Hour 14: Fountain Pen to Paper
Barista Magic – a haiku
Morning coffee smile.
Foam milk art inspires.
Barista magic.
Hour 15 “Lahania…”
Hour 15
9/2/2023
“Lahaina…”
Where to begin
of such ends …such ends.
A confluence of events…
and a town is gone.
Yet another place that ISN’T …anymore.
Fire on a California scale
worst of the century…
and the Media is just crickets.
Go fund me’s? – silence
Red Cross Pleas – silence
Doctors, supplies… silence.
Government aid and supplies? Biden “No Comment”,
A final visit – a joke on how hot the ground still was.
The area is cordoned off by fence (newly emplaced) and curtained as well… a lot of money and labor went into that and victims still remain in and of the ash. Mustn’t pause or stop or see or question any how or whys …or even to cry. No journalists allowed, nor pics to view. No memorials. No answers …just crickets worldwide.
Maui… Lahaina a past capital
incinerated… ashes to ashes.
The school district reported 3100 children
sent home to be alone.
More than two weeks – 2,000 still missing –
and they’ve a name for each number. Quite for real.
A FIRE so fierce barely bits survived…
And yet living weeds NEXT to melted trunks?
The power first off – yet in places stayed on.
No warning sirens sounded, no TV/phone alerts, no evac,
calls or orders, no bull horns or officials riding the roads.
The water turned off, police barricaded the two exits
and turned would be survivors back upon themselves
and those cars WERE immolated ON THE ROAD
where they stood – occupied by victims, DNA found.
115 the governor’s total and 335 still unfound
and yet 2,000 “missing” children – named and recorded
by their empty schools. And the silence echoes LOUD.
Relief was unallowed
– people snuck in what they could.
Victims jumped into the ocean
and the sea carried many away.
Tears whisper as the waves lap the shore…
for all the little souls – walking their island,
lost and forever alone…
and only the silence cares.
Chris,
(C) Chris Twyford 9/2/2023
Comfort.
It was the world that crumbled over her head
She had no tears left,
that the skies had to cry for her heavy heart.
But she could take no sense of it.
It was as though
She parted ways with everything
Almost like worlds apart.
She hated the feeling “to feel”
And began resenting
all things termed mortal;
Animals, fruits, flowers, people.
Instead she resort
to life between pages
of books whose owners
long dead.
And was contented that
at least life was living
in the sheets of books.
#10: Space
#10: Space
I wonder how much room there is in space.
I wonder if the vastness ever feels lonely.
I wonder if the airless vacuum ever feels crushing.
I wonder how long it would take to close the gap. How long it would take to explore it’s entirety.
I wonder what you would think of all this.
I wonder if you’re just another star in the sky made up of all the energy and dust of your former life here on earth.
I wonder if you’ve been reborn into another life.
I wonder what being a soul without a body would be like.
I wonder if at that point we could fly.
I wonder if human life is doomed on earth. Will our future generations live elsewhere in our galaxy. Are we already.
I wonder if some of my thoughts are crazy.
I wonder if you’re able to feel my presence when we’re sitting in the same room, not speaking, not touching, but in the presence of one another.
I wonder what our future looks like. Are we going to grow old together.
I wonder why we feel time so linear if it really is multidimensional. Curious.
I wonder how our species got to be so curious when it’s been taught that it’s so dangerous.
I wonder what you’re looking at while I’m typing these words.
I wonder what others will think when they read these words. Will they read these words.
I wonder if my train of thought really is a train and if so what are the stops names and how often is the train scheduled to pass by that spot. Boy, that opens a can of worms: is free thought really a thing.
I wonder how many of my wonders will ever be answered.
I wonder if that’s something that happens in death like 50 questions – all your questions are answered.
I wonder if you only get 50 or if it’s unlimited.
I wonder, I wonder.
The Kindness of Strangers
Hour Fourteen (The Other Side of the Coin)
They pay it forward
and press upon the smalls of backs
urging one to continue-
they hush the noise of conflict
and like lampposts, guide the way
with experience latched to their backs
and wisdom tucked into perception.
They offer a myriad of alternative views
and are skilled in the fine art of
objectivity.
