24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Beauty
“Beauty can be found in the ugliest of places.” Unknown
A Gerber daisy in full bloom vibrant fuscia with dark center.
A smile of pearly clean white teeth against dark skin.
A pink sky chasing away grey clouds after rain. God paints the sky tie dyed on Summer evenings. I eat Ralph’s Italian ice in Birthday Cake flavor, colors match the sky.
Margarette Wahl
It is time to place the body in. We are about to drop in.
No.
The stanger looks at me. He has traveled far in night.
No.
He does not understand me. He starts to pull it to the hole.
NO.
I pull back.
Some of the material shreds.
No. No.
When she is in the ground. One day I may forget.
No. No.
If I forget who in the world to care?
In the struggle to place the body a finger snaps. Pieces crack.
No one will care about this body, yet I must give it back.
Pencil to spokes and twist
Brown ribbon is reclaimed by the plastic casing I press rewind
I press stop
I press play
Nope not there yet
Rewind again
High pitched sounds of tape being wound
Press play
Okay perfect
The voice on the radio says my song is next
Not yet
Not yet
Almost
Now
Press record
I find ease in the constant change
New buildings around each corner
A crane lifting a piece of scaffolding
Like Jenga with higher stakes
My favorite building was torn down yesterday
I had never breached its walls
It was just nice to know it was there
Watching over me with chipping paint
The city smells like pee
But each building has crafted its own unique cologne
Different elements add to its unique aroma
I like to sit and think about it
The view from the park is overwhelming
So much to focus on and only so many hours
Sunlight fleets and with it
My focus
Hazy smoke rushes to my brain
A cab honks in the distance
Terrified of going home
For now it’s me and my buildings
A white feather
and a four leaf Clover
make a good pair
While complementing
each other’s colours
They also represent
Good luck
Freedom
and Inspiration
Waiting for a poet
to pick them up together
The best things come in pairs
The mist covers the mountain
In colors of pink, silver, and blue
The lazy ripples of the water
Reflecting the mountain too.
I look to the horizon
At the distant silhouettes
Of far off other mountains
I haven’t been there, yet.
Paramour
The quickening of desire
feeds the flickering fire
raising emotions higher
The truth of heart required
Earn your love-I conspire
Your soul, I want acquired
Whatever transpires, in
your arms I can respire.
Wishes from a Distant Son
Mother, grief has stolen your angels –
cherubs and seraphs meant to sing
your strength and victories aloud.
See why you are innocent of your
identity. I cannot say you’re brittle
for grief to grind into dust, too light
to air into an atmosphere where
demons with protruding teeth call
your name, like a demanding child,
shameless and soulless to have pity
upon his mother, a way of lending
to the Lord. Aloud: woe to your grief.
Cursed be the distance sundering us.
I mean to say I want solitude to mean
a name of your neighbour, looking
after you in my absence till we live
in a chamber of joyful songs, sung
to a bird in full flight in darkness.
Mother, I want to see you singing aloud.
