24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I walked out the door for the last time
without one word or even saying goodbye
I refuse to stay and continue to put
my heart through the constant pain.
Why oh why God did it have to end this way?
promises we once made now
share a hollow grave.
I wonder if you even noticed I left
I wonder if you hold any regrets
I wonder if you ever loved me at all
or if you knew we were destined to fall.
I want you to know that the only thing
I truly regret is the very first day we met.
Training wheels just removed
a small red tank top with
Walmart sandals pedals
rushing ’round and ’round
until summer evaporates
just past the corner
This one came together so quick! But I enjoyed writing it. I’ve been working through some feelings about a friendship and this is where I am at/getting to.
Permanence
This is a study on object permanence
I want to see if you think of me on your own
Or if I will disappear if I don’t put myself in your view
This is a study on object permanence
Because I am always bringing up anything
Or sending things that make me think of you
This is a study on object permanence
I wonder who else is pushing into your view
Or if I am the only one wanting to be unwanted
This study is over
I am closing our chat
Or should I say my chat
I am in here!!! I am in here!!! I am in here!!! I am lost in here.
I too, am confused by the literary form
So undefined
A running of the mouth
without speaking, now that’s refined
Poetry, maybe there are things more important
And sometimes I read it in scorn
But then something overcomes me
and I find myself reborn
It seems so genuine
In a haphazard sort of way
Unless the poet is some kind of syllabic perfectionist
which to me, is a strange way to play
But I have done the 5-7-5-6 kind of thing
And yes, it was an adventure
A symbol of potential orderliness
along with a specific indenture
Some, I must say is unintelligible
I ask, a product of brilliance or fear
Spending hours extrapolating
looking for what might be clear
Buy yeah… this is not the purpose
It’s an exercise in creativity and wake-up dreams
Turning and twisting
in its emotional scheme
The metaphorical imagination
That hanging bat
A plethora of geese
or that hilarious fall known as a prat
It’s all a story
Brushed with, sadness, anger, maybe even hate
Or feminism
sometimes in a tone irate
And once and a while
There is celebration and praise
For life’s revolving miracles
amidst these rondomatic days
If you could stand at center stage
Between your future and your past
If you could see both sides at once
Would you take a different path?
And if you took a different path
Just how much would you change?
What if you never made it
To the center of the stage?
What if, on that different path
The footlights all went dark
Your curtain call came early
And you never met your mark?
Or would you just keep walking
The same path you’ve been on?
That made you who you are today
No matter what went wrong?
There’s wisdom in both answers
But tell you this, I will
You’re never gonna find them
If you just keep standing still.
~Mandy Kocsis©2021~
The river is low this year.
Drought shrivels the crops.
But it’s raining today.
Summer days see record heat.
Night brings no relief.
But it’s raining today.
Sun burns our skin,
scorches our eyes,
drains our energy.
But it’s raining today.
Rivers, crops, people,
stretch, finally relaxing
because it’s raining today.
Someone just said I,
That is, Special K,
Should be a “pre-requisite course in everything in all schools”
And I can’t stop smiling…
More than that, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact-
That people actual, generally and really like this thing called poetry
I happened upon…
Because much like this poem,
My life has largely been spent-
Untitled.
Ashes and ashes and dust to dust, cold iron body turning to rust.
Turning of the fields back to forest, barn in timbers and smelling of fust.
Ashes and ashes and dust to dust, cold iron body turning to rust.
Old hand in stye and bones in the garden, flowers gone wild and reckless abandon.
Ashes and ashes and dust to dust, cold iron body turning to rust.
The cowhand’s daughter is buried at the cradle, the rancher’s life gone at a gamble.
Ashes and ashes and dust to dust, cold rancher’s body left to burn with the rest.
When you hear the vowels of words
You sound them out
When you say each one
How do they make you feel?
Good or bad
Pronouncing them out loud
Happy
Smiles
Tears
Of
Cries
When you know that you’ve done it,
With the one who loves you
When your thoughts are just enough