24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Write a poem about a physical activity you do all the time. It could be something mundane and chore related, such as brushing your teeth or mowing the lawn, or it could be something you do for fun, or for your health, like running or swimming.
The poem can be about more than that physical activity, but it must start and end with it.
Events are moving so quickly in this land
that catching ones breath is not possible
with all of the contested gordian knots of limited
oxygen overwhelming my feeble mind.
The alliance of the Greek god Chaos
and the Egyptian god Seth
has permeated all realms of our lives,
even ones death, through the orange demon who is everywhere.
Shakespeare’s plays in time of plague,
in time of civil unrest, in time of imperial rule,
adds a disturbing uneasiness to how we will be when
events slow down and we look into a mirror.
That way,
concluded the Interviewer,
you can tell if a buyer is a buyer.
And, what if he’s not a buyer?
This question came from two rows behind me.
I had seen the guy changing his tie to one
he’d bought in the lobby.
The Interviewer’s part crinkled
while his face remained flat.
Without speaking, he walked past me to the guy who’d asked the question.
What do we say about our inner skeptic?
I turned partly around to see the Interviewer standing above the guy, crotch to face. It was an unsettling thing to see. The guy wanted to back away, but the table behind him was too close, and he was big. I guessed a former high school wrestler.
The moment lasted forever. The guy composed himself and remembered the script. This wouldn’t be a replay of the last call-out.
I had almost turned around when I noticed, at their feet, a tiny recorder sticking out of the bag on the floor between the guy and the next participant. I couldn’t tell if the machine was recording, but I hoped if he were, that he had enough tape to last the entire session. It would plague me for the next 20 minutes if the machine clicked while the class, or audition, or whatever this terrible situation I was held hostage to completion, did end.
Somewhere, a radio began to play. It was down the hall, but the Interviewer turned his tiny, slicked-back head to the music.
Wordlessly, he stepped into the hallway and clicks of his loafers were heard. Then the Platters song went silent, and the clicks returned down the hall.
————————————————————
My line was the end of Stephen King’s Hearts in Atlantis.
“They sat that way without speaking, and from the radio at their feet, The Platters began to play.”
What you gave me was
was the ability to rise in the morning.
Enveloped me
Consoled me
Never asked for too much.
I became a baby at baptism
Pure and carried up to blisses of
heaven, just for a moment.
Take me back and
let’s do it over and over.
I’ll always have you, won’t I?
And the rain won’t make any difference?
I didn’t know myself in search of it
I lost myself when I had it
now I know there’s no way I could live without it.
When does it?
Some might ask, When “does it matter?”
If Grace is here, can pain be here?
An essential question regarding infertility, and loss, and cancer.
If grace is everywhere, can suffering occur anywhere? anyday?
I am the wrong person to ask, of course.
My life has more happiness than struggle.
Who else gets to spend a day playing with poetry?
But my friendship with God feeds my trust everyday.
My daughter and niece never conceived.
God stayed with them in the good lives that each chose for living on.
Bill and Jim and Joe have each buried children.
God gave them Grace to get through that pain, everyday.
Mom fought Cancer and won twice, of the three times.
Angels helped, feeding her hope that she could finish her tasks, and she did.
Pain can be found everywhere, and angels with soothing courage come around.
God’s Grace is everywhere, everyday.
By Nancy Ann Smith, Amherst, Ohio. June 27, 2020 Poetry Marathon
The last line of the book Earth Crammed With Heaven by Elizabeth A. Dreyer, is “Does it matter? Grace is everywhere.”
I am made of steel
made of nails and invincible.
Keep going.
Stop and I will find
as you probably know
I am an alloy based in iron
Prone to rust and decay
I don’t want to be reminded
we shared, we accomplished our mission.
we exhaled, we scoped out the competition.
with a reward in my hand, a popped bottle of champagne.
chewing on my old thoughts, my future, and some romaine.
We were wrapped in innocence
In someone else’s dream
Somewhen (in another time)
But nothing’s ever as it seems
The reality is the nightmare
And innocence, the past
So long ago I can’t recall
When loss first came to pass
For even as a child
Those dreams, they couldn’t sell
See, we were raised on fairytales
That began, “Once Upon Awww, Hell.”
~Mandy Kocsis©2020~
First sentence in “Loved” by P.C. and Kristin Cast: the dream started innocently enough.
Last sentence: awww, hell.
The true feeling of flying,
there would be no denying.
To glide, to soar.
We would never need an oar,
to guide us ,
through the waves of life.
Just let the air and the wind control your
journey,
take away any strife.
Don’t you just love gliding through the air?
Will this remain a solo flight or shall we take
off as a pair?