24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Attention muses on 3rd shift,
My sanity is slipping
Inspiration fades into the mundane
Brain sweats
In search of lost momentum
Meaning of the words are all the same
Sleep deprived and nonsensical
The Muses must think I’m mental
Too tired to ressurect rationality’s remains
Early.
A state of being filled with anticipation at its best.
As a writer our minds can peruse the sites without contest.
Magazines, children’s books, paintings, flowers, plants, people watching…
Being early is a state of being that is elusive to me, yet when I get there, once in a great blue moon, it’s a place that fills my heart space with peace.
Deep down in my heart I know this is a place I can be, but for me it is as elusive as the butterfly.
When it lands on my shoulder and I rest in this space of early, it feels so good and so free.
A place where we can all be what we were meant to be.
Early.
All rights reserved copyright (c) 2019 Natasha Vanover
I am kindness, but I can become fury.
I am a fairy, but also a dragon spitting fire.
I am a mixture of light and shadows
And my heart is so full of rainbows.
Four and Twenty Blackbirds
A chef of great talent and skill was he
To construct this dish of pastry and bird
Presented to the king with pomp and glee
Only for it to take wing without a word
The king, cared he not for pies and such,
Spending his time in totaling his books
The queen, her lips no birdy pie would touch,
Bread and honey, she ordered from the cooks
The blackbirds, released from doughy prison cell,
With all the world to wander in free flight
Chose now to persecute one lonely belle
Giving her tender nose a vicious bite
We, who tormented in the past, may be
As cruel to others when we are set free
Cut open, tear. Bleed from magic inkwells
Stare. The window’s pane is a television screen;
what you see outside is not actually happening.
The president is trustworthy
The police are protecting you
The children are safe.
Remember to giggle a little
if anyone tries to tell you differently.
The information that confirms your own beliefs
is a veil thickened by the media scenes,
biasedly depicting the facts as conspiracy
blurring the line between truth and honesty,
magnifying the delusion you choose to fit your understanding.
But If you have found yourself living in a world
you no longer recognize, trust your eyes
because reality has become that alarming.
America, America, it is of thee I sing. Home of the brave, sold out
land of the free. Our country is being stolen by the
freedom of corporate capital, the freedom to violate the earth
for quick fortune, future generations forfeiting their inheritance,
permanently desecrated by the oil tycoons greed.
The freedom to exploit another human being
because he can’t read the fine print, or afford a lawyer
to interpret the endless legal jargon, or because he is
so desperate he skips meals to feed his children,
the freedom to take him for all he’s got because
he would sell his soul to fill their hungry bellies.
Our country is being sold by those who value
the dollar more than human life. To sit by is to choose
to do nothing. To look away is want to do nothing.
To avoid, to underplay, to deny is to choose to do nothing.
To write an internet rant, a poem, to cast a vote
is a little more than nothing, but to stand up, make a fist,
and say “No!” Now that’s something.
Power is only gained, taken, and kept through the threat
and direct use of force. An uncomfortable truth,
they don’t teach you directly in school, but if you read between the lines,
of the one-sided lies in the World History textbooks,
a common theme holds thread through to today,
just as it did at the dawn of civilization:
Power is assured through violence.
The powerful only fear violence, because in a world ruled by money,
they are the untouchables gods of industry, but everyone can bleed.
And it is only when they are personally confronted with death,
do they see that life has no price. It is only when their hands are holding
the ebbing spill of their entrails, they finally realize the frail impermanence
of monetary luxury. As we consume, so too are we consumed,
for there is no liberty for the cogs in the machine.
So when you see nationalism, bigotry, racial pride, police forces being
used to protect the investment interests of the wealthy, stand up! Make a fist!
Resistance requires mass.
you give love a bad name
tempted me in sweet delusions
I did not hinder your intrusions
Twas your love that kept me sane
There’s so much you manipulated
From Heaven to Hell my life deflated
you give love a bad name
A peacock is beautiful
because it’s unaware as
to why it’s dressed in
sapphires and emeralds
A lion is handsome
because it doesn’t need
gels and syrups and lotions
to make a point with his mane
You are marvelous
because you help others
to rise to their potentials
and for you, that is enough
I made it to the finish line. I conquered sleep and fatigue. I have my coffee to thank for mainly putting in most of the effort. I made it, We MADE IT. HURRAY! -Janice Raquela Mendonca
Delicate Brutality
You breathe purpose into this broken heart. Your love is healing it is in my blood. I can feel you in the air tonight. You shook me up electrified woke me up my restless heart beats only for you. Save me from this restlessness. Help me from this hopeless desire. Every breath you take is love breathing air into my lungs. Your love is infectious like a viral coming over, I feel it with an aching desire to get to know you more. You planted roses and now I am breathing just fine. I become one with the thorns, I ignite in your passion.
I am love, I am delicate brutality. -Janice Raquela Mendonca
img Alisa Olaivar
