Cucumber Lemonade
I drink it all day,
sweetened with roses
and fig syrup.
My love potion
to ward off tricksters
and the ghosts of cats.
Hour 13 “Dunes…”
Hour 13
9/2/2023
“Dunes…”
I’ve wandered far – both life and world
coasts and deserts
both salt and clear,
and life itself – God’s touch was near.
And found the “dunes” of life that entrap the living
with the sands that bind within hourglass forms
’til life is held so tight and dear.
Our dunes bear no Melange to guide our sight.
Nothing to pause the mires of life that draw
and imprison our very souls.
Each step, each pause, each breath – brings neither peace
nor surcease… the motion of emotion buries then embalms.
And I’ve wandered the echoes behind our eyes
seen the release of wormsign to come.
Prayed to a silent God who KNEW what was
and will be. And felt the Son bring a smile.
Walk with me…
beside – neither behind nor ahead.
Share the vision that holds us close and free.
And understand what it is to be “we”.
Chris
(C) Chris Twyford 9/2/2023
One day at a time
ONE DAY AT A TIME
I will write another spell of words
To share with You
I will collect the stories
Shape them into sentences
I will infuse random thoughts
With inspiration
I will gain the courage to tell You more
About my life in search of truth
I will express another piece of my soul
One day at a time
Beauty in the Weird
There’s beauty in the weird
Beauty in standing out
Beauty in being your own person
Do not fear it
Embrace it
Own it
In/out of the closet8pm
written for a friend
TW :: Sexual matters
There’s a place where
I keep all of my secrets
where no one sees them
unless I invite them in
I don’t just trust blindly anymore
It’s taken me a long time
to cultivate the courage
to be able to share any
of my secrets with you
I have a closet where
I keep everything that society
considers naughty where I store
all of the things that
society would frown upon
Like the fact that I like to indulge in
intimate relations with a guy friend
that is probably 15 years younger than
I am.
And the fact that I am human, female
and I look at porn. It doesn’t make me
a bad person-
And I refuse to feel that way
Just someone trying to find their
way through the aftermath of
being considered a sexual object
by older men for most of their
childhood.
In my closet are many things good and bad
so many secrets that I don’t know if I
can ever truly share without being
looked down on
like the fact that I was in a submissive
relationship with a man that controlled me
because sometimes, that was the only way
I could respond
Like the years that I was a whore
because that was the only way that I
could relate to men-
It’s not the only way, and honestly it’s
a trite way to cope.
I have a closet that, I’m not sure anyone
else needs to open it
Might not like what you find in there
Hour 13: My Super Power
I have many wonderful talents, abilities, skills
I can get a group of crazy seven year-olds to be quiet for like a minute and a half, just long enough to take roll call
I can solve any imaginary hurt with my box of band-aids
I can ask probing questions- “Why is there a frog in your desk?”
I can give thoughtful advice- “We don’t lick our friends’ knees.”
I can give thoughtful, lifelong advice- “We don’t lick anyone’s knees.”
I can read upside down, write upside down, and if needed I can hold a small child upside down
I can tell what the kid in the 3rd row is about to do to the kid in the 2nd row without even turning around
I can stop an insurrection with just one look
I can sing endless verses of Down By the Bay
I can create anything out of toilet paper tubes, Elmer’s glue and ten pounds of glitter
I can eat faster than any animal on earth and hold my bladder for days
I can negotiate parent conferences, admin observations, and school performances with finesse
I can make up stories about buying 68 watermelons, because everyone buys 68 watermelons
I can spend my nights and weekends grading papers, preparing lessons, and picking up extra supplies
I can live off coffee, chocolate, and sunshine
I can do this all with a smile
Because I teach, that’s my super power
Hour Eleven: Lines–black on white on white
Half an egg for a face,
two stuffed olives for eyes,
An M, a W, and a slash for lips
An eyebrow curves, dives, dips,
and becomes a nose,
two slashes for brows, and
seven sticks, four curved,
suggest hair, a woman,
one half her face a bird’s wing,
the beak at her third eye,
three eyes, half a bird,
half a woman,
black lines on a white background,
simply suggestive,
line drawing–
Picasso.
hour 12: the aces
fire and flame
shooting through smoke
they’re kicking ass and so am i
here we are at the court
i’m watching listening and paying attention now
things i’ve always struggled with
and there’s resentment there,
but when the beauty in the arena is this loud
i can’t help but dance
More Than a Theatre Girl
One show, two shows
Three shows, four
Being a theatre girl
Is what I am, what I love
Five shows, six shows
Seven shows, more
If I’m not doing theatre
Am I really worthwhile?
Eight shows, nine shows
Ten shows…
STOP
Breathe
Find yourself again
The parts beyond the theatre
The parts you loved before
The parts you have forgotten
You are a theatre girl, yes
But you are so much more
Prompt Thirteen – Aye, Write!
Prompt Thirteen – Text Prompt
Describe your profession through a funny/humorous poem.
Aye, Write!
A Fighter?
No no, a writer. I write.
You what?
I write, you know? Words? Pens? Paper?
Well, I never. You write for a living?
Not much of a living out of it, but yes, I write.
So, is your handwriting great then?
No no, I write stories, you know.
Oh aye, sure you do. Tell me another one.
Truly, I write poems, stories, articles, novels.
And you do this… because…?
Well, because I want to.
Why?
Oh hell, because that’s what I do.
Like a dancer dances, a singer sings, a doctor…
A doctor cures people. What do you do?
I can cure people too.
My words can shock you out of stupor.
They can turn black and white into colour.
They can thrill the chill ill out of you.
They can make you weep at the beauty of the wild.
Or notice the innocence of a child.
They can turn the ignorant into a saint.
We are the ones who can paint
new futures for mankind,
but not leave history behind.
Come to me when you’re lonely and sad,
I promise I’ll have words to heal.
Bring your bitter heart to me,
I can help to make it feel.
But, what if they don’t?
What if I like my phone better
than your poetry or your letter?
Well, then I will have to eat my words, wont I?