24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I looked up and saw what needed to be done, the pruning, the weeding and the raking.
I looked back down and thought it must be done, the pruning, the weeding and the raking.
I looked back up and saw that it had been done, the pruning, the weeding and the raking.
I looked back down and knew
The Mexicans
The pruning, the weeding and the raking.
Gold dripping from the world above
It’s a saturday by 2 after the sun
I feel the day back at 5
Sliding by the river side
Nature got us by his side
By heart i pour a free write
How many worlds do you inhabit?
How many suns light your day?
Where do you go when your soul needs healing,
How many moons illuminate your way?
I thought I had a life once, one true
And strong, where work kept me afloat
But then came the children, the songs,
The sketches to rock the boat.
I live in many lives, parallel and fleeting
Filled with the laughter of my children
When my little family assembles
Nowhere is better than my then.
But sometimes I hide deep inside,
In places where light dares not roam
I cross into rows upon rows of seats
Inhabited by the dead I own
But I know I will always return
To my worlds and pick up the shells
And stop to wonder, are these lives mere dreams,
Or reflections reflecting upon themselves?
Waiting for the day to unfurl
Waiting for the moon to serenade
Waiting for the boon to overwhelm
With heart in overdrive
Waiting for the day my expectations to usher
Waiting for the seed to shelter
Waiting for the rain to splatter
With joy incomparable
Waiting for the unborn
Waiting for the unwed
Waiting for the unseen
With drumbeat and Atilogu
Aha, joy in the unseen, All
Joy in life utmost!
Glimpsing another world
Two worlds parallel
Mimic each other slantly
A light explodes, filling the sky with holy fire
Reaching for the ribbons of endless roads
A heavy wing lifted, about to lift us
To infinite possibilities:
Fear watches the other side
A light diminishes, shrinking against
The sky, a muddy road going nowhere
A withered wing is wounded
Chaining the world to nothingness:
Envy watches the other side
(inspired by my painting, River of Heaven)
On those darkest of nights
you stretch your brilliance over us,
glittering points of light
held within your celestial grasp.
We who fear the dark, close our eyes,
yet here is where you shine the brightest
in the dark
you show us
the possibilities that light obscures.
We who do not fear the dark
are drawn to you,
seekers, adventurers, explorers,
finding truths
to share in the light.
As night moves into day,
you travel on
your endless journey
always returning to remind us
There is always hope
There is always a way
They have been my greatest friends lately,
all of them unseen.
Yet they keep me company in these times that I can see.
Sometimes, I feel them crank away with joy
in sweet noisy bantering.
Sometimes, I see them stretch their hands
for handshakes in the grinding.
Sometimes, they smile, wink, and laugh hard at me.
In a mix of comfort and some little hurting,
they have been the best friends I know.
All these things I see,
…all of them unseen.
Hope, faith, care, and love…
I see them all,
…all of them unseen.
Tenacity, belief, and assurances…
I see them all,
…all of them unseen.
My new unseen friends,
I see them all.
Written from Hour 2 text prompt, using “The Joy of Unseen Things” as jumping off point.
Steamy black feels cool
unfussy
minimalist
Mmmm… maybe no.
Maybe I just feel like a
cool unfussy minimalist ordering it
sitting next to it
sipping silently into it
Mmmm… yes. Definitely yes.
Cool
Frank Sinatra cool
Something shifts in your world
when you move to that neighborhood
that “Just black, thanks.” city
that “I have an invisible fedora perfectly poised on my head. You can’t see it, but you feel it.” avenue
that “No change. Yes, really.”
side of the street.
I’m the proud pet parent of a Yorkie named Dooley,
Who alternately irritates and then pleases me truly!
Sometime he’s a yapping, carpet soiling pest.
But as a watch dog and a true friend, he’s the best.
He’s both a beauty and more than slightly goofy.
My husband is watching the Tour de France,
I’m watching my words here.
We can’t be too clear, can we, but
the opposite is also true —
clarity can be a pain, and when in pain
we seek freedom, even while we are
not always sure what it is.
Through a tunnel, darkly, but what
will we see when we emerge? Birds have
their routine songs in the morning,
and in the evening, too, before their meal
of grubs and seeds. They do not plan
dinner the way we do, they do not desire
sauce or spice, or mice, or gossip.
We think we know better, we always
think we know better. We set our tables,
position our forks and knives, battle plans,
we move our mountains and armies,
we climb our trees, we think we need to
make it heavy. Even our songs are hymns
of lamentation, of death, and of envy.