24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Tang
When I kiss you I taste Tang,
the bitter sweetness lighting
up my lips, my tongue. Memories
of an old you play in my mind.
But that you really wasn’t
you. It was him, before
he left and took my heart
with him hundreds of miles.
The Tang on your mouth tastes
like his old cigarettes,
sticky lip-gloss, and music
playing way too loud as wind
brushed hair against our cheeks.
I kiss you and remember
who we were: the best
of friends, lovers meant to be.
Fireflies could never be as loved as one small pixie,
Nor have they light within their minds to fight with demon hordes,
Though tales of lightning bugs are told through the land of Dixie,
A tiny, flighty redhead’s shine is brighter, by all accord
It’s said: Four dark souls took up to be the Legends of Kallisti,
And when, upon this waif, they came, she charmed them, all and one.
She died not once, but thirty times, it’s said of li’l Misty
And even then, she died some more, before her work was done!
Her demons friends protected her, shielding Clearmist from harm,
Lightning storms and hail, she hailed – in the middle of the day;
To trolls and dragon’s kin flew they, by wing and magic charm,
And beat with fists and magic, swords flashing all the way!
The truth was, though: This faye had only bested with her heart;
For, though she’d flit across the world with her four favorite souls,
This little blink was pixie-dust without her friends’ dark art –
So, she would say her season’s wins were a mere few cave trolls!
The Season of The Invisible Dragon
~Willjxn
Season of invisibility—
Dragon spirit from the east.
You have put the world in hell.
Hiding, waiting where you feast.
Just when we think that all is well,
Oh, hydra-headed beast.
You flick another with your tail.
Oh, dark maniacal priest.
Tired (Brandy Goodman poem #8)
I’m tired of saying I’m tired
When someone asks after me
The strong front faded long ago
Now the shell is what they see.
Walking about with a sour look
Never a positive word to say
Shuffling through life like a zombie
On any and every given day.
I’m tired of feeling tired
Weary down to the bone
Dragging the bottom of the barrel
Utterly lost and alone.
Consumed by pain and worry
Drowning in hurt and fear
Pushing everyone away
Because it aches to have them near.
I’m tired of being tired
Exhausted to the core
Fretting about everyone and everything
Leaves me physically sore.
Entombed by the weight of problems
Shrouded in the dankness and dark
Scrounging to fine some good
To bring back my old spark.
I know I’m not the only one
Others have felt the way I do
But their words just don’t help
My negative point of view.
So many years feeling this way
Have finally taken their toll
How do I find a way back
From being tired to the depths of my soul.
masks
masks, a sign of weakness
a pretense of anti-racism
a façade of social justice
a cover-up
a front for social justice
a veneer of Black Lives Matter
No, none of this is true
masks
masks mask our germs
masks reveal our care
the masquerade is not hidden but exposed by the non-mask wearer
ones who refuse to wear a mask uncover their lack of empathy
ones who refuse to wear a mask expose their absence of humanity
ones who refuse to wear a mask disclose their deficiency of strength
masks
my wife makes masks
our dining room table is a mask making station
masks are here to stay
I’m afraid to say
masks, my new found ally
now it is easy to see a person’s character
mask or no mask
There’s a war out there.
Everyday I go out to meet it.
It has become an everyday event,
leaving you behind
with your beans and cornflowers,
leaving the dahlias you put
in a vase. You ask me what time
I’ll be heading home, to dinner,
to our places at the table
where I’ll tell you who I killed,
how they screamed in pain,
bled to death, and rose again.
You ask me what time I’d like
my tea, and if I need a cushion
while I clean my knife and gun.
The dahlias are sipping water,
nodding their heads in sleep.
I covered up the mirrors.
I avoided myself the best.
I tried not to look at that demon,
Stuck so deeply, back of my brain.
Like autumn, it had come to my life.
Had promised me beauty,
Had promised me repentance.
The demon had faked a soothing breeze,
To snatch away all my golden leaves.
To tear away what had covered me up.
And here I lay, cold, bared to the world –
Barely covering my naked soul –
Buildings? Knives? Rope? Poison?
That demon, is now a graceful lady.
She wears all my gold. Glitters all around.
Looks a lot like me.
Perhaps without my black stains.
Perhaps without my criminal colours.
Feeds on guilt. Nourishes on esteem.
To some – it’s imagination, forgery.
To some – it’s eccentricity, insanity.
To me – it’s simply my poetry.
One day she went home
after breathing only dust
and salt water.
Her shredded clothes
loosely hung off her body.
After only talking to strangers
for eight months,
She had a face
that had been battered
by wind and furrowed brows,
squinting in the sun.
Always too hot or too cold,
a life never
temperature-controlled.
Emoji Poetry – prompt contributed by Jennifer Faylor
Look at these emoji versions of poems and write a poem by translating one of them back into verse. You can deviate from translating at any point if a poem takes off in a different direction, or write about the concept of or your experience with emojis instead. For additional inspiration check out one of Stephanie Berger and Carina Finn’s emoji poems here.
down wash in lysol
distance hands by all means
touch don’t mask subsection
do not panic at least
disinfect lock latex
instructions follow 20 seconds
paragraph 6 glove apart
don’t cough
inject home social feet pump
stay covid gas home soap isolate
quarantine your face whenever possible
furthermore cover your sanitizer
aforementioned workers
19 essential glove distance cart
insta-curfew if need be
meditate
vaccine pump face
repeat
is that clear?