24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I entered this world and was met with my purpose
The bond that ties me to you
Is the common thread that weaves
Across my life’s loom
Embroidered with passing
Tales of lady knights
One sister to another
When your heart first broke
I donned golden mail
Took up the mantle of our missing brother
Held out my cutting blade of wit
Growled at all those who presumed themselves fit
Your fierce protector
Standing at the ready
Paris does not seem as bright anymore,
Not since you left me hanging, all alone.
My heart tore a bit as you slammed the door
And left me crying at home, all alone.
Now, I sit, thinking of your jet black hair,
The twitch of your lips, the spark in your eyes,
The once-filled space of your bags on the stairs,
Everything I lost on that July night.
Sunrise and sunsets are not as lovely,
Dull grey pastels are now what we called clouds.
The walks in the park make me feel lonely.
“L’oublier,” the leaves whisper far too loud.
“Tais-toi,” I say, “I still love him, tu sais?
Just leave me be, s’il vous plait, just today.”
The cottage sat amongst the trees far off the beaten path.
A vacation spot for writers to escape the summer heat.
Tucked behind the treeline there was a strange darkness that blanketed the small house
even during the day.
It was the type of place where there was a typewriter awaiting you,
But no place to plug in a computer.
No bottle of beer to embrace your writers block,
Just paper waiting to be used.
It was the type of place that in the magazine looked quaint and relaxing,
But in reality,
it became a jail when lethargy stepped in between you and your best seller.
The firefly that flies around outside your window
As if to brag about how beautiful the night air is only serving to frustrate you
Instead of amaze you like you thought it would.
As your night continues and your eyes become tired of staring at the paper in front of you,
The missing Zoom function of MS Word begins to look like a luxury that you wish that you had.
No matter how hard you push through to mask your frustration,
Distraction begins to take hold as your deadline creeps closer.
You are hungry.
There has to be some snacks in the kitchen.
Stumbling in search of snacks, you drag yourself from the uncomfortable antique chair
But alas there is only a box of porridge, nothing that will satisfy your craving for a burger.
Defeated,
You take your place to hammer out the breath-taking ending that your story requires.
‘When this book is done, I am taking a real vacation!’
I wish, I would sit
In the holy place of peace
Where, nobody can interrupt or break
The invisible thread of discourse
Between creator and creature
I wish, I could touch that peak
Doing useful deeds, instead of scream
I wish, I die on the place
To feel the pleasure even after death
do people even read anymore?
i remember staying up in third grade
using the brightest flashlight in the house
flicking on the switch and hiding under the covers
and jumping into the world of percy jackson.
do people even read anymore?
it’s such a shame that so many people of gen z
don’t read paper books anymore. like, come on!
they’re cradling their kindles and ipads
and other are just looking at sparknotes.
do people even read anymore?
for real, guys, you’re missing out. i’m gen z, too. i get you,
but seriously, there’s nothing like the feeling of sitting on the couch
and enjoying a cup of tea with a real book, be it fiction, nonfiction, whatever.
just put your phone away for a minute and try it, please.
do people even read anymore?
i’m hoping the answer is yes.
i hope that you’re hoping the answer is yes, too.
i’m hoping that the answer is actually yes.
Without Regrets
“If opportunity doesn’t knock, build a door” Milton Berle
Winged it,
booked a flight,
rented a car,
drove an hour and a half in a state
I had never been to before.
In the scheme of recent events
it was meant to be.
Didn’t foresee the grave pandemic
that would lead to months
of separation,
putting future endeavors
on hold.
Even my well-deserved speeding ticket
with delayed flights home
can’t erase the moments shared
in that weekend’s memory.
I will treasure it forever.
Margarette Wahl
what’s on your mind?
what did I do wrong this time?
why are your hands shaking?
why is your voice breaking?
you’re saying something about a mistake…
i’m so sorry, what’s the mistake that i’ve made?
please, why are you crying?
here, let me wipe away your tears…
did i do something wrong again?
i promise, i love you, i swear…
wait, why are you shaking your head?
why are you telling me to shut up?
okay, okay, i’m listening, please,
drink this for your hiccups.
you’re showing signs of a long lost lover.
you’re saying, you had one too many drinks.
you’re brushing the cigarettes off the counter
as you pour the Budlight down the sink.
you won’t meet my eyes,
you’re pulling away from my hand.
the confession from your lips
makes me wonder why i trusted you again.
I’ve known you for three years
and loved you for two.
Do you really expect me
to act like I never knew you?
I’ve known you for three years
and loved you for two.
I can’t just go and forget
all the things I loved about you.
Black sandy beaches
with triple moon skies.
Visible planets with colorful rings
Strange cozy cabins, in
Hidden magical realms
Choirs of Angel’s who
Sing you to sleep
Unicorns, dragons and Fae with wings
Just a few of my favorite imaginary things.
When I cant sleep
When I need to get away
These are the fantasies, I wish were realities.
Where I can write, draw and play.
My father said I have my his will of stone
and my mother’s heart of gold,
with my grandmother’s powerful words,
and my grandfather’s pride, threefold.
My ancestors’ stories tell legends so old,
their stories of sorrows will fill you with woe.
If you under their words, then
you’ll understand why they define me.
If you open your mind
and listen so closely,
you might also hear my stutter
when I tell you my story.
My words, they tell history,
and history does not lie.
So if the truth’s too much to bear,
I’ll stop to draw a line.
My family was not rich,
We grew up by the sea.
My grandpa was a fisherman,
and my grandma sold cheap tea.
But in my younger mind,
my father was a prince.
My mother, the fair maiden,
that my father had to win.
My parents had to work their way up,
and in America, they were rich.
They had leather bags and leather seats,
and granted my every wish.
But when I turned ten,
the truth became clear.
We were hungry, tired, and poor.
and I knew my parents were scared.
When the scandal hit the papers,
our name became a curse.
The day my father started smoking
was the beginning of the worst.
It drove my mother crazy,
and she found peace in illegal highs
until she took too much,
and went beyond the sky.
I’m sixteen years old
and my name’s in the news.
They call me the only daughter
of Cupertino’s dirtiest two.
They only see the bad,
I wish they knew the truth,
about father’s charity,
and what my mother used to do.
I wish they opened their eyes,
the way I hope you’re doing right now.
I wish they would understand
that my father never wanted this crown.
My name is a heavy burden,
but still, I’ll carry it with pride.
It’s made me walk a little slower,
but it will never break my stride.