24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
It’s a perfect day
with grandkids around.
Only a grandma
truly loves the sound.
When one starts talking
then another one too.
Total mayhem
what’s a grandma to do?
But don’t look stressed
or confused you know.
Or the kids will think,
“Do we have to go?”
But embrace the blessing
with the five God’s given.
And enjoy each second
as long as I’m livin!
Blessed with five precious grandkids
by Del Bates
These words are not yours
‘I am not a fighter’ Brigitte Poirson
Mother, these are not your utterances.
You do not talk to me without light in your voice,
without adding a pinch of hope on my tongue.
You would tell me to hang on, on days
when the wind breaks off chains,
seeking to devour bodies prone to surrender
to darkness, to nightmares and to death.
There’s a way a possessed sea rages:
my mother’s demons have resurrected,
perhaps with more entourage.
And this is why my heart bleeds before you
to show you how far you’ve wandered
from your body, believe me, mother.
You taught me to walk the world
with songs as lamps around my head,
hunting my grief as game in the forest,
and not to surrender to torments.
No where to go.
No one to be.
A leisurely morning
with no one but me.
The freedom and space
for whatever I please.
I might sit down at the piano
and plunk on the keys.
Or take a walk through the garden,
spend some time with the birds.
Or I could read or write something–
feed my romance with words.
Whatever I do,
it’s all up to me.
My perfect day
allows me to just be.
An unhurried awakening,
a wafting in of all that is salubrious and sylvan.
The defenestration of belched acrimony,
even as there is a whiff of osmotic wholesomeness near at hand.
A mindless meandering, a rambling ratiocination,
a souk soaked in succulent serendipity.
Cassiopeia on a lost, listless horizon and copper-coloured, cloudy, cocktail skies.
You…and the non-intrusive and natural night.
MAYHEM IN THE CITY!!
Bop Poetry
Lights dim concurrently
Noise breaks out intermittently
Shots fired ! screams heard
Lights switched on hastily
Hearts pumping, cries bellow, wind blows!
Wonder what’s happening now in the city!
Darkness looms at the end of days, let the light come in for a change!
Screams and cries fill the city
Gun’s barking, indicating gloom and doom
Another life taken, another one bite the dust
Drugs, guns and scamming gigs
Mourning fills the nights air
Death has crept in so clear
Holes of pain, torment and strife
Fills the air it makes breathing tight!
Darkness looms at the end of days, let the light come in for a change!
Crime is on the rise, what do we do?
In this great and devastating demise
Send in the military, close down the city
Block every border, stop the trade
Stop scamming, Guns and Drugs
Lock them up in a place of lights
Darkness looms at the end of days, let the light come in for a change!
All rights reserved copyrighted(c)2020 Roxann A Harvey-Lawrence
Strangers, sandwiches. Shapes.
Friends, fridays. Fabrications.
Seduce her, sensualize her. Satisfaction?
Love? Labels! Lies!
Betrayed. Babblings.. Background..
Murder. Murmur. Melody?
Death. Debates. Dampens.
My body shivers ice growing in my veins, my cheeks, my fingers, trying to slip into my winter coat, rocks crunch beneath my boots, each step a morning song, l think in tha rays of first light rounding the earth, my soul speakng bird wings sprouting sweeping me into the heavens.
No buzzing.
No vibration, no noise, no melody.
A pleasant stillness.
A little ball of fur,
Curled up by my side,
Soft and peaceful.
The smell of rain, perhaps.
Mingling with the smell
Of deep dark coffee.
A chill in the air.
The smoothness of a pen
In my hand.
Transference of thoughts
Through the ink
Onto paper.
Hour 6: And Sow, The Garden has Grown
(an adapted villanelle)
The taste of the word love was ashes in my mouth.
The chewed up, spit out fuel feeding someone else’s flaming desire.
I sowed my garden with it, and things grew.
In the early spring, when it was new,
we shoveled compost and turned the earth,
but the taste of the word love burned like ashes in my mouth.
Seeds were planted in abundance and with the expectation of bounty.
Even as the rains came drowning our passion,
I sowed my garden with it, and things grew.
The heat rose, and as it baked, the earth burned.
Tomatoes stripped of promise by horned caterpillars,
and the taste of the word love lingered like ashes in my mouth
By fall I had lost most of the squash.
Their rich potential wormed away by resentment and neglect.
Still, I sowed my garden with it, and things grew.
There were late season pumpkins, ripe and buttery orange, more zucchini
than I could bake into bread, and a surprising peck of green peppers.
The taste of love left ashes in my mouth,
yet I sowed my garden with it, and things grew.
Warmth pressing red glow encouraging first glance,
Back embodied passing defragmented mind,
Inner core soft level ground for a fluttering purpose.
Pressing smooth opening inside both one to another,
Enlivened top and bottom, awake below,
Held inside, tingles of bodily happiness then release.
Cradled by holding – seen and recognised.
Tendons and sinews tighten for needed moments
Returning to refractory lightness
Chest breaths easy in open flows.
Lips curl at corners as safety unfurls.
Gentle eternal recurrence welcome this day.