24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
feels like I’m stuck
but not many to go
the twelve seemed easier than the twenty-four
pressure, under pressure
the process of thought to paper is hard
I love to write
this is exasperating at times
pressure, under pressure
it’s a good learning experience
and I am still enjoying it
I’m hoping what I’ve written is not as bad as I feel it is
pressure, under pressure
Siphonophore Apolemia
Creature from the land down under.
A string of vibrant light.
Ringing outward like a puddle.
Shimmer to entice and plunder,
Food by your device.
Swaying gently in the current.
Long as long should be.
You might be a good deterrent.
Jumprope of the see.
What Heaven Sent
I believe clouds could have a silver lining.
Some are Archangels ones I’ve seen.
They were angels in shape visiting me in 2018.
Letting me know my mom would be joining them in three months.
I took pictures as they followed me to my appointment.
My Christian friend worried they were a sign of the world’s end.
It wasn’t for her. Only a sign mine would be forever changed.
Margarette Wahl
After Dusk
The library’s newest intern
tucks the last book into the stacks,
735.4, a slick plastic coating over
the 4-color cover; she taps the spine,
pushes the book into alignment with
the shelf mates, wishes the section
a good evening, pushes her empty cart
past the research desk to leave it behind
the checkout desk, waves a good evening
to her co-lovers of books; she shrugs into
her jacket and waves a misty so long
to her friends, those made of parchment
and glue, color covers, black text, worlds
of words waiting for minds to fertilize.
The lock clicks in the front door, lights out,
books leap from their places, jig over to
the travel section, hopscotch to audiobooks
in the children’s section, saunter to the saucy
romance section; a few find the cookbook
aisle, searching for the perfect pesto recipe.
Magazines and circular files square dance
in the custodian’s file cabinet, where he
stores a box of chocolate cookies, for
emergency use only. Britannica’s X and Z
sit beneath the exit sign, the red glow
of their longing to leave, to sweep the dust
away and soar into the future of blue skies
as crocus heads peek through snow mounds.
The dance of moon and stars moves across
the firmament, day star at the gate waiting
to rise above sleepyheads, lids yearning to
stay in dreams. A lock clicks and the books
return to their dusty homes, afraid to sleep,
to miss if it a hand comes to open their giving
sharing sheaves, to open minds ready to plant
knowledge, a learning, a lesson until the lock
clicks again this evening and the books
come out to play.
~ J R Turek
June 28, 2020
Hour 20
prompt 20 hour 20
light
it’s there
just behind the eyes
in nawayee…the centre
where our greatest gift is our light.
it’s there
in all of us
just behind the eyes
where promises to our Ancestors
filled us
before they dreamed us here.
it’s there
behind the shadow
where we knew it would be all along.
© r. l. elke
Click, Whoosh! the flame sprang to life
Click, zwoop! the flame died again
On and off like a switch,
not really serving a purpose,
it was mindless, focused
And as you watched it flicker
something stirred in the darkness.
A feeling, somewhat profound,
somewhat dangerous, but without sound.
No words described the need you felt
To make the lighter click.
Click, Whoosh! the flame in your mind sprang
Click, zwoop! the flame died once again.
It’s dawn already.
But last night, my eyes were tortured
By the insane intensity of my phone’s backlight.
I wept.
I fell asleep, only to locate my phone
With no torch light close by.
It’s difficult seeing in the dark.
It’s even more difficult staring at
The phone screen.
I’m happy it’s dawn;
I can close my eyes soon.
Onyx thoughts.
Traveling by night. Following a stranger. Hoping I do right.
No kin will ever cross a desert to aee a body
Interred in sand and time.
But my onyx mind suggests if I search
For kin
For friends
For love
There will be none to find.
I let this man take us on. The body. Me.
I know when I depart, I can’t truly be free.
I will leave this body in a whole.
I will let the sand and cracks
As the skin peels away.
I will try to tell others of the body.
My onyx mind suggests
They will mumble something about only a whore
Turn back to their garden
And leave me to carry this body
Alone.
The LED desk lamp sits on my shelf
sidelined
Hate its cold blue light.
Give me the old dim light as long as it’s warm and yellow.
I’m not the inside of a fridge.