24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Roaring!
Thrashing!
Scratching!
The sounds of the souls disturbed.
You can feel their fire
the embers glow in every tree that they encompass.
The night sky screams in anticipation for their return.
The ghostly wind that chills the spin
shocking everything it touches
every direction holds its own sounds.
But there is no love, love, love
No stopping the bleeding
The life boats and watchmen drifted to bed
While we are sick and dying
New emoji Poem:
🤬🔥🤬🔫🤬📢
⏰
🕰
💡
❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🤎🤍
🗓
My version
Bengal Cat! Bengal Cat! burning light.
Christmas pine and summer bloom, the stars at night,
Christmas pine and summer bloom,
I ask the silly spirits, read my palm, what’s in store for me?
in hands we trust, community we bind, humanity’s thrust
more or less, we could be free, we could be dust.
By Ajanta Judd All Rights Reserved – 6am 27/06/2020 Australian EST – No Prompt
Colorfully flavored discs
decked into double
and filled with a buttercream
relished with coffee
capturing the taste
in every
bite!
Every day is a special day
Where do kids play on way
Some have football, some have clay
Laughing, kidding and drinking whey
Their fine dresses turn dusty
Playing in full swing as trusty
With clean hearts and smudged faces
Helping others like an eternity embraces
I wish, I could dive in Time
Sit in hive, and live a state of sublime
Liberation from libation
Sans ale suds
Sans upper and downer
No more dry mouth
No more headache
No more insatiable need for ‘more’
This is granted
For those whom choose sobriety
You’re either in or out
Saved by God’s Grace
O Pilot! My Pilot! Our spooked wave ship ended to the left
Frosty breathed a tornado ship, prizes and medals and parties
Soon the right ship anchor, ears bell, Dancing twin girls Dancing twin boys
T T Eyes, Ship Equals Meh plus fencer
But O heart! Heart! Heart!
O blood draw stops
ship pilot bed
blow your nose and die
Layering the simple coffee date with war stories of the past,
seemed both genuine and informative.
Ring charm, enter uninvited touch.
Who said it wasn’t invited?
Certainly not he,
or she,
or they.
hour 7 prompt 7
the season of the days to call a spade a spade
this is the season of the days to call a spade a spade,
spared no shame for games well played
in this season of the days to call a spade a spade
when we crave the kinder ways to save our faces
in the race into spaces where
we forget our place is face to face with
those who are brave enough to weather this –
the season of the days to call a spade a spade.
when we are all called to name
those who would trade kindness for hate,
hiding in cop cars or prayers or murder or rape every other day
in this season of days to call a spade a space.
© r. l. elke