24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
There’s a language
Unbeknownst to me that
Allows people to take
Less than acceptable ownership
Of their role in a society
That doesn’t value a growing
Populace
Make America Great Again
Roughly translates
Make America White Again
This viewpoint
Does not shock
Nor does it amaze
It is simply and distinctively
Interwoven into the country’s
DNA
Lynchings
Beatings
Murders
DNA
And yet people
Seem desperate to prove otherwise
DNA
As the moon climbs over the hill,
The creatures out in the wild
Wary of the noise, less heard
And the air breathless
There’s something awry in the air tonight
Both mystical and dark, unclean,
Shadows are lurking by old stone walls
In wait for a sign to be seen,
Wearing her smoke-black cloak in the dance
And fluttering like the vampire bat
Grapped her broom only to cut the wind
And fly over the tomb
The flight went over the hill,
Steep and Swift
The crackling sounds of mirth,
Then the air is cold and still.
While watchful eyes at the window-sill
Went straight through the vast land
Out to the farm,
Will get not a minute’s sleep this night.
But the witches danced in a grove of trees
Quite hidden from anyone’s sight,
Wishing to fly high while the Moon is bright!
Coz’ tonight is the magical mystery night
They mounted their broomsticks, held their breath
Then leapt each one with a scream,
And the screams could be heard a mile away
In the Season of the Witch!
… we went to the store and bought a big blow up pool, white and light blue. We filled it with air, then filled it with water. You were giddy! You marched, jumped, danced, stole the hose and drenched us all. You played hard, laughingly.
When your lips went blue, and shivers overtook you, we ran a warm bath, made simple dinner, and you tumbled around the living room floor with your brothers. Then, you crawled into my lap and we both fell asleep to the big boys playing video games,
It was a really good day for brothers, sticksword fighting, running, chasing… a really good last day together.
I took photos all day. I didn’t realize they would be the last. There were never anymore of us all together.
I hope somewhere inside you, some part of that last day still lives. I hope you will remember it again when you are grown and we find you.
Elizabeth Fellows
6/27/2020, 9am
which came first
the egg or the bacon?
bacon in the oven
egg in the pan
if they’re on the bun
at the same time
what does it matter
as long as
the cheese comes after
the milk.
Virtual Timing
Phone has been a silent sentry
for weeks into this pandemic,
robo callers extinct for lack of work.
I’m on a Zoom poetry reading,
mic on to read my poem at the open,
and you guessed it, my phone rings.
Not my cell phone at my elbow that
I can click off but the house phone,
too far to reach to press the red
shut-up button, and so I read my poem.
A few days later, the host sends
a video of the reading; so nice to hear
the features again, phrases I missed,
narratives to relive and savor, and then
there’s the open. Too anxious to wait,
I fast forward to me, hear the phone
loud as Big Ben at midnight and again
cringe at virtual timing.
What I missed the first time now
makes me chuckle. Several poets
get up, checking their phones, sighing
before returning to their virtual square
on the screen. I want to shout “It was me,
my phone rang – so sorry to interrupt”
but I know it’s too late for that.
Two days later, I attend another reading,
my time at the open mic, I hold my breath
that the phone will not ring and it doesn’t.
Instead, Snickers, our watchdog,
starts a chorus of barking, joined by
our other dog, Ruffles, just as I start reading.
No way to shut the door, tell them to shut up,
I just read my poem through gritted teeth
at the sheer injustice of virtual timing.
I’m the last reader, we say goodbye, click off
quick and clean; dogs still barking an alarm,
I race to look out the window and smile
to see three baby bunnies running in circles
to catch each other, a hopping game of tag,
so cute, so small, so clear why the dogs
are alerting me.
When the video arrives in my inbox,
I click off without watching it; instead,
I sit watching our front lawn for bunnies,
the dogs quiet beside me.
~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 7
I Can Now See Clearly
I move to many location
In every destination,
I find traps,
Giving me slaps.
I find myself falling
In every digging.
I try to find shortcut
In every path.
I can now see,
In every scene.
Packed up our memories
slashed through the deep roots
trying to find a home.
Tape and boxes contain the tangible.
Our hearts contain the eternal.
Journey on, homeward bound.
2020 -The Season of Sadness and Change
2020-This was the year for clear vision
that’s what we all said on January 1, 2020
this would be the year of change
and in many ways it has been.
a change so great none of us could imagine-
so many things we’ve never seen before
and hope to never see again
but history always repeats itself
and everyday people die
gasping for air
for breath
on ventilators and face down in the street
with necks on knees
it is too profound
too much hurt to bear
too hard to even think quietly about
much less to speak out loud
we will put it in the history books though
and what will we say?
2020 -the season of sadness and change
A few streets away, a bridge connects two neighborhoods.
In my dreams, there he stands, the faceless man
Dressed in a tattered suit, he searches for a sound
Hidden in the closet of my bedroom, I shudder silently
The vibrations alone attract him closer to my home
He walks in the middle of the road
The fog separating with fear before him
Moonlight pierces through the clouds,
And illuminates his presence, a petrifying sight,
With each breath that I take, he comes closer,
Until he stands right before my door,
His worn out boots visible from underneath.
The doorknob turns and before he can creep inside,
I wake up