Hour 13, Poem 16
Piano on the pavement
I don’t know how to play
But I can dance and prance around
On the painted lines on the ground
Create a symphony just for myself
With the only concern being…
A potential traffic accident?
Redacted
“Redacted”
taking back words
is harder
once spoken
written, they can be
~scratched out
typed, they can be
~ deleted
in pencil, the canc be
~ erased
yet, once spoken
they cannot be unheard
or lost forever
words never heard
~~~~~ 💔~~~~~
Redacted to Read
words
once spoken
cannot be
unheard
When the sun rays touched me (Hour 14)
Sitting beside a window,
sipping my cup of tea,
wondering to myself,
how life could have been.
If words were left unsaid,
worries left our nest,
if we never just met,
how life could have been.
Looking at the stars,
while the moon stared at me,
what matters the most?
and then it hits me.
Then it dawned on me,
as the rays touched me,
woke me up again,
telling me its not too late,
just write your own fate.
Life still could be
How you want it to be!
Hour 14, Respect
“You ~f…..~ bitch, you are not welcome
Only respectable people live here”
She heard them and looked one last time
At that house that she had once called home
She felt tempted to show them ~her middle finger~
The Respectable respect they spoke about
Was sacrificed at the the altar of her vagina
For even as meagre as a rupees hundred
Every single day, every single hour, night after night!
Hour Fourteen: Walls
You could be facing puke brown walls,
back to the cage bars and booted key holders,
envisioning apertures,
sunlight piercing the dank air,
and dirty, fluorescent, flickering dying light.
And you might lie in a meadow,
floating atop a bed of purple coneflower, fireweed, buttercup, and chicory,
rehearsing scenes,
screams and fists,
behind closed eyes, reliving it all in an acid-gut and brimstone mind.
Or you can sit among urban blight,
cracked walls, concrete barriers, painted baby blue hope,
hooded against daylight,
slumped over a sucking screen,
missing signs, like a diamond in an addiction wall.
hour 10
this is the same barnes & noble
that i loved growing up
i would always beeline to the back
to the young adult section
spend what felt like hours
but was likely only 1
reading the back of every book
whose cover grabbed my eye
i won’t lie
i judge books by their covers
still do to this day
and i also won’t lie
there are a lot of good books with bad covers
that i would have missed out on
if not personally recommended to me
the young adult section isn’t in the back anymore
i’m always surprised to pass its’ new location,
by the romance section
where the cds used to live
now i explore a bit more then i did back in the day
make pit stops in world history, new releases,
romance, and social sciences
i still end my trip right back
where it used to begin
hour 9
what is love if it’s not scary
in the way that unfamiliar things often are
not in the way that’s it a wolf draped in a sheep’s skin
hate and anger and disrespect masquerading as love
what’s with the wolf/sheep binary?
what about the violent sheep? and the wolves
that mind their business?
who does it do good to act like good & evil are fixed?
are stagnant and unchanging?
does it benefit the unsuspecting wolf,
suddenly surrounded by sheep
but not afraid
no instinct to flee
because sheep are the harmless ones
right?
CLOSET LOVE – #12
I’ve decided not to come out
Jam, cream and scones
are more delicious in the dark
The closet doesnt quite close
I can still see you
If there’s a power cut
I won’t be afraid
if it floods
i’m off the floor
its where i meet my monsters
for cups of tea and chat
I’m safe here in the closet
hiding the unpleasant parts
of my personality
While here I have decided to bond
with a toothless troll and a large rat
Poem 14
Gas station girl
Wears different earrings each visit
One day she wore gold, the next she wore pearls
Such delicate material
In this hidden and dingy 76
Your presence is ethereal
I stand among humming machinery
As you walk in, scratching your nose
Brown eyes flickering over the lottery
“Your earrings are great”
I say in my head
In the silence you smile and ask, “Pump 8?”
I hear the familiar chime as you leave
And watch you do the littler things
And imagine if you’re exactly as you seem
Gas station girl
In my isolation at the 76
I wonder what it’s like to be in your world
And wear earrings of gold and earrings of pearls
Hour 14 “A Moment’s Hope…”
Hour 14
9/2/2023
“A Moment’s Hope…”
Close your eyes
and listen – just listen,
you CAN hear
a heartbeat
…cry, even your own.
Eyes stare from tenement windows,
to the dark – beyond AND within,
and Electronic rooms beckon –
so filled with ether whispers.
…Whispers that tease and cajole
spirits lost in a moment’s hope
caught up in empty dreams
living empty promises, alone.
Is a world of tears that beckons,
a world of fears surround.
We wish so much for so little
to feel so utterly frail –
when we realize
we don’t even know how to reach,
and clues don’t come cheap.
Friends matter – tread lightly
hold hands and breathe.
Question, ’cause trust is earned not given.
Know what you risk before you reach
and listen to your gut.
Chris
(C) Chris Twyford 9/2/2023