24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Haunt me
Rudy Shops Chicago For His Candidate
It was as if
Satan escorted the future
to the record store
And walked right past me
Giving me, briefly
The choices of
Infamy or freedom
As I stood closer
Than the security detail
Of a traveling mayor
Of America’s largest city
Where, certainly
I would be a hero to few
Even if all I were to hurl
Was profanity
Hour 19
9/3/2023
“Borne…”
What do you carry?
Where, why…
and it means?
I carry a life-worn stone…
It “said” hi to me
…from a box behind the vendor –
that box was closed too,
and when the vendor asked
I told him which stone
and of its being alone in its section,
and only THEN did he open that box.
And damned but he understood – and smiled.
…A rare one he is, was, may still be.
There was energy when I “touched” it.
And the voice has followed me through
the years… still does – and, ya know,
I still can’t duplicate its knowing laugh.
Chris
(C) Chris Twyford 9/3/2023
The light is dope
The night is dope
The mind is dope
The minus dope
The minus note
The violin’s note
the violence note
The mindless hope
To mind less hope
A mind that scope
A tied that’s rope
A tide that’s boat
My idol spoke
A vital smoke
The bibles broke
Disciples wrote
Divine or smoke
Define the scope
Let’s find this quote
The light folks wrote
A hyghdose float
A microscope
Might find the slope
Can I Go Smoke?
Kaleidoscope.
Your power of seduction shadowed by utter deceit and vindictive ploy.
To shatter a deathly heart, your emotional reward. Playful with them, agony’s toy.
But why such vile conspiracy…to what ends do you embark. What vile techniques you employ.
Impression
He stood in front of me
mixing bowl and a wooden spoon
stirring stirring stirring what looked like
grape HubbaBubba gum. Distinct color,
you either know it or not, and I knew it.
I think he stood there, blocking my exit,
afraid I would bolt at any moment. It’s
nothing personal, I do not like dentists.
Bad experiences as a child, hard to scrape
away memory scars, hard to open wide
while remembering.
But here is this dentist, smiling, of course,
wearing a violet smock and mask, deep
purple gloves, in an office that pulses purple.
Everything from waiting room chairs to
wallpaper to clock, to pens they give out.
I relax. He stirs. The goop looks like
a childhood memory, a mouthful wad
of bubble gum, guaranteed to blow
the biggest, bestest purple bubbles…
also the stickiest mess to comb out
of my long hair but worth it. That tangy,
chemicalesque flavor like no other. Unique
like the color. I open wide, he spatulas
the goop in, tells me to stay open while it sets
the impression. My mouth waters in protest,
a rancid unpurple bile, a taste like something
that should be locked up and buried under
the ocean forever fills my mouth.
I gag but he’s gone. I calculate my odds
of leaping from the chair and spitting this vile,
anti-grape gum substance that has now adopted
an eye-watering smell that has me paralyzed.
He comes back in, his smile arriving before him.
He yanks, pulls, tugs at this leech form until
it disengages. I spit without command.
He laughs. I know, it doesn’t taste good
but it looks good. His pearly whites are the last
I saw of him that day. I wonder if they still make
grape HubbaBubba gum but it doesn’t matter.
I’ve never going back to that either.
~ J R Turek Hour 17
On this day of September,
I am overwhelmed,
two of my passions
have crossed pads,
while writing words
and exchanging love,
I stay awake,
words come to me,
so do his kisses
making lines
on my body,
I create poems
while I moan.
While I write
my ideas on a
screen, he makes
love to me,
moon and stars
see how a September
night became
a beautiful constellation
of literature and sensuality.
I’m at the end of my rope,
the stressors of this world in my teeth.
Grit them to keep the grinding to a minimum,
I could use a soft place to land.
I just need to be.
Life isn’t fair,
and life is never free.
Freedom isn’t my need,
I just want to receive what I give.
I just need to be.
I’m ready for sleep,
for time to pass me by.
Once I am resting,
please don’t wake me.
I just need to be.
Text Prompt
Write a poem about a haunting, real or imagined, detailed or abstract.
Image Prompt
