24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
If lost, she’d weep.
For everything she knew, then, would be erased.
First steps towards expression, while reading others left an intense impression.
For everything she knew, then, would be erased.
If fire reversed the reign of power, they too, would be lost.
vi. Execution
Oh little heaven, let me convey the message
Oh little heaven, let me convey the message
The heart of an outcasted prince from far land developed an affection on Lavaana.
As usual news as it sounds
The king spares none who eyes on his daughter
Thirteen killed and he’s the fourteenth
He’ll be asked for last wish tomorrow, the execution day.
Oh little heaven, as always my heart is aching while delivering this
Oh little heaven, as always my heart is acting while delivering this.
The tiny angels flew as they went.
Rains fall on scorched Earth.
Phosphorus. Hid massacre.
Fallujah. Farewell.
I left New York City on March 5 to fly home to Washington State. I’d spent 3 weeks with my new granddaughter and her parents.The COVID-19 pandemic was a known entity, but the US was still counting on its exceptionalism and other stupid beliefs to discount the threat’s reality. I’d stayed in my usual midtown hotel. Although it was far from fancy, it still was popular and had a crossroads-of-the-world feeling. I’d hoped to treat myself to a ticket to Carnegie Hall on my last night, to see an all-star trio play Beethoven. My husband asked me not to go. Cautious by nature, he is a retired physician living with cancer and was highly-attuned to the news and possibilities of the virus. Since I was pretty exhausted, I capitulated without any disagreement.
What if I’d gone? Who knows? When I arrived at the deserted JFK Airport, I realized the denial phase was ending for New York. I read a piece in the New Yorker recently which mentioned an Icelander who’d been in NYC at the same time as I had. Just before he left, he attended a party with finger foods. He got sick soon after he got back home.
The trio (Yo-yo Ma! Emanuel Ax! Kavakos!) played, no doubt beautifully, packed up their instruments, and hunkered down at home. The virus continues its travels and depredations. People demonstrate their range of horrific and soul-stirring behaviors. Beloved things, like her mother’s face, disappear and reappear in our granddaughter’s world, to her enormous delight. Peek-a-boo!
Undisturbed,
Peaceful.
The birds,
Scary beings,
a lost soul is found hidden under so much pain,
her mind decays
burning inside,
a fire within.
But outside is beautiful,
will be,
somewhere else,
someday,
somehow,
sometime,
soon.
PMC Aqua 6/26/20
MY WORKDAY.
To the blasting music I wake
For a busy weekday I wake
An old paperback I get reading
While the pot hot brewing
A cup of coffee in my hand
I stare at class assignments at hand
Today researching and answering
Class texts I am questioning
At lunch, meals cooked at home
My family chatting away, wholesome
Every afternoon a poem I write
Always hoping I get it right
As the sun goes down
To it’s rays I am drawn
Dinner time gets me excited
For with my folks, food and drinks served
And with the night lights on
I read my bedtime series on and on.
the perfect day
Saturday morning
i wake up early
it’s storming outside
you still asleep
i watch your chest rise and fall
rise and fall
i ease my feet out from under the sheet
place them on the floor
i stand at the window
watch the lightening flash
across the half-lit sky
hear the raindrops beat against the roof
something stirs inside me
i turn slowly from the window
walk back to the bottom of the bed
you are still lying fast asleep
i watch your chest rise and fall
rise and fall
i look at your muscles detailing your arms
admire your strong leg that is out
from under cover
stare at the fullness of your bottom lip and
something inside me stirs again
now i lay beside you
run my hand across your chest
softly say good morning underneath my breath
and know exactly what this is about to be
the perfect start to the perfect day
I see it inside a frame,
picture perfect,
fine ripples occasionally stir
a plate glass lake, placid swans
linger among the reedy edges,
a squirrel flitting past the pine
needle carcasses, cushioned sleep
for the children who lie, prone,
snubbing the sinking sun,
cheeks to crossed palms,
top of the hand pillow dreaming
atop the soft detritus, a forest mezzanine
among the sussuration of chirp and buzz.
A cloudless sky of indigo dusk
tinges the mountains to the north
hibiscus, glory of an ebbing daylight.
A blanketed trust in quietude,
sweeps my eyes closed to smell
the thick, verdant branches towering
above a summer evening, the
fullness of dawn’s sleepy arising,
like a promise sealed.
First
Soft cool pillow contrasts
With the warm sunlight cascading through the window
A long languorous stretch, satisfying snap as muscles come back to life
A soft stumble to the door, following
The sizzle and smack of frying bacon
Later
The slight chill of the brisk sea wind
The crash of waves and the sharp scent of seaweed
The harsh cry of sea birds
Wheeling and soaring above me
Even Later
The tickle of fresh crisp grass on my back
The merry glugging of a cold drink being poured
The warm glow in my belly
After one pint too many
As like the bacon, I softly sizzle in the sun…
Tomorrow
Headache, burning skin
Too much beer and sun,
Knew that I would suffer, but I knew then and now
It was definitely worth it
A perfect day…
A walk through the leaves
bundled up tight
The little one laughing at the crunch
The pup is trying to keep up
My sweetheart collects kindling
for the fire where
We will melt marshmallows
After eating stew from the pot
A nightcap and a book sends me to sleep
Without a worry in the world
A heavy blanket cocoon