24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Sometimes work is hard
And leaves you drained so deep
That all you can do
Is go home and sleep
Sometimes work is easy
And you take it sleazy
Feeling all breezy
And those moment can be balanced
And captured in whimsy
Magic moments like this cup upon the head
I woke up in the morning to the smell of fresh scones and coffee.
Rhea was still asleep.
I snuck out.
Today was a big day, and I needed some fuel.
My aunt was in the kitchen with my mom.
“Are you ready?” they said,
smiling sneakily from ear to ear.
But before I could respond their expressions changed drastically.
Flutters of nervousness, slowly settling into a poker face.
“Morning, Rhea” they said.
I turned around, warned.
Rhea was sleepy, still in her PJs,
and desperately in need of a cup of coffee.
But I noticed none of that today.
Today was about bigger things.
Later, as Rhea got ready, my family gathered around her, underplaying things.
“Oh don’t wear that dress, it’s a really casual lunch, and we’re going to the beach after.”
“Hmm,” Rhea said, her face wrinkling up as she thought.
“But we’re still going to a winery right? I think it’ll be nice to dress up a bit.”
“As you wish,” I said, with the calmest, truest smile I could muster.
But inside, my heart was thudding.
Did she know? Was she in on my secret plan?
A sharp cry interrupted my inner monologue.
I rushed out, and my grandmother’s hand was stuck in the car door.
As we got it out, she wailed in pain, tears streaming down her face.
I had never seen her so frazzled before.
As all of us gathered around her with a mix of ice and ointments and the like,
someone suggested taking her to the hospital.
My heart, which at this point was ready to burst out of my ribcage,
Sank down low.
Today was not going as planned.
Then magically, in the matter of a few minutes, my grandmother’s pain subsided.
“No let’s go to the winery,” my mom said. My grandmother nodded, so did my aunt,
so did the rest of my family.
They were ready, and now I had to be.
In the car ride to the winery, I tried my best to calm down.
My mom had the bags of stuff, Rhea’s family had been informed,
and my grandmother was feeling back to normal.
Everything was under control.
Yet I felt slightly unsettled.
Would things be ok?
Was my grandma really ok, or was she just saying so for my happiness?
What else could go wrong?
Would today really be the day?
Then I looked at Rhea, sitting to my side, and I instantly felt relief.
It was just her, and it was just me.
We would figure this out.
I gripped her hand, rubbed it a few times, and smiled at her.
She smiled back, the slightest flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
I once again got the sense that she knew.
But before I could think any more, we were at the winery.
We did one photo under the trellis, with the vines in the backyard.
And then it was time.
It was time for today.
As I went down on my knee, I saw Rhea’s eyes shine with surprise and delight.
In her happiness was mine.
As I said the words I had rehearsed so meticulously,
asking her to be one with me,
all anxiety and hesitation vanished,
and everything flowed naturally,
as it should.
Today felt right.
Me had become we.
And with her and me together, I knew we could handle anything.
What wish could be fulfilled by “no”?
Welcome shadow
negotiate
the change of state
What power freely surrendered
You, defender
Take what I need
Trust me to cede
To tell you true just what I crave
My faith you save
With just a touch
your love, too much
A little cottage garden
is a charming place to be
colors softly drifting
flowers gently scenting
roses, lavender, and honeysuckle vines
and the spicey fragrance
of herbs basking in the sun.
It is a messed up mix
but its grace and charm
calm my weariness.
A place to walk, a stone laid path
a yellow rose covered arbor
and a rustic bench where I can sit
and perhaps
talk to God.
#11: Blank Space
Ah, a clean canvas for my masterpiece of words.
The careful, strategic placement of words and punctuation.
Together, I strive to create an image. Sometimes, my art is abstract.
Other times, meticulous.
Often times, it just about the movement. The experience of stringing words together like beaded pearls on a necklace.
But really, it mores than just creating an image.
It’s about the emotion; the feeling! The excitement, or the dread; the mourning and maybe even torture.
Yes, poetry is an art form.
And today, I’m the artist.
There she goes again
Taking center stage
Ignoring the guidelines
For respectful conversations
She didn’t raise her hand like I did
She interrupted again
She must think she knows
More than anyone else here
I bet she thinks I’m stupid
“No. I have nothing to say.”
There she goes again
Not letting anybody else
talk
Morning coffee smile.
Foam milk art inspires.
Barista magic.
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
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.
