24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Hour 6 used marathon prompt
I stand on the edge and stare down
Stare into the worlds beyond
Each of the other places so far
The other worlds floating around
Or maybe it’s our world that moves
But that’s not the point
The point is I’m staring at these worlds
And I’m waiting for them to be close enough
Because if I’m lucky
The next world will catch me
The next disc and it’s life will catch me
And let me explore its surface
Discover this other world
Before I stand on the next edge
We hear it so often, it almost doesn’t register anymore;
how could it when it’s drowned out by everything else?
It fucking HURTS- turns the basic human condition into a scam -boiling frogs? The skin is sloughing off, emulsified into a half-conscious soup. Look – the emptiness all around, the gibberish in the phone – nothing makes sense by design.
the line
breaks
The blinds are always left up by about 6 inches, the height of the dog’s heads
They rush across the kitchen floor when they hear the beeping of the electric lock.
The first to greet me at the door, sometimes the only one
Laying on the floor in a sunspot, whispered truths share the light.
I miss having some
one to share secrets with, all
my dogs are dead now
Is It Wrong To Love A Cartoon Dog?
When we talk of love, we claim it is blind
That what’s on the outside doesn’t matter
That the positive aspects on the inside are important.
Though she is married, I’ve found a love,
She is kind and thoughtful,
And her motherly bond is strong.
Her love for family and love for her kids
Is accentuated by her twisting fun dances
Does it truly matter if it’s all make-believe?
I tried to bake a cake today,
But things did not go my way.
I mixed the flour and the sugar,
And then I added the egg and the butter.
But when it came time to bake,
I realized my mistake.
I had forgotten to preheat the oven,
And now my cake was looking nothing but rotten.
I tried to salvage the mess,
And decided to play it by ear, I confess.
I added some cocoa powder and a pinch of salt,
And hoped for the best, though it was not my fault.
But when I pulled it out of the oven,
I knew that it was not for lovin’.
It was flat and hard as a rock,
And I knew I’d have to toss it in the trash block.
So next time I try to bake,
I’ll make sure to preheat and not make a mistake.
Or maybe I’ll just stick to buying,
And avoid any more cake-baking crying.
My pen transcends and makes amends it makes comments it makes common sense makes threats makes poems and makes applications it makes graffiti it makes signatures and makes autographs and makes plans and makes plots it makes sentences.
My pen, my best friend, my weapon of choice, translate thoughts into voice. Represents me my pen sharp as any other sword deadlier than any gun to begin in the end of War let the ink pour from my pen.
To a mortal, it’s a portal, to transcend from the informal to the informant to the infamous to the infernal flame that blaze pages in my journal.
Wild words written in the wind time in rhyme intertwined within the pen-etentary.
Pentacle, a pinnacle of scripted spectacle.
Both respectable and Despicable both disposable and indispensable. Both terminal and medicinal.
Expresser of a twisted principle, disciplined disciple of discourse and dialectics.
Pen, forever in my palm and fingers,
Some have Venom, some have stingers,
Some have fangs, some have liquors.
I
have
a pen.
It comes & goes like the wind
never putting an ounce of thought into
where it lands or could result from it.
& when it comes to us,
it’s like a warm breeze
washing over us.
when it leaves,
it just feels different
& you’re not sure what to do.
but you rest comfortably in the
knowledge that it will inevitably
return
one day.
Alexandrite
Old gold rose-tone setting
scrolls and filigrees from
shank to bezel holding the stone.
Large, deep, faceted stone
vibrant purple in evening shade
and blueish green in sunlight.
I was told the stone was mined
in Ecuador, did some research,
learned that stones are found,
not by design but when mining
other stones. Rare, one Alexandrite
found for every 100 Emeralds.
The first stone was found in Russia’s
Ural Mountains in 1830, on Prince
Alexander II’s birthday; it was later
named for him. It is June’s birth stone,
and believed to be a good omen,
bringing good fortune and love.
I cherish this ring even more,
a gift from a friend who had said
he had a gift for me if I promised
to wear it. I did, I do, every day.
A jeweler told me a stone of this size
could be worth $10,00 or more.
I gasped but it doesn’t matter.
Both the gift and the giver
are priceless to me.
~ J R Turek Hour 13