and drove away.
The house felt bigger.
There was space to move,
and I worked out my route.
I had less time to read,
but more time to think.
Today, in the sixth hour of writing,
I measure my laps
before sitting to write again,
and guess what the prompt is,
what I’m to write about.
Tell me without saying the word.
Your turn.
On little paws
She walks like a queen
She’s sweet and nibble
Until she trips and falls
She glances around, hoping
It was unseen!
Tiny golden lady,
She was born to run through trees
Tumbling with other puppies
She only reached for grace
Amongst the city streets
Little ears raised
Short hair
Broken nose from rough puppy play
She wishes to be all the things
That she isn’t
Narrow and trim,
She wants to be curved
She wishes for long ears
Instead of her ones so pert
She bemoans her broken nose
But she still loves to fight
She still trips over her own feet
When she gets excited or forgets
Her wee self
Her ears only hang askance from
Her pulling them to hang low
To try to look more like other dogs look
She trims her nails with her teeth
For the always perfect manicure
Don’t point it out
You’ll embarrass the Dear
We all have our vanities
Even tiny dogs
We all wish sometimes
To be someway that we simply are not
My beautiful girl, my sweet golden heart,
You’re perfect the way you are,
From the tip of your nose to the points of toes
She’ll never believe me
The same way any human won’t see
How others love the very things
About them
That they wish they could change
Lets not pull our ears down
And make them crooked with longing
We are what we are
And loved dearly for being
The faster I go,
the less it will hurt,
pace in circles
contain the angst.
The faster I go,
the more I will fall
my body numb
my mind blank.
Slow down and stroll,
be present in the world.
Inhale the scent of the
rose, the grass, the earth.
Slow down your step,
feel the breeze
wrap you in it’s embrace,
let the sunshine inside.
Listen for the birds,
the rushing water.
Slow down.
Paths
You take my hand in yours
as we roam the city streets
I never want to be anywhere else
you ask me if I have ever loved anyone
at this moment, I know I have
I can feel your heartbeat
like the sounds of our feet
as we follow the path before us
I know that I would follow you
into oblivion, if I could
I would do anything to
keep myself on this road
the funny thing is that
as hard as I may try
I always end up on my own path
and never the one before me
Pieces of circuitry line the temple forming an electric puzzle
Visitors wander through the maze inside, each for their own reason
Each meditating as they search for meaning in their brave new world
The maze shifts and folds, blocking the path for some, opening for others
A deafening hum of electricity echoes throughout the temple
They follow the current, energy flowing through their nerves
Lost souls flicker out. Broken cogs
Each failed meditation pruned back to save energy for the remaining few
At the end, an epiphany
Awakening
For most an understanding of theirselves
Their connection to the temple, to each other, to me
Foot moved from left to right.
sand, gravel, dirt, concrete.
No car but miles of the slower path.
Stopping to smell the roses and picking fresh wild berries.
Talking and laughing.
No need to hurry on a nice afternoon.
Wandering by the sea,
Shore was something to see…
With the sun too trying to take a dip,
As if cooling self after the heat’s heap…
The silent water touching the feet,
By waves too, descending, as if preparing to sleep…
Brought something crashing beneath the feet,
Initially feeling a stone or some junk lying by the watery sheet…
Lifted it up, to find it absurd,
An old wine bottle with some paper insert…
Interesting did it look,
With some scribbling along attached a hook…
Sat in peace, resting anxiety and excitement,
To have a close look, examining the object…
A year mentioned was way older than the self,
Of an era that by now had totally exhausted itself…
By now was so very clear,
A time capsule was it, the one was holding near…
Struggled to get the sheet, that looked like a letter,
Slowly worked it out, wanting to read the matter…
Strange were the writings in form of some objects,
Had sea, mountains, ships, pirates, danger as subjects…
Behind were words to find the place,
Dare for adventure, to become king of the space…
Are we there yet, Mommy? Are we there yet?
Soon, baby, soon.
That’s what I kept telling my son who sat in the back seat.
Mile after mile as we drove to our destination.
Daddy.
He was returning from his last tour of duty overseas.
Daddy.
He was finally coming home.
Daddy.
My husband’s “mini-me” kept pointing out the window at each plane he saw.
Is that him, Mommy? Is that him?
I don’t know, baby, I don’t know.
That’s what I kept telling my son who sat in the back seat.
Mile after mile as we drove to our destination.
It had been a year since my husband left. A lot had happened in that time.
I looked down at my growing belly and sighed.
Having lost
She relives the moment each day,
puttering around the kitchen, believing
there are still six mouths to feed instead
of only one. The pantry is full
with canned goods past expiration dates
and cupboards overflowing with unopened
Items bought on a whim. Each day,
she brings home something new
she doesn’t need, filling the void
of being alone and not busy enough
to avoid the memory of that moment,
the one she cannot bear to remember.
So, the kitchen still hums
with the dishwasher each night, cleaning
dishes made useful for another meal,
cooked with care for people who have left.