24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I wouldn’t even begin to try & define it;
i think everyone has their own
personal concept of what
it looks like anyway.
But maybe there’s more to it than just
wanting to be with someone forever.
In any case, I’m ready to venture out
& see what looks like for me.
Something tells me I won’t be disappointed.
Here’s to the friends who’ve been lost along the way
to silence, to fury, to sleep,
and to the lessons we remember today
some that we laugh at, some which make us weep
For those who had held us in our times of need
but vanished as soon morning landed,
gone like a ghost who had died with the seed
the distance between us expanded
And to the bastards who drove us straight mad,
can’t regret half the words that I’ve said
at some point you mattered through happy and sad,
but life’s better without you instead
This one’s for those who were forced to let go,
through ending of cycles to peace
If I could be sure you know how I still miss you so,
I might feel something better, at least
Here’s to the friends that we’ve lost along the way,
who’ve helped, hurt, and loved without cost
in spite of the frustrating ache of heartbreaking
without you, I know I’d be lost
(Hour 14)
An unfamiliar face sitting alone
sitting aside on the pavement
He’s enjoying in this own world with delight
erasing pains at this moonlight night
He may be listening to a radio
Through cell listening, other side of the voice
If he enjoys music, he’s melodic
At this hour on moonlit night
All world is dreaming in their chambers
He’s a solitary figure without any fantasies
So, The music weaves some tales of joy
A moment that he feels and shy sometime
loneliness beats some frustration
In this night, seems he’s stillness freeze.
Someone captures his pic, never express emotions
But, In stillness, His soul mounts a moment of peace
Prompt -14 
I grew up in a house where art and laughter
were rationed and metered out and never
supposed to be shared together. Art was a
privilege and laughter was a reward of
the highest order. Growing up paint splattered
was never a lesson I thought I needed nor
does it actually seem to benefit from. I have
colors from moments and memories that will
never fade or get sunbleached or water damage –
I have colors I put there intentionally to remember
who I want be as time goes on and the poems
extend from pages and screens to trees
and gardens and songs carried on stormy skies.
This was a lifestyle that no one should ever
relate to – but I know people will and that’s
a shame. So let’s turn the paint-splattered ache
into wonder and typewriter prints and poetry
that will indeed make the world a bit brighter
.-M. Rene’
It’s a way to express our own
patriotism without coming across as
too self-absorbed.
With 196 out there, it’s hard to
imagine any one song coming out on top.
Because there’s merit to all of them
& maybe if we weren’t too obsessed with
our own,
we might be better able to see the
world through other people’s eyes.
I am an illustrator of thoughts,
I am author of sentiments,
Producer of poetics,
Director of dialectic diction,
I am a liaison of literature
Scripter of scripture
Writer of picture
Mixture of blood ink and liquor.
Composer of the spoken texture
Builder of verbal architecture
Lyrical director, ink think and inventor.
Painter of paragraphs
Blacksmith of wordplay
My birthdays are earthdays
On Fridays and thursdays
I’m steady in earthquakes.
I am the word based word face word ways word pays.
My profession is proficiency in prose and propaganda poetics, paragraphs and ethics, Prolific methods, penned penitence.
accupation. Computation.
Problem solving. Calculation.
My profession as provider.
I’m a lover and a fighter.
Hard to say, but,
I’m a writer.
with uninterrupted skin
and lungs ballooning with ambition
it even knew its own name
this body isn’t much for purity culture
but perhaps it was the hands that touched it
that took away the self, the animation
or perhaps it was the slow decay of mourning
or the woodgrain patterns of trauma
all building upon each other
to make this body a tree
but this body was a person once
this body was a person once
my body was a person once
Image Courtesy of Pixabay
(No Redaction – No time since I woke from my accidental slumber a few minutes before the next prompt was due, lol!)
A red ball of fire lies low, aglow,
Upon an amber bank of clouds so high,
Hesitant to descend where shadows flow,
For countless times it’s graced the endless sky.
Then, in a graceful curtsey, it takes flight,
And coolness shrouds the earth, the day’s retreat,
Venus appears, a gleaming jewel of night,
With shy winks in the midnight’s dark, complete.
The moon’s bright disk now joins the nightly stage,
Bathing all in a silvery-blue embrace,
I wish to follow on this timeless page,
And join the moon in her celestial race.
Yet I remain, an earthbound, dreaming heart,
Yearning for the moon’s nightly, wondrous chart.
Antoinette LeRoux © 2023
So many poems so much sleep wanted. Note for the future don’t go to a ren faire the same day as the marathon.
Hour 8
My arm is a notepad waiting for words
Usually a shopping list
Sometimes tic tac toe
A few times the smallest chapbook
I fill the lines of the notebook page
With different words
Each mark etched until I shower next
Walking the streets of Tokyo {redacted} {redacted}
The heat was a lot to take
We stumbled through Temples and Shrines
Occasionally taking a break.
The beauty that surrounded us
The people, places, and Torii gates
Filled my soul with a yearning for more
To learn, {redacted} {redacted}, see new things at any rate.
The splendor of Mt. Fuji
In the distance we could see its peak
Booktown was spectacular
For a bookworm just like me.
We ate melon pan and shaved ice
The {redacted} taiyaki was delicious
Yakitori, tempura, and ramen
Our list of foods, it was ambitious.
I am sure I will go {redacted} one day
But until that day comes
I’ll continue on my journey
To make it {redacted} great {redacted}.