24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I imagine New Zealand is like the Lord of the Rings
filled with wizards and dwarfs
expansive landscapes
mountains that reach the heavens
White people with funny accents
close to Australian
but not quite
Their own brand of racism
something that I can look at
and observe from afar
without personally being hurt
Into the realms of darkness and despair
is where I typically reside.
But in my heart lies a soul
wishing to live in the sunshine.
She walks on velvet moss below her feet
Balancing and gingerly watching her footing
In the meadow ahead
Through the ancient oaks draped in moss
Like curtains shielding grand windows
Lies a solid rock
An inviting place to sit
She places her feet one in front of the other
Toes damp with leaves stuck on bottom
Light breeze giving the leaves something to whisper about
Ahead, a large purple crystal
Topped by fairytale fairies
Summoning her to the entrance leading to the
Underworld
Below the canopy of trees
She shivers with the breeze
You want me to describe the problem,
then repeat myself until you’ve claimed to solve it.
But ignoring a problem doesn’t really take care
of it though? Does it?
Can’t claim to not see the destruction that your
ignorance let you live In.
Lift those veils up, get your eyes up; pay attention
see. Clearer vision, less division; strive for unity!
What if it was your child being treated differently,
for the color of their skin,
their gender, or sexuality!
Hardly seems fair to judge them,
If you’re asking me.
Casting shame on those deemed less than worthy.
Contemplate it; overstate it, seek reciprocity.
Unwilling to be pushed aside or sit sidelined quietly.
Lift those veils up, get your eyes up; pay attention
see. Clearer vision, less division; strive for unity!
Being welcome under spectrum
of the roaring rainbow squad,
make me realize there’s acceptance now,
than there ever really was. I grateful, i am.
Though I won’t ever pretend, there’s a nagging
sense of displacement that hinders me to no end.
Lift those veils up, get your eyes up; pay attention
see. Clearer vision, less division; strive for unity!
-Steady Striving-
-CyN-
The blank canvas beckons
but fear holds me back.
Can I do this?
Am I good enough?
Who will even like, who will want what I’ve made?
My inner muse responds,
‘Be still, listen to your heart.
It will never betray you.
Create what calls to you.’
Still with trepidation I approach –
never sure what will emerge.
I have something in mind –
an idea,
a concept only.
What colours do I need?
I choose Alizarin Crimson, Cadmium Yellow, Ultramarine Blue.
Now, what brushes and tools to produce the right marks?
Bristle or synthetic – I select both and yes, that palette knife too.
Then it begins.
The process of drawing out images hidden in the canvas –
of telling a story in paint when words just won’t do.
Like a sculptor discovering his subject buried deep inside a piece of alabaster –
it’s how every artist works
Time seems to expand as the process continues.
The work begins to take shape,
I’m focused and attentive to each stroke.
Throughout I feel nudges to stop, to step back, take it in, make adjustments.
Then the moment arrives when I know it’s done.
Solar plexus fills with a sensation I can’t put into words –
it’s the signal to stop.
From fear to finishing
– my creative process.
The medium may be words, music, or images.
Each one of us like the Starship Enterprise – on a voyage of discovery.
We go where no one has gone before
for only we can delve into our minds and bring forth creations of our imaginings.
Step here and look down-
Tell me, what is it that you see?
From it, life above,
Beneath it, lies those you once knew:
The earth holds both life and death.
7:00PM Poem
Elizabeth Wingert
Look, Sheeple, to the higher purpose of life.
I’m not talking about men, women, children, or marriage;
Or unhappy grown women with jobs and no man
and on and on and on with the other redundant world issues
Or whether it’s ok to make peace with the majority of the world.
Water, Sheeple, filled up with ick, ick, ick!
These are additional icks! Look, Sheeple!
It was a sunny winter day the day that the pandemic hit home.
The day the economy shut down.
The day that government closed.
The Wall street floor emptied onto the streets of New York,
Not to return for months.
Stores, amusement parks, beaches, and hotels all lights out.
The world had been taken to its knees by an invisible demon.
People had no choice but to stay home
as they watched their hopes and dreams crumble in front of them.
With their hands tied behind their backs
People began to pray.
Some talking to a God that they had never acknowledged existed.
The Season of the Pandemic brought a broken world to a stop.
People never thought that would ever happen.
These things only happen in other countries, not here.
But here we kneel, praying.
God help me get through this.
Observance of Gratitude
“ Give thanks for what we are today and go on
fighting for what you’re going to be tomorrow.” William Shakespeare
Be grateful for
food to eat
beverages to drink
air to breathe
pens with ink
journals with lines
poems to write
songs to hear
art to admire
letters to receive
words to inspire
family to love
friends to encourage
pains to overcome
passion to wait for
pets to rescue
criticism to acquire
concerts to attend
languages to learn
books to read
cultures to attain
and a mind to obtain it all.
Margarette Wahl
The shadow on the moon goes left to right
left to right, tiptoeing day and night
The radiance of the moon goes left to right
night after night after night after night
does the light follow the darkness or does the darkness follow the light
13 days to go to nothing 13 more to return bright
I want to live in a world where the past remains the past and
The only questions never answered are the questions never asked
tonight tonight tonight tonight tonight tonight