24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Sky
So much empty
Yet so many glints
Of timespace
Of time’s pace
That your place in it is barely
molecular
Yet unique
Ironic is how difficult
To express either extreme
and 8 billion beings
Each contemplating
In their own orbit
I always wonder whether
What I see is real
A series of colors
And worlds and flowers
Just glass and light
Sights a mood just right
That life must surely live
In a moment so bright
And then just as quickly
It
Crushes
Smashes
Ends
Transforming into new life
With every lively burst
What if that’s where we are
Colored all so bright
A moment in an astral eye
A kaleidoscope of light
Nothing seems more magical
to a child
than to spend
some hours
with a kaleidoscope.
Endless magical scenes
unfold as the colors
roll and twist and dissolve
one into another.
There may once have been
a purpose for them,
but now we only know
them as children’s toys
that adults will sneak away
and play with themselves
until they are caught and
must give it back.
The effortless blending
of colors relaxes the mind
the way we now use white noise
or fly over undulating landscapes.
Somewhere I have
a beautiful kaleidoscope
I bought for myself. Smooth
wooden stand and brass wheel.
To use it today brings back
memories of the caves
full of rubies, sapphires and diamonds
I read in “The White Cat”,
In a slower time,
at a leisurely pace
that didn’t have to end
until I wanted it to.
The pink flamingo
Gave me a kaleidoscope
That I might better see
The repeating patterns
Of all mankind
And their futility
I turned the wheel
This way and that
Like another little hamster
But no matter how hard I tried
I couldn’t find the answer
To slowing down I was so mesmerised
That it made me forget to think
But I knew in my most secret soul
It was pushing me over the brink
Then it came to me in a vision
As Alan Watts dressed in a kinono
Finished a lecture he had given
‘To stop the pattern stop the wheel
Tell me afterward how it feels’
And so I did and the patterns ceased
And I found myself released
Until my alarm clock roused me
And the visions ceased
And i with regret got out of bed
Away from my flamingo dream angelic
I have to remember not to go to sleep
Having taken psychedelics.
Pragmatic practices apparently doesn’t work well here,
Opportunities await through imagination and creativity,
Endless possibilities,
Trusting your writing utensils to carry you to depths unknown,
Remedies for the heart and mind,
Yes this is it, until I comprise another piece
When last did I see a firefly?
When I was a child,
I remember a preponderance
of their flickering every summer.
Maybe because
I’m long past bartering
with my mother to stay outside
in the backyard,
I no longer have the vantage from which to succumb
to their blinking presence.
A Poem Puzzle
Our Words
little seem dance our
whispers to across air
lonely try hide empty
we and words thoughts
but catch fling precious
don’t don’t our little
sounds stay linger lost
say and but they
are you me until
reclaimed lost only then
(Little whispers seem to dance across our air.
Lonely whispers try to hide across empty air.
Lonely, we try and hide words, empty thoughts.
But we catch and fling words, precious thoughts
but don’t catch, don’t fling. Our precious little
sounds say stay and linger. But lost they
are. Say, you and me. But until they
are reclaimed, you lost me. Only until then.)
I’m me, and that’s who I’m meant to be ,
Unique as a snowflake, as each one can see,
My quirks and flaws, make me who I am ,
I’m proud of myself, and I know that I can.
I’m not a carbon copy , not a facsimile,
I’m masterpiece that’s truly one of kind ,
I don’t follow the crowd , I walk my own path,
Hustling and grinding, like math to the blackboard.
society may judge me,but I won’t be crushed,
it won’t dull my sparkle , nor dim my shine I’ll embrace my differences, and rise above,
and show them , what I’m truely made up.
So I’m me , that’s just fine for I know in myself true happiness I’ll find,
I’ll break barriers and exceed expectations,
with strength , resilience, and bold affirmations.
High of 92 degrees
Low of 54
High likelihood of ending
In a puddle on the floor
Hot and high humidity
At 89 percent
Near certainty of winding up
In existential dread
Expect an inch of snow today
‘Cause fuck you, it’s my forecast
To be riddled with anxiety
About things in the past
To spend the whole day writhing
In every sort of pain
Sunrise 6:19 am
Cloudy, chance of rain
(or, The Menagerie pt. 4)
Cast of Players
Nugget, head and patriarch of the Frat Tank, an all-business no-goofin’ mobster father of Whisker Town
Coco, a lone-hamster who prefers her space and will fight to keep it– even against her own blood
their children:
Blade, favorite son of the Frat Tank, maker of trouble and picker of fights
Butter, the sweet-talking timid son with a torn ear as per result of an altercation at a young age
Pip, the rapscallion black horse (hamster?) of the Frat Tank known for his artistry in escapism, theatrics, and mimicry
Peppa, keen first-born daughter of the Hammyhold, takes strongly after her mother but doted upon her younger sister
Peony, friendly but timid after the abuses of her mother; relies heavily upon Peppa for security
Baby, shipped off and away to finishing school with a foreign family to presume a new identity
[Rocky,] the aspiring son renouned for his daring, found dead in his youth after having ventured beyond Hammyhold
[Bug,] Rocky’s closest companion and adventurer, found dead beside his brother in the venture beyond Hammyhold
(Hour 17)