24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Not a special ceremony, not a new dress
as an ordinary day was her first school day. Under rest
and peace of mind were the further studying process-
an escape from family boredom overgrown under mosses.
One Hundred Years of Solitude in modern coverage ( not to scorn):
every family member with a nose deeply in mobile telephone;
she longed for reading worthy books but in other side,
the low standards: orthography and counting (no library in country side).
Shimmering sunlight creeps over my eyes
A strong smell of coffee nudges me awake
She hands me a smooth ceramic mug
Her gentle smile waking me up more than any cup of coffee ever could
I thank her and feel the bed dip as she sits next to me
She is pure light
Steam from the mug heats my face as I take my first sip
The warmth of the coffee spreads from my torso down to my fingers and toes
We sit there in loving silence, as the world moves on around us
For this moment is ours and ours alone
Awaking from a dream so beautiful,
To the faint chirping of birds soothing as it never had been
The soft kisses from cold lips of his,
Land on my cheeks, my nose, my lips and closed eyes
From the darkness, opening the eyes
To the sunrise, the most gorgeous I’d ever seen;
Oh! How I love the taste of your mushy skin
Rubbing against mine; soft silky, shining in gold from the sunlight
And the fragrance of the Ivory Chalice
Travelling with the cool breeze breaking the curtains in delight
Poppies in the field. Poppies here and near. They are far away and close to stay. Oh, how I love to see the poppies in the field and see the tree swing like they want to play in the air. Sitting on my deck chair watching the black bears and white hares running through the fields without despair. Oh, how i love to see the poppies fields and forebear thoughts that I bear from yesterday and declare the state of being aware whilst seating in this armchair.
Playful fingers
Find erogenous
spots along the skin
As the sky turns
From shades of midnight
Into a purple haze, with
Wafting pink clouds
As rays of light, begin
To speckle along the horizon
From the spacious bed
Salty air breezes burst in
Crashing with the roar of the waves
Fingers entwined, they now
Walk along the sparkling shoreline
Toes, licked by the water
The salt now clinging
To their very being
People, music and laughter
Drowning out the natural sounds
Feeling the rumbling
Feet bare upon the earth
Keenly searching
for discarded
treasures of the sea.
Five o’clock
beer time
on the side porch
crisp, piney, hazy IPA
first cold sip passes my lips
I exhale “I love you.”
“I love you too,”
my husband responds.
[Prompt 6: Write about your ideal day using only imagery and sensory details. It is fine if it is fragmentary.]
I love her.
Her skin is brown.
It does not taste like chocolate
But like what a mix of sunlight and moonbeams would be if sprinkled with streetlights from our walk home.
More like umami. Too savory to be sweet. But there is salt and honey there if I suck long enough.
(Sour in the right way. Intoxicating bitters.)
Her body is my favorite thing. She is soft.
Her hair. Her skin. She feels like fingers on my neck before the nails scratch my scalp that is always itching.
Her love is the only thing that love could be. Necessary.
Life in a look, in a graze. She loves me as if I am the only thing that is necessary. She loves my me because it is necessary.
Her heat is like steam. Or lava. Or sunshine. Or tea steeping in anticipation of my lips.
Tongue burned every time, leaving a memory of that taste for the rest of the day. Maybe even tomorrow.
Maybe making it worse if I taste again later. Worth the numb and tingle.
She is the dream I forget when I wake.
An impression I cannot clasp on to because she is not there when I open my eyes.
Oh Dante, I am
sorry you missed the Black Plague.
What fun you would have had!
Your catalogue of Hell,
a museum of horror,
saturating all of our senses,
with its unique elevators
and escalators, is the prototype.
A close reading of your text
fails to reveal what you would do
with our leaders who deserve multiple circles
Oh Dante help us design our exhibition
where on every floor of serious hell
the same person shows up
in a different incarnation of the hell
they created for us.
Over the moon
Bursting with pride
As I watch my
Grand kids grow,
Learning new words
tasting new foods
Seeing new things
With wonder in their eyes,
Head on my shoulders
To be comforted
Upon my lap
To read a book,
Absolutely excited
When little arms
Give hugs so tight!
My heart is overflowing!!
Author: Louana Vick