No pandering to ego
or caressing it with tender hands-
instead, massage the aches from one’s soul
from the battlements of life
that cause one to stumble.
Beautiful souls edged with lace ribbing
with hearts tucked under sleeves
overflowing with insight and prophecy
and clever things to assist one’s growth.
Each a cornerstone to a futuristic humanity
with well-intended natures-
that laugh, cry, and feel offense
to the slight of the less fortunate.
They offer dishes of kindness
freshly baked with care of creation,
a welcoming aroma that sates the hunger.
A spray a cool watered sentiments
washing the dust and eggshells from feet,
humbling themselves as it is understood
that we all fall short-
we all climb mountains-
and with their expertise
of the perils that lay ahead,
they assist others on their journey
so none would fall the same.
They console the lonesome and distraught
with encouraging concern
and their words and prayers
create the steps and anchors
that keep us all in the right.
“Keep going,” they say
their voices a golden fluid
rich with heartfelt sentiments
that embrace the shaking shoulder sobs
of the lost and confined
while straightening their crowns.
Yes, the kindness of strangers
surpasses expectations
an overflowing waterfall of human decency
shouldering the burdens
of other’s calamity with compassion.
The woes in hearts burst with new life
from cauterized wounds of days past,
with gratitude, a confetti
of sparkling examples of how
humanity is intended to
treat itself as a collective-
with dignity, understanding,
and respect for life.
The extravagant diamond souls
that grace this planet, but for a time-
chisel away at our sculptured selves
the harsh edges that slice through us
and polish the bitterness from our housing.
For the kindness of strangers
desire nothing in return
but to shine together.
Poem 15
Beautiful boy I believe
Your business attire
Won’t hide the heart on your sleeve
You wear your feelings quite well
Darting eyes and hot cheeks
I sit and admire all your lovely tells
Shall I lead you to the bed
What would the boys think?
Does that fill you with sweet dread?
We kiss for a while
As you lie on your back
I sink down low and smile
The more I uncover, the more that I reap
You say you play wolf
Secretly, you like playing sheep
Beautiful boy don’t act so naive
Don’t cover your face
It won’t hide the relief
As I give and you take and receive
Chasing Contentment at Seventy-Five
At Seventy five, He counts his life with delight
He fulfills all his children dreams, his calculations
His youngsters enjoy with bright prospects they live
But, he can enjoy existing life with interesting trips
There he moves with discomfort lingers,
He’s not satisfied with his earnings
Still he is not satisfied of good income
Pension draws without any tension
Yearning to churn extra income sources
In his quest of thoughts, his spirit burns
Every day, he calculates other’s income sources
He shook his head, with a wistful sigh!
Once I questioned- A day that presents satisfaction word
Are you satisfied with your earnings and life
He smiles and says my property is so meager
I spied a thirst for contentment, in his restless chase.
Prompt -15
Hour-15
Hour 15 – Home is home is home
Home is home is home
I am home
in the chaos
in the clashing
of lightning and sand
of metal and bone
in the transformation
of a violent instant
into a soft one
I am at home
with ribbons of water
guiding my palms
toward the ocean floor
back upturned
and wading
wading
waiting
I am at home
far away
from breath
from life
but still so close to you
you are home
you are
you
(Hour 15) 12.30pm-13.30pm. BOTH PROMPTS: another POV + pot head.
perfect posture
Priya has put the pot
On her head … & left it there
Oh why is she doing this
Poor girl she’s hardly said boo
To me or anyone the 3 days
She’s been travelling with us
& now this strange attention
Seeking behaviour from nowhere
I hope she’s not feeling
Left out &/
/Wait what’s going on
This is weird. She’s walking round
Picking up things. With her toes.
The pot still, unmoving, as if glued
On her head. We all start watching
Intently as she kicks Ben’s apple
Core upwards & wiggles her neck
catches it in the pot. Despite our
cautionary silence. We all cheer.
Now she’s dancing. Russian squat
Irish River. Twerking. Flossing.
The pot a part of her as much as her hair.
But the best thing — her eyes glow
In the firelight & she’s grinning like a tiger