24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Explore, explore, explore!
Some do it with binoculars,
others with a digital camera.
Some explore by reading more and more,
others by travelling more and more.
If I feel good in a plane, maybe you will
feel good doing bungee-jumping.
Everyone has a particular way of
enjoying nature and the world!
I only know how to trim my wings with nail clippers.
I’ve never been one to maintain good looks.
Not that I don’t want to look good,
But I do not have the energy
To gel my hair, brush my teeth, or flatten my belly
Without wishing for the nail clippers to be machetes.
I only know how to trim my wings with nail clippers.
I’ve never been one for heights.
Sure, I’ve gone ziplining before,
But the way the adrenaline
Quickens my blood pressure
Makes my bones hum to a tune
That makes my skin itch.
I only know how to trim my wings with nail clippers.
I guess I’m not an angel,
At least not one God would like to keep around.
I don’t know if I believe in God,
But if He is real,
I doubt He likes me.
He must have poisoned my mind with Eve’s apple juice.
He must have planted the seeds in my esophagus.
I don’t know how else I could have grown to be
So dependent on others’ kindness.
Maybe it is their action that is supposed to cleanse me.
I guess I only know how to trim my nails with fantasies.
The sun is shining
finally
Been kinda overcast for days.
The sun is shining
in my heart
after much indecision.
The sun is shining
from above
fighting dark clouds
Shining sun is love.
There’s a burning deep inside,
a fire that yearns to be set free,
and one that longs to breathe heat,
light,
and life
into every corner of the world.
The flickering of passion
grows within,
embers igniting new sparks,
inspiration looking for an outlet
to rise upward and flow,
a beautiful smoke
that settles on the wind,
and reaches out to touch
anyone who will breathe,
read,
and listen.
To all those who have come before,
I appreciate everything we’ve endured
lest we faded into an obscurity beyond comprehension. Don’t
kill your darlings no matter how tempting
it may seem.
Never in existence or any type of
good place
did I imagine rencountering someone as
omni-benevolent as you, someone who
makes every day worth living, who
can make
our world a better and more
magnificent place just by existing. Thanks for just being you, for
everything.
to be bitten
by the cold
or by him
as he is the cold
the icy onset
of my lips
when blood
is flowing
everywhere but
to be bitten
and feel pain
or is that pleasure
my skin
can’t taste
the difference
anymore
to be bitten
and consumed
in some
small part
or swallowed
to live in the
soft folds
of intestines
to be alive
just this once
with you
Wondrous
I laugh, say Gumball is helium-filled,
his round and sweet body grows overnight
as though he will be a cartoon canine balloon
in the Thanksgiving Day parade.
Just four months, and he is taller and
nearly outweighs his brother, Munchkin,
who is 10 months old. Gumball’s feet
are like couch cushions, thick-padded
comfort for his bulk, his swagger broadcasts
confidence, his mischievousity beyond bounds
finding every missing pen and pencil, now
trademarked with his razor-teeth imprint.
He is cute, and not just because I say so.
He’s heard it, knows it, and uses it to try
to get away with naughtiness. I worry
that as he gets older, his cuteness will be
shadowed by fear of Pitbulls, a breed dealt
with a bad rap. There is no such thing as
a bad dog, just bad owners. I believe this
with every particle and nuance of my being.
Gumball is part Pitbull, the obvious part,
broad chest, stocky body, his ears still
flopsy-mopsy, boxy head, though he has
bulldog wrinkles and a soft-sloped brow.
His other mixes remain a question mark.
Gumball is white with chocolate syrup
splotches; professionals call it liver but
I prefer dark chocolate on all counts. His
back is butterfly wings on the right, and
on the left, a series of intersecting circles,
like a collage of gumballs on a white table.
He has round splotches on his head, and
remarkable as it seems, he has two perfect
half-circles under his eyes and corresponding
halves on his upper lids. Gumball give kisses
freely; it took some time to see these mysteries
between smoochie, drooly licks.
But his eyes are the greatest miracle of all.
Hazel, clear and gorgeous, the windows to an
amazing soul, rescued from death, grateful to be.
And when I look into those kind wondrous eyes,
I am convinced God has hazel eyes, too.
~ J R Turek
June 26, 2021 Hour 3
Life
as a Qneen Egypt girl
One of the land mark
Cleopatra
Just for she descended on up.
She’s the founder of Ptolemy l soter.
The Alexander the Great
A sista who been wedded
She has several children
Her siblings she kindly loved
How great she was
Awareness of her bias awesome
When they stumbled across it
Cleopatra
The Pharaoh.
As a true faithful woman
Family and friends respected her
Right than and there
Before her last days
Memories of sorrows
Dedicated with Roses
Desired
A Rome pretty lady in this historic times
In a Country
To live a good life journal
That
Came to an end.
Self,
Pity on her soul.
The lover she had
The family she carried for
With this in place
A patriarch scholar
Ties togetherness
Filling up the eulogy
Autobiography
Like roni noodles on down,
And with her favorite kin
To so ever live a one time
Comfort lifestyle
48 B.C’s
The Homecoming
Of
Cleopatra
A Ebony Child
Days longer and in
Roman, Greek.
Her
Rested Place
These hours are flying by
How can we get anything else done?
Will I really stay up all night
Writing poems each hour?
How can we get anything else done?
Cooking, eating, outings–they warned me
Writing poems each hour
Will more than fill my day!
Cooking, eating, outings–they warned me
No time for these things today
Will more than fill my day
With The Poetry Marathon
No time for these things today
But thank you, Jacob Jans
With The Poetry Marathon
Your gift of love to Caitlin helps me
But thank you, Jacob Jans
For hosting us in this challenge
Your gift of love to Caitlin helps me
Write and persevere today
For hosting us in this challenge
Rhymes, meter, word choice, more
Write and persevere today
Looking forward to success
Rhymes, meter, word choice, more
These hours are flying by
Looking forward to success
Will I really stay up all night?
They seek to destroy our map of peace,
to shatter the piece of the map we always knew.
They seek to employ the architects of silence,
to mute our tongues and drain our ink wells.
They seek to blur the sight of the map,
to irrigate its roots with termites of destruction.
The questions are running agog,
as we have not been bred in pots of hypocrisy,
and trees remain rooted generations before they go away.
We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.
We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.
We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.
Our peace will not become a shattered piece.
In the basket of many eggs,
a few bad eggs will not foul up our air for too long.
We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.
We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.
We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.
As this map of peace will stand, in one piece,
rioting memories will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.
Written from Hour 3 text prompt.