24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
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.
Hit the road
Just keep driving
Sun still sleeping
Bats at play
Destination undecided
And all that is known
Is the need to get away
Mitch Brown
Hr 2
Coffee and change
Coffee is a simple drink, it’s bitter and hot and dark
It helps in waking up my brain, makes the day less stark
It’s brewed from beans
And while this seems
To be a simple function
The changes there make me aware
That change is a compunction
A triple non fat
With honey in that
And mocha and spices and foam
And make sure the cup
Is completely full up
And stays hot until I get it home
What’s happened to the brew
My forefathers knew
That came from the fire unaided
When I order a drink
Without foam , without toffee
I’m looked at as something quite strange
I still order straight coffee
And sneer at the toffee
While humming Home, home on the range
(for hour 2—coffee & change prompt)
Coffee Changes Everything
After sixteen years of sobriety,
A waitress handed me decaf from the wrong pot
You can’t taste the difference in a greasy, road-side waffle joint
Forty miles later, possibilities and plans percolated in my brain
My foot pressed too close to the floor
Faced with the question, “Ma’am, do you know how fast you were going?”
I had to say “no,” to be honest
I stood jittery, stepped out of the car,
With one officer checking my license and registration
The other checking my eye movement
“That’s not nerves, sir, I need another hit.”
Mornings are a lull,
going through the motions
of a bright new day.
Sensitive eyes burn,
escaping beneath
the warm cotton sheets
for an extra moment
of solace.
Waiting until
the last moment
to rise up,
to be brave.
(Poem 2 of 2021 Half-Marathon)