24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Light skips and sparkles
across deep blue water
and schools of fish
swirl beneath our boat.
We are a blur of laughter and hugs.
We perch on the boat’s edge
and dangle our hands
into the blue bellow.
Then we enter the cave:
dark, cool, silent.
The guide points out the goddess
and we greet her together.
Little me was brave
As she jumped into the river
When the black umbrella fell in
I really needed it
It was going to rain
I had to stay dry
They found the umbrella later
I heard mumma sob, it was battered
I was glad she couldn’t see me
I’m not gonna lie
This day really hurts this time
Because you aren’t here to celebrate
with us.
There’s no reason to buy
a card
a shirt
no reason to contact you
at all
You wouldn’t get it
Heaven doesn’t have
a phone number
or a way to contact you
You only exist now
in my memories
Everyone says
oh wow,
this much time has passed
You should be over the loss
by now
you shouldn’t be thinking about
or even mentioning him anymore
But how is that fair?
in this crazy, messed up world
How is that fair?
You were my father
you taught me so much
and you were and are the standard
by which I judge men.
Feathery melodies before old flappy Sun alights
Then ten origami cranes folded tiny as a doll’s teacup
Then coffee poured from a nested cone filter
(There it is – those birds again)
Everything after is afterthought
A petty feather wafting to a paltry floor
The greenery of rainforests with supple lush graced with elegant tapestry
Affirms Earth’s sublime grandeur
The sky with celestial cape
Echoes the profound mystery unveiling…
The forest of swamps with eclectic undergrowth reinvigorates the Power of the Master Potter…
From the aquatic sphere to the terrestrial realm intermingling with the celestial cosmos
Unearths the stately tripod of a Universal Architect’s poignant vision…
We are earthlings searching for solutions…
Amidst the uncluttered realms,
An alchemy unfolding…
The sky turning grey,
Could feel the droplets coming down,
The smell of wet earth,
seeping in through my windows,
I open the gates,
All drenched now,
The lovers have finally met.
The sea dancing with me,
Wind teasing me,
Yes, its cold,
Still don’t care at all,
All drenched to be reborn again..
No alarm
Just our eyes opening
As if on cue
We look for purpose
Right beside us
And we rise to face the music
Coffee, that shot of sweet darkness
With just a hint of even sweeter cream
Miles pass by
Speed
The engine of getting somewhere
But only just
We are on 1:1
There are so many more lines to write
We sit on sand
You smile as I crack open the wine
Chilled in the cooler
We bought last spring
We drink
We speak
With our lips sometimes meeting
In between words
The lines write themselves
And we ride upon the stylus
Carefree
Undeterred by the danger of losing ourselves in the moment of moments
Darkness takes over
The sun becomes the Grim Reaper
Tolling the end
Tomorrow we shall look back upon today
Looking forward to when we’ll see it again
Cobalt blue whisps through the clouds
Napthol crimson swirls through the breeze
The nectar of purple skyflower whispers to the morning guests
Azure gold and black bees flitter from bloom to bloom
Red-Lored parrots snack on Sugar Hackberry fruits
Ruby-throated hummingbirds dart and dash among the hibiscus blossoms
Little Yellow butterfly takes flight among the gardenia bushes
A gentle rain bathes the sparrows
Ideally my steaming mug of rose tea
would be brought to me
and sweetly served.
The steam would waft lazily above the
flaky croissants bathed in a liquid honey bath.
The sweet, pink bouquet would smile cheerfully
and fill my room with pleasantries that please my
smell and my soul.
Sunk into plush pillows and buried under
colorful, flannel-backed quilts, the dulcet crooning of
“As Time Goes By” drank in every drink sipped.
a tender kiss given
that taste just
like butter
and warming me
just as well as the cheery sun’s rays
casting light whimsically and well.
The flames from the fireplace ferociously heat my backside,
As I keep my sights upon the desolate wintry fright.
Frigid and wisped, the wind blows the panes.
While my fingers trace a few letters on the bitter frosty bays.
A glacial heat vibrates through me rolling electricity through my spine
as a crack from the logs sound out from behind
But I stay staring at the bleak December we waited for.
The one that you have spoken with such fervor before.
The one with a few horrid ghost tales of talking black birds that you so abhor.
Leaving me to crave and rave for a haunting much like yours,
Forevermore.
I wrote upon the wintry glass, nevermore.