24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
In the hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit, that’s what I imagined,
When I was young, I longed to be a fearsome Dwarf or Elven King,
A ranger from whom goblins flee or wizard upon Eagle’s wing,
But as of late, it seems to me,
It’s best to be a humble thing,
In the hole in the ground, there lived a a hobbit worry-free…
But then again, they got the Ring.
I remember when all those little birds looked like snow.
it could be the way in to a poem, but this Goddess,
She Who Is Never Not Stuck, is here
saying it’s no use.
If nothing else, She knows stuck.
She suggests dinner, a Real Housewives bingewatch,
washing and conditioning our hair -anything but writing.
She’s pretty and her hair is fabulous.
We’re done here.
Love is a lesson in caring, compassion selflessness and also self-care.
Optimism is a buoyant force that we must all share.
Valuing one emotion over another is not healthy for you
Every emotion has value, it’s true!
Recognizing all feelings is
Optimal self care
Owning all sensations
Truth and Despair
Seeing Light even in Darkness.
Growing and learning day by day
Realizing that relationships take work not just play!
Our relationships give life meaning and hope
Without them we be would not be able to cope
Tough times draw us together in love
Heavenly relationships sent from above
Over time, we would love each other, and I would learn to love her like a mother loves a daughter imperfectly and without roots.
Acrostic poem by Ingrid Exner, Half Marathon, 2020 and above line from book reading.
Well my dear girl, heaven is what you believe it to be.
Mine is built courtesy of The Wizard of Oz and The Care Bears.
When my imagine comes to life and I see places unseen
I dream that heaven is beautiful and colorful, joyous.
Kind of like clicking your ruby shoes together
You follow the yellow brick road through fields
and over rainbows to the pearly gates.
Father God is there to great you and comfort you.
He is there to welcome you home.
The sun is always shining, even when it rains.
Can we have cake in heaven?
I think so my dear.
Will you be there to read to me at night?
Of course, my dear.
And daddy too?
Yes.
Then heaven sounds like a nice place.
When do we go there Mommy?
Oh, not until God calls you home.
From Prompt 12, my line is “It’s rare that a story begins at the beginning.”
Martini Splash
By Sandy Lender
Amid the laughter and clanking of glasses
Over the jazz, but under the radar of my BFF,
Aqua Velva touches my arm like he knows me.
Just my luck,
Mr. Touchy is one of those rare gents who thinks the words
“no, thank you”
mean “at least buy me a drink.”
Like I’m gonna take a drink from a stranger.
A drink that has a darker color than his own.
Stay six feet back, buddy,
Or I’ll drop this mask and sneeze directly on you.
(And your martini-of-questionable-hue.)
The over-cologner says “that’s not a nice beginning to our story.”
I tell him it’s how “our” story begins, middles, and ends.
Saved by my BFF’s return,
Mr. Touchy preps to turn away,
But I can’t (with good conscience) let him take his suspect cocktail into the buzzing crowd.
Oopsadaisy! My mistake!
Well, that’ll just cover that 1970’s aftershave, won’t it?
I leaned back, looking at a blue sky,
and perhaps to some other eyes it’s grey,
or green, or deep purple, but the wind was soft
and the air was pure, and as a child I thought
how sweet life must be with watermelon, warm sun,
and slow, crooning blues.
Slow season got slower
a visitor named covid was
lurking unwanted
tourists were denied
they might be enablers of the dread
the humpbacks
on their own annual tour
dined on Alaskan krill
far from their winter playground
and were missed
a whale statue
dramatic
breaching
poignant
stood in Wailea
unnoticed
unadorned except for bird waste
and thus the man with the powerwasher
adorned as he was in body suit
and full-time job
powered the blue metal clean
carefully
soothingly
thoroughly
as if paid by the hour
for whose benefit I could not say
the whale perhaps a talisman of commerce
of things past and hopes of profit returning
a rabbit’s foot of faith
Leviathans that bring foot traffic are always welcome
If we had flawless crystal balls
there’d be no misery making decisions.
But the best in augury cracks, leaving us,
(if observation of daily news
is any oracle,) merely wagers,
amusements, for our gods.
They can’t predict with greater
certainty than you or I
what random, free willed zig
we’ll zag, or bluff we’ll bluff.
So I amuse myself imagining
a pantheon with wads of dollar bills
in their immortal fists
shouting, “Buy that Chevy!”
Or “Kiss her! Kiss her!”
Or “Pull the trigger, damn it! I’m down a hundred!”
While here on solid ground we stand
in befuddled agony,
every card we pull
leaving us more bewildered,
praying to those who seemingly only know
that they have double or nothing riding on, “Do it!”
Lyra and her daemon moved through the darkening hall, taking care to keep to one side, out of sight of the kitchen.
A daemon’s after me
darkening my door,
No clue if it’s bad or good
It lingers in the hall
While I try to get food
It never enters my kitchen
Sometimes I wonder why
It just suddenly starts bitchin’
Pacing just out of sight.
I suppose I should care more
When it’s moved to such stress
So I guess I’ll ask the daemon
why it vexes me with such care.
Her name is Lyra,
she’s neither good nor bad.
She says she keeps an eye out
For the goodness to be made
She likes to keep things neutral
and I’m the last one undecided.
Through the years the daemons battled
Each on the side of time
Taking souls for one goal:
Resetting the world for all time.
I guess that’s a good enough reason
I didn’t probe much further.
I asked why she didn’t enter my kitchen
And she just laughed?
Wear your masks!
Wash your hands!
Don’t stand so
close to me
We’re alone
together
(A tricube is made up of three stanzas, with each stanza being composed of three lines, and each of those lines is made up of three syllables.)