24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
In the valley grew a bounty
of ripe fruits and honeysuckle
and mimosa flowers that danced
on the trees like fuscia feathers
sifting through the breeze.
Myth said death lived here,
But the opposite was true.
Our bread was hot and scored with
amber and cinnamon.
Our children ate citrus fruits
As they learned the names of
Gods and animals before us.
We danced together
Every Friday night.
summer sun on bare shoulders
rowboat on glassy reservoir
surrounded by woods
fat blue crystals of copper sulfate
dangled overboard in a burlap sack
dissolving
row back and forth
dissolving
over and over
oars pumping
forward movement
creates the only breeze
sweat tingles
sun burns
transistor plays Brandy
over and over
Time we all have but not so much,
that we should not waste it but use it well up.
So, this day spend your time with a delicate touch.
So you do not run out and end up looking a schlup.
Did you think it unending this time that you get.
That is not, but for you and all a spendable asset.
Think hard but not long on what you will do.
To spend your time this day to achieve your great coup!
Omnism: Everything has truth. From Judaism to Hinduism,Taoism to Confucianism, all have truth that lays beneath. Like a sword to its sheath, I hold the truth to keep me warm. Like a furnace, it would keep heat through the eyes of the person that is holding true.Truth is there and you don’t need to sit in the booth and tell your truths to a person. All religions have the single truth and it should be explored and I hope that people seek it out more. Like Uncle Iroh said It is important to draw wisdom from many different places. If you take it from only one place, it become rigid and stale.Truth and knowledge is the key to youth and getting it from different sources will move some nations to positive notions.
The day is filled with joy and laughter
Children are running around the compound with careless abandon
The women of the house roam the garden and stop to smell the flowers
The drizzling rain envelops leaves
The rain increases its intensity and turns into a torrent
It cleans the gutters and clears debris from the carnal
The grasses are wet and drip with water
Car drivers slow to a trot
Soon, the classes are over
Teachers and pupils shout for joy
After the rain emerges sunshine
The sun peeps behind balls of clouds
Chicken soup stews in the kitchen
Its aroma wafting through the air
Aha, chicken soup drives the cold away
It is just another ideal day
Every day, I fall in love with something new,
A face in a passing car, upturned in a smile,
A dream, remembered long after waking up.
A glint of red in my own unwashed hair,
A tree in winter, looking as good as dead,
A bent leaf curled about grassy blade,
A puff of wind ahead of me on the path, A pup I may never see in its life or mine,
Someone else’s joy at a nice surprise.
The smell of bread leavening by the heat,
Our rabbit’s morning breath so sweet! The joy of taking a walk with words I feel,
A gardener’s joy in dirtied hands and heel.
Reaching in to see if I can touch you, Running hands against living, breathing flesh,
I still fall in love with something new,
I fall in love with love each day,
There isn’t that much, I haven’t loved so far.
I take my burden cleansed fresh in the stream
I clothe the body in a scented cloth
I hide the stench and scars upon the flesh.
Beneath the gloves lay broken dirty nails
The fingertips now purple, curved tight.
Face brown and yellow, bruised about the side.
Cuts and scratches. Fresh and old. Crevice. Cracks.
To hide the damage I can bare one eye.
I can show no further skin or remenant.
To look at scars is seeing creation.
The mind is creative
until inundated with guidelines
in growth and how to become
(which govern the uneducated.)
‘They’ claim to know the best process
to educate the un.
‘They’ think this is the proper manner
in which to create creativity
yet thoughts become dangerous
when fenced in or restrained
stunting their growth and potential.
Thoughts become wild and uncontrolled
without direction and guidance
or so deemed by the experts.
Creating creativity is in reality
the oxymoron of education.
‘This is how it’s done’ is their motto.
‘Don’t fence me in’ is mine.
No wonder education is expensive,
fences don’t come cheap.
Beth A. Fleisher
Hour 5
Prompt 5: Choose a picture and use it as the jumping off point for a poem.
Sunrise on Spirit Mountain
I open my eyes to the first glimmers of daylight,
reveling in the morning stillness,
that soft blue time before the world awakens.
He is standing in my line of sight,
maybe a half-dozen yards away,
one foot resting on a log,
Butterfly Flute in his hands,
waiting.
Peace encircles him.
As I watch, keeping the silence,
Grampa Sun comes up slowly over the mountain,
silvery gold glinting the tops of Douglas fir trees.
He puts the flute to his lips and blows his breath
into the flute, which sings out a flute song so pure
that all our relatives — birds, deer, squirrels, butterflies —
stop their morning rituals to listen.
The flute song,
born of this morning,
born for this moment,
creates perfect harmony between us and all things.
Flute song calls us to walk in beauty,
to love fully,
to forgive freely.
to help each other,
to dream new dreams.
As Grampa Sun is fully revealed, the flute song ends,
he lowers the Butterfly Flute,
and walks silently back to our sleeping bag.
I open my eyes and I am home in my bed.
First, sunlight peeking through the window
A loud tumble out of bed
The smell of sizzling meats
A soft kiss on the cheek
Then later,
The sound of water crashing nearby,
The coolness of it caressing skin
The lightness of weight as we swim
Then later,
The slight rustle of paper,
Click-clack click-clack
Imagination as dice make swords strike true
Laughter pealing through the air
Sorrow as the clicks roll in our disfavor
Then later,
Firelight flicking and flailing,
The smell of smoke and again
The sound of sizzling meat
More dice, glinting in the dim light
Reflecting beneficially as they roll toward victory
Then Later,
Soft blankets wrapped around
Warm bodies gently shifting as
Rumbling breaths lead to snoring and
Dreams confess the past