24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
His hands loved the soil, the way it felt was a caress.
His eyes loved the flowers
He used the colors to create the soil a dress.
Trees, majestic, soaring high or squat, hunkered low,
were his absolute favorites.
He loved the fast growing pine and the changing oak leaves.
He tended them all, each with the care required to be strong.
They give testament to his love.
A new Hollywood apartment.
My parents came to visit one January.
My father discovered plants dying on my back patio.
He was disgusted with me.
“They are not mine!” I affirmed.
“They are now!” he said, furiously watering them.
I reflect on those plants from time to time.
I feel suffocated by my own irresponsibility.
Now, I have too much responsibility.
That feels better.
Prompt 14, Hour 14
Frumpy
freckled, four-eyed,
forty and forgotten,
broken but beautiful, still she
(A cinquain is a five line poem featuring a syllable count of 2/4/6/8/2, respectively.)
While he sat reading through her journal, flames licked his eyes.
Outside a group stood round
Pointing at the cart
Gawking at the cart
Whispering about the one exposed eye.
Some spoke of usong their torches to burn the cart, the face, to burn the body to the ground.
He rushed through the door.
He screamed a sxream he couldn’t hear.
Feet touching ground he didn’t feel.
He waved the book of her words.
“Tell the family.”
“Proper burial”
Somewhere through the crowd he heard, “but she is just a whore.”
Blankets of Hope
“Empathy, a muscle we need to practice.”
for Nick & Joe Fiorito @blanketsofhope.com
This seed grew from an idea In Madison Square Park.
Two brothers who lived and worked in New York City
saw the homeless and wanted to be a difference.
“Give a blanket, change the world.”
A 5th grade teacher and her students wanted to help.
They wrote messages to go with each blanket.
Now children all over the country help write messages.
Something special when pen and paper meet.
“A blanket to provide a little warmth, it’s more
it’s about human contact.”
Margarette Wahl
Nature is my mother she has held my hand and wiped my tears in dew covered blades of grass she carries me nature is my mother covering me through the winds and showing me to have faith in new beginnings nature is my mother in old trees that have fallen and springs that wash my bloodied mind nature is my mother and in her frail moments I hold her hand and wipe her tears through winds of change nature is our mother and we are children of the Earth
nowhere road
this must be : our 7000th straight : day on the road : or rather off it : since we’re trying to avoid : the highways, even byways : Ryan thinks : somehow : they’re being monitored : he’s probably right : but all this relentless : creeping cowardly along : slow motion stealth attack : across abandoned paddocks : under cover of trees : is doing my head in
thank the stars : for the cruiser : it goes wherever : we point it : unlike me : who’s almost ready : to lie down it the dirt : let the big wheels : roll over me
in the words of Robin Wall Kimmerer,
those who took care of use,
i am guilty,
for i never took care of then when i had the chance,
gifting us with oxygen,
we took breathing for granted,
now choked and suffocated,
here lie the remains of the human civilisation,
the starved themselves of life,
and as their nature fought for the last of the light,
instead of naturing and cultivating it,
they fell victim,
now the land filled with bodies
a sight of fright
-Ropa
If we had the earth implanted in our womb,
Would we nourish ourselves more?
Would we care for her better?
Would we look down at the plants and trees and rivers, as we would look down at our own beautiful growing belly,
Knowing that with each breath, each thought, each bite of food, each sip of water creates the growth of the forests and fields that will soon provide us with nourishment, medicines, fresh air, and a place to revel in beauty.
Would we have more intention to do what is best for the earth? Would we give ourselves more time to prioritize it’s wellbeing?
Would we put it above all else? Would we love ourselves more wholeheartedly knowing that this alone would improve the world.
If we saw ourselves as the divine mothers that we are, would we feel empowered? Would we console the troubles of the terrified world by taking as much of it in our arms and shooting it with the nurturing power we have?
Would we take every wounded soul capable of creating destruction and hold it close allowing anger and greed to melt into grief and sadness and from there would we rebuild these souls by feeding them with all of the love we have.
Could we fill them full enough that they sleep and steep in only love, waking up anew. If we act as the Divine Mothers we are, can we wake up the world?
White Jeep Cherokee
Two thousand miles
Road trip in Alaska
Jersey girls having
No business venturing
Into the wild alone
A grizzly encounter
Two of them left with
Damp panties and tall tale
Roads too narrow
Bridges above trees
Abandoned copper mines
Handsome bearded men
Avoiding crowded places
Finding luxury in this space
We left some Jersey there
Returning with grit
A sisterhood created