24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Used to be a bitter love poet who focused on heartbreak only. Now I’d like to think of myself as a life poet. Depicting visuals of life events with vivid colours.
Call me a painter with a plethora of colours, unfortunately most of the world is blind, they fail to pick up the aesthetics in my art. But the very few, you few. You’re blessed with the gift of complete sight
Nice to meet you
My first poetry marathon and I’m not even sure I’ll be able to compete fully. But I’m going to try. It’s been a while since I’ve written poems regularly, so this will be a real challenge.
Social media
Positive or negative
It’s how you use it
Always remember
First purpose is cats
Hedgehogs are second
Conspiracies third
No sense of humor?
Create ranting blog
Sell ads, no money
But you’ll be happy
The rest of us too
My beloved…
You are my world
You are my heart
My beloved…
You destroyed my world
You turned my heart to dust
My beloved…
Give me back
…my world
…my heart
People always ask me why I write poems and I have always answered, “I write poetry when I am bored.” I have been writing poetry since I was ten years old, in long car and bus rides, in long haul flights, in waiting rooms, while on lunch and coffee breaks. Some of them were published in my college newspaper but it was nothing considering that I was one of the literary editors until I graduated. To me, poetry is something that I do to while the time away. After all, I would not want to waste the rays of the morning sun as it streams though the slats of the half open window or the vivid blue sky that peeks through the curtains, I am always prompted to put them on paper. It is a gift and though it has not brought me renown, I am just happy to put a smile to a tired soul.
Storms between 3 and 5 a.m. have led me to begin now.
My cats aren’t all that excited. Neither are my plants.
I am.
I thought I might spend a whole day making and choosing and snipping and stitching, with less time reading endless articles about the… you know.
I write mostly nonfiction, essays. About once a year, I “get” a poem.
I’ll catch a bunch of them later today.
It’s 5:08 a.m., and I am never awake in this piece of the night.
I see sky and tree
Window view in front of me
Sometimes a small bee
It was so hard for me to sleep.
If the Creator had not created in us the ability to fall asleep, the world would have been filled with sleep junkies: Men and women and girls and boys who are permanently high on the severe dose of sleep deprivation and yet they cannot sleep.
That is torture. I guess that must have been what insomniacs experience every night. The inability to conjure sleep can be due to several reasons, I learnt. But none of them is in my system.
Neither do I drink wine nor gin; mineral water nor soda water; Umqombothi https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umqombothi nor Sapele water.https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Sapele_water
Mercy found me. I do not need any substance to lull me into a deep sleep. Are there other underlying reasons why I could not find my sleep? https://www.helpguide.org/articles/sleep/sleep-disorders-and-problems.htm 
Maybe. Anyway, I am not in the mood to explore those reasons. But, pray, why couldn’t I find my beauty sleep? I did not understand why.
I tossed.
I turned.
I tossed.
I turned.
I sought that elusive perfect spot on my sheets. My bed creaked under my little weight because of the anger with which I tossed and turned. My spouse was quite oblivious to my plight.
She was fast asleep.
Envy enveloped me. I wished it was the runaway sleep that had found me.
My mind was racing. My brain was in a marathon. It was really hard to find the elusive sleep. Gosh! What have I done? Have I sinned? What was happening?
Oh, God, please I need my beauty sleep.
I need my beauty sleep.
I need my beauty sleep.
My mind screamed persistently.
I lay me down and sleep and awake because the Lord sustained me.
I whispered a verse in Psalm 3. My mind was focused on the verse and I must have repeated it a million times before I slipped away.
My spouse stroked my cheek gently until I was awake. She reminded me about the Poetry Marathon.
Oh, I smiled easily as the flood gate opened.
I have been consumed by the thoughts, the preparation and the expectations of participating in my first Poetry Marathon.
Hmmm, so this is why it was so so hard for me to sleep?
If moonshadow were following me in the gloom
i dare not think of what doth loom
nor turn my head to see the ghoul
or else my limbs would freeze, and who’ll
be there to aid, to help me flee
the shadows caving in on me
a nightmare I can ne’er escape
one that plays on and on, and scrape
my knee in falling into thorns
moon’s shadow it has now borne
a sinister darker reflection of it
and underneath thee, I do sit
cowering at its murky slime
shuddering in the mist and grime
the shadow reaches out with lies
its gnarled hand touching, blinding eyes
and then alas, it muffles mouth
my screams are mute, north, east and south
I startle then, awake, and spy
my pillow’s the shadow
summer heat is the why
I awoke in a sweat
and did not dream-die.
– Sandra Johnson
One race
A human race
One people together
Each different but all equal
DNA connects us
Looks may differ
Yet same
(Eintou format)