24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Light snowfall kissed the tip of my nose
A shiver ran down my spine
Fields of untouched snow stretched for as far as my eyes could see
Pure white
My breath hitched and I felt colder than I ever had in my life
I’d never seen so much empty beauty
I dared not move for fear of disturbing the white blanket and
I dared not speak for fear of stirring something out of the stifled silence
It was all I could do to stand and look out into the white abyss as tears fell from my eyes
Colors drench the autumn leaves,
Dripping the mirror-like boulevard,
Embed in the sonnets of a bard
The vanishing perspectives of the evening
Capture the trailing endless lampposts burning,
The gusty winds make way for the moon shining.
A couple under the umbrella walking
As their footsteps soften on the yard
For a lovely greeting on a card
Colors drench the autumn leaves.
Shatter (Brandy Goodman Poem #12)
I am emotionally stunted
Though most people don’t see.
It’s hard for me to get close
Even with a guarantee.
My heart wants to let people in
But my brain puts on the break
Because in one life
There’s only so much I can take.
My heart has always been tender
It was so easily hurt
That I had to build a wall
And learn to stay alert.
I couldn’t take in more hurt
I couldn’t take in all the pain
So I vowed to never
Be vulnerable again.
But that has made it hard
For me to be a wife or friend
It’s hard to be a sister, a daughter or a mother
I can’t seem to let them in.
The pain that I’ve endured in the past
Still haunts me today
So if I opened up
From pain I’d never get away.
So I stay behind the wall
Every year building it higher
One day the wall will shatter
And I’ll be suffocated by the smoke and fire.
We sat on the front porch
and waited for the cars to drive by
From the left were hers
From the right were mine
a poor children’s game
She got the first
a banana yellow sports car
always she got the flash
The second was mine
a battered up Ford
always I got the trucks
But while she yammered on
about the engine strength
and sleek lines
I thought of the man
in the truck
How he had on a…
“Porche!” she screamed.
“Jackpot!”
pumping her fist up and down.
And my mind wandered back
to the man in the truck
and how in my imagination
he felt more
like home.
[Prompt 12: First line or last line of a book taken from a shelf at random. You’ve Got Something Coming by Jonathan Starke. First line: Trucks waited outside the children’s home. He had on a…”]
I don’t owe you reparations or a doorway to freedom.
Taking down a flag, mascot, or statue only penetrates my hatred for you deeper.
You want a new system then go back to Africa, but don’t dare create your own.
I don’t need you to have a place to call home.
I need you to continue to seek the white man’s gaze.
Jim Crow wrote the letter and the bible to our deceitful ways.
We don’t need to be the KKK or to be a racist,
the ideology has been ingrained into every fabric you wrap yourselves in at night.
We dominate your health care, your schools, your churches, and your social service.
I merely need to be the gatekeeper of history to remind you of my hero Willie Lynch’s public message.
i feel my path stony in detail
perhaps mirth is curtailed
even the morning breeze doesn’t gale
for my smile, the twinkling stars fail
what has infected my zesty soul?
or perception responsible, my loss at whole
when I used to see dampening moon
in hope to leave misery soon
hovering clouds, not for petty darkness
but décor the beauty with sharpness
who has dislocated me, from the path of life?
instead of a rose, who handled the thrones
just a spark of love, requested I
a gentle hand to wipe my eye
to banish the tempest of sigh
should be one, instead of bi
when will I be reasoned to live?
ah! Oceanic passions to whom I give
“…not meant to be perfect,” she mumbled at me,
As I hoed out the weeds from around the tree.
But in my mind, it was a perfect planting,
From start to finish, or someday would be.
So I kept digging for the ideal, the end goal elusive,
With such vigor and fervor, it bordered abusive.
And she frowned
and she fussed
to be inside
cooking
sautéing
deep-baked
or fried,
this series of recipes
she’d never tried.
“…but the weeds just keep growing,”
“They do not!” I lied.
And I kept on digging
But, so did she,
‘til she got what she wanted—
Away from the garden and me!
Plant Combinations for Your Landscape, Tony Lord, Creative Homeowner Press, 2010.
“This book is not meant to be a series of recipes for perfect planting.”
Life
Life is mysterious.
Allowing it
to breathe in,
be quiet
and remain
still for a few
moments comes
close to creating
magic and harmony
in my life. Calm
Comes through effort.
Be still
so all things
can remain calm.
Sitting in my cottage, just home from the store
A strange heat started to radiate from my core.
With each spoon of my porridge, the lethargy got worse
I reached for a bottle of meds then zoom called a nurse.
Random thoughts flew through me, my mind began to ask
was this because I went to the store without my Covid mask?
Looking up to the tree line I asked to get a sign
Then saw a little firefly that said I’d be just fine.
The autumnal colours spattered through the copse
Leaves releasing musky essence of each vein’s blood
Overhead stayed upon the branches no wind to pare them
Were locked in Elven arrangements
As might reindeer be to snowy travel
Beautiful season it worked its way deep into my eyes
As I started to sketch and paint where
Burning had blackened the staves
Fire remaindered elegance.