24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
In this endless universe
with infinite infinities
both big and small
I am but a speck of dust
But within me exists
my own universe
with its own stars and
There I am a part of the brightest constellation.
A tiny star within
the massive ocean of
Galaxies and Infinities
I still shine brightly in my own right.
(off of prompt #1)
By Sandy Lender
“First of all, it’s self-published,” he denounced
lifting warmed brandy to his leather lips.
His captured audience twittered obediently
while we waited for his second point of derision
watching his Adam’s apple bob above his pleated ascot
Another question from a worshiper
Another answer thick with sarcasm
Like a layer of fondant
Meant to cover a gouge
In an already leaning tier
When I could stand the sharpness of his barbed tongue no longer,
I led my friend away from the mini scene of carnage
Took Lakita to an adjoining room
Where women spoke of Michelangelo
and refractive colors in beach sunsets,
where I doubt the professor would mar his polished loafers.
I patted her wrinkled hand
Smoothed her pleated hair
Offered her champagne from tall glasses
Spoke of her successes
(of which she has many)
My reassurances—piled, towering, toppling off my side of the scale
Still weighed less than the single judgment of the orator in the room next door
And this frustrated me.
Why could she not see…
Her worth
Her value
Her perfection
Cannot be dismissed by a professor who doesn’t know her struggles
Cannot be judged by an institution mired in supremacy since its founding
Cannot be ignored by any of us eating peaches in our older years
Lakita thanked me—with her usual stoicism—for accompanying her that night
And we went out into the humid streets
Where fog wrapped ’round our feet
And we vowed to write about the reception
(Whether our words made it to the Yale University Press or not)
Trust
So Hard to give
Yet so easy to break
even easier to just shatter
Why would I give my trust
All I’ve had was someone
Tear it down
Rip it apart
Stomp on it
And leave it
to rot away on the floor
Never had someone
not stomp on it
or use it for a punching bag
So why would I give it?
You didn’t deserve it
but I gave it
I followed you around
Like some starstruck teen
and you used it
twisted it
around
for your own purposes
your own agenda
He didn’t deserve it
I gave it again
despite its fragility
He built it up
Just to watch it fall
as I lay there
Shattered
bruised and broken
but still there
still willing to give it
still willing to be opened
and stomped on
torn apart
and shattered
Has anything changed?
Its still there
still given freely
still abused
Still shattered at the end of the day
It really has become a chore.
The shopping, the cooking, the baking,
awkward moments, and obligatory snarky comments.
Wouldn’t it just be nicer to avoid everyone and go away for Thanksgiving?
YES!
Imagine the ocean, a sparkling cerulean blue, crashing waves, salty air
and a hotel with a view.
We’ll even get room service for breakfast.
Later we can explore the beaches
hunt for sea glass and seashells.
As long as we can get fish tacos and caipirinhas to celebrate the holiday.
86 the pumpkin pie too!
Sounds perfect
Allow me to love parts of you no one ever loved on me,
Allow me to speak the words i never heard but my ears bled to hear,
Allow me to hug away the pain like she never hugged me,
Allow me to show you how to love me,
How to cherish my soul for what it’s supposed to be,
I’ll be your student too,
Teach me how to love you like the others didn’t,
We’ll be students of ourselves,
Loving eachother,
To the fullest
~Ropa
24 Poems: “The Dinner Party”
Question Period
The group decided to stretch
Some touring the house
Even considering sauna
Others, visiting the Giant Schnauzer, the King of the house
I was approached and asked
How did you manage to do this?
Just a lot of planning
I showed them my lap-top, as simple as this
They could see the itinerary
All laid out
They shook their heads
And what was that Evoo ab-out
Oh yes… the best of all
Olive oil made from Koroneiki olives
High in oxidants, a wonderful buttery taste
Cheers to the effulgent olive
And where did you hear about that prune recipe?
Absolutely insane
Learned from a Ukrainian chef, many years ago
Enough of it, you’ll go insane
DeaBeePea 6-27-20
Nowaday every thing is streamed
outdated
entering into the matrix
even technology transforms
like headboards to side tables
they are all the same
just new
just different
just allowing us to forget more
allowing us to count on them
One day we may lose it all
everything about us
not backed up
and no one will have numbers saved
and no one will know the name of that song
and no one will know how to press record
or what it means to have your tape ate up
no one will know how to wind it back up
because the goals
keep getting moved on the tech field
and everyone wants to have the new thing
what happens to us then
when the land runs out
when the earth runs out
where will all our data go
My Honesty
I believe the truth always comes out.
It usually does.
The truth has never had to set me free.
I learned when I was young to never lie
when I sneaked ferrets home for pets,
my mom caught me.
I’m not a god liar, keeper of secrets.
Many won’t ask me to keep surprises from people.
Some would feel this to be a burden.
For me, it’s a relief.
I never have to throw surprise parties.
My honesty is my best trait.
Margarette Wahl
Prompt 18 : narrative poem about an incident during my travels in Ireland
It happened one evening
in a town called Dingle
that found me in a pub
I was dining quite single
A new phone served as
a conversation starter
and saw 3 strangers inquire
If I’d like to hang out after
The hours that followed
I will never forget
From a clueless tourist
I became a local instead
We made our way from
one pub to another
In Guinness and music
the night was smothered
Until my new friends
In unison did declare
“We need a drinking machine”
That’s what ATM’s are called there