24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Beside the desolate park
with abandoned swings
and knee-tall grasses
stands an old telephone booth
covered in vines
It’s paint has faded
the wood is chipped
and no one knows when was it
Last used but if you
Look closely you would find
Messages of all kinds…
Written with pen
Or carved with blade
They stand the test of time
Alongwith the old telephone booth covered in vines.
First typewriter – selectric
Automatic return
Short-term memory
Prints on paper
Has built-in correcting paper
Prints super fast
Has a little ball with all the letters on it
Wrote my first poems on it
(from prompt 17)
By Sandy Lender
Having completed my poem,
I set down my pencil…
…and it rolled…
…
… …from the table’s edge
… … …to break on the floor…
My cell phone is filled
With landline numbers
Where no one would pick up
On the other side
The cord has been cut
And yet, I can’t delete them.
Beth A. Fleisher
Hour 16
Prompt 16: Write a poem about love, without ever using the word love in it.
Gentle Hands
Gentle hands on baby’s shoulders,
Rubbing circles, giving comfort.
Tender kisses on her forehead,
Whispered words of praise and joy.
Caring eyes when she is sick,
Favorite foods prepared with care,
Birthday dress made late at night,
Blackest velvet and white satin.
Rise
“Hearts, weapons of Mass Intentions.” Doreen Dd Spungin
Some of us become more vulnerable than others.
Some enjoy the chase,
others like the need for attention.
Some of us lay within what defines
the label of normal.
Most mean no harm,
while others thrive in negativity.
Me, I am just a gal
a woman who wants what everyone has.
I won’t deteriorate another to gain it.
Lifting people up is far more easier
than it is to tear them down.
Margarette Wahl
Those who use the fax
Are medieval in outlook
Heard of email, chump?
My cell phone is filled
With landline numbers
That no one would pick up
On the other side
The cord has been cut
And yet, I can’t delete them.
There was this one guy he tried so hard to impress holding open doors and dressing his best my heart was softened but not to swoon till he made me a mix tape it sent me over the moon
Jogging Along
Jogging along the friendly path
Trut, trut, trut, trut
Early morning held sway
Rhythm of the legs dissolving
Into the rhyme of the ancient mariner
While eyes falling into a pattern
Like searching for a lost treasure
Trut, trut
Jogging back the same path
Another rhythm…another rhyme
Hour 13
@varenyas