24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Be still, mind
Let those thoughts seep out of your porous shell
Don’t take it personally
He had a bad day, perhaps too little sleep
You took the high way, apologized and made peace
Let those thoughts seep out of your porous shell
And bother you no more
Sleep, and breathe.
At night I lie with your scent close to me
It isn’t from your clothes
Nor the soap you use
But a potent cocktail of skin, linen and air
That clings to you wherever you go
Soak it into my pores
So it may never leave me
As you always have to.
Unconditionally loving
Without record of wrong forgive
Inordinately affectionate
Attentive loyalty give
Excitment upon entering
Bated breath longing when one leaves
Sincerity in appreciation
Simplicity in needs
Instructional as examples and leaders in their duties
These sweet angelic domesticated animals are eximplifications truly
Puppy love
Dreamwork …
While everyone is working I’m waking up from a night of traveling with students running recital’s …choreography… dancing
Mentoring
Greeting
Disciplining
Teaching
I am not getting a paycheck; I am working in my dream.
All rights reserved copyright (c) 2019 Natasha Vanover
Hello cat
My but you are a large one
Stalking my steps.
Your spirit dwells within me
I see.
Now I know that I am you,
And you are me.
We are one with eternity,
Cat. Large cat.
Imagine that!
Peeking out the window I see a maple tree dressed in burgundy and alexandrite green leaves gently bobbing back-and-forth in the wind.
I see the world through a row of horizontal blinds that outfit the window like a sunglass frame once worn in a popular music video.
Fully formed red wine saturated leaves are contrasted against a mint green garage turned shed facing a dirt road with a gravel path that sounds like the roads almost a century ago, minus the planes and sirens that can be heard on occasion.
Inside my widow I see a miniature paper replica of a Japanese maple tree, with finger like leaves is in the foreground juxtaposed against the inside glass window trying to peek through the background of a carefully curated garden with brown mulch weathered by the sun.
It makes me even more anxious to break through the fourth stage, a willing suspension of disbelief, and go outside to pour the black mulch between the green plants blowing in the breeze as well as in between the now dry azaleas trying to mimic the richness of the black soil that it can create.
I’m convinced gardening is a mirror of our minds wild and free, a little struggle goes a long way indeed.
All rights reserved copyright (c) 2019 Natasha Vanover
1. Childhood was long ago, Memories cherished dear, A large, Polish/Catholic family Suddenly, childhood is near. 2. Looking back on family life, Hindsight seems so clear. Traditions marked my childhood, So much more than tears.
The most potent emotion I can recall
from my childhood is a feeling of needing
something I could not explain. I have countless
memories of pestering my mother in the living room
of our home, complaining that “I’m bored,” and
“I want to do something.”
My mother usually encouraged me to be
constructive at first, such as finishing my share
of the housework, which I often neglected.
She knew this wouldn’t work, it wasn’t what I was after,
but still, she felt motherly enough to remind me.
After this option was shot down,
she would canter through a list of activities: drawing,
playing outside, reading; all of which sounded unappealing,
and still, my dissatisfaction would fester
like an ache I could not mend, an unmet need
I couldn’t understand at the time.
A child in guided steps will walk
Although there are rules it must obey
Its mind is free, its thoughts unblocked
Till adulthood fits it with great shackles and taketh freedom far away
While the body will not be restrained the soul turns grey and dour
Instead of life, just time will pass, hour after hour
While faceless men take infant’s ken
Begin the process all again
As scurried flocks of beauteous wren
Swirl around their tower
