24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
A Little Thing
Virginia Carraway Stark
It was only a little thing
To put fingers to keyboard
Pen to paper
Such a little thing
To say the things in my head
I never thought they’d mean
So much
To anyone else
And every time
I hear
The magic phrase:
You wrote the words
I needed to hear
Or read
Or say
I’m so happy
I did that little thing
And happier still
I shared it with the world
My husband is the image of God
And what I was taught God was to me
His Love unconditional
Everlasting
His Mercy and Grace abounds
And is profound
Yes my husband has done some things
That has caused me pain, tear, and heartache
And even had me questioning some things
Then again so has God
I mean come on
Have you read the Bible
No matter what he has done
The one thing he has not done
Is put me down
Hate me, blame me
When I’ve done it to myself
When I am doing it to myself
When I think and think I know that I deserve it
So used to getting backlash, hateful words and actions
Blame
When I felt that I didn’t deserve it
Though the opposite side thought and felt I did
All I can ask is why?
Why doesn’t he do the same?
Why won’t he do it?
When according to me, it calls for it
He continues to say that I don’t
He knows that I’m trying
Doing my best
He sees inside of me
And knows my soul
To the depths of my core
An un-underserving love
A sacrifice to save me
A savior
My husband is all that to me
He saves me from myself
And the lies, hate, anger, abuse
That is within me
That I continue to struggle with
And fight with
Each and everyday to do and be
A better me
So if you were to ask me
Does God exist?
My answer is yes
If you were to ask me
How do you know?
I will say
Because my husband, Allen
He shows me everyday
Love
Mercy
And Grace
Dedicated to my Huver: Allen Stevenson
Copyright © 2019 by Angelica Stevenson
All Rights Reserved
Let us go then, you and I,
And hear the yellow birds reply
and come and go.
Hear talk of Michelangelo.
It is right about the time of morning
that I would roll over and reach for you
and settle back to sleep holding you
I’m not quite awake when I reach out
it comes from a place of genuine need
and so when you snuggle in close against me
I know that you must need me too
I promise that I will always reach for you
Any time of day or night
For twenty one, we must return
to my thirteenth year
where a boy noticed me in passing.
It was sheer luck we were there
in the same room, at the same time
at Kennedy Space Center.
On vacation with our respective families,
we had come from vastly different worlds.
He was born in Detroit the year before I was born in Atlanta.
There was never a reason or even the probability
that our paths would ever cross,
but fate had made other plans for us.
At twenty-one, I walked into my best friend’s house
and there he sat at her table
eating bacon and smiling as if he knew me.
It took us many years to figure out why we felt we’d met before
but it only took two years to know that
we were much more than friends.
He was all I’d ever dreamed about,
all my fantasies given life.
I never knew what he saw in me but I’m glad he did.
From our first kiss in October
to our marriage in January,
I knew I had my Prince Charming.
Next January will be thirty-one years
spent with the love of my heart.
God brought us together and together we will stay.
With great abandon, here go I,
with wings a-beating in the sky
I crafted them upon my table;
now drying them in windy streets,
when laughed at, my visage here retreats
Sometimes find me in hotels
after collecting stones and shells:
till erupts an argument
twas not my original intent
When then they ask a vague question …
“What is it?”
I respond, you must go visit
and when you finally actually go
you’ll hear me think ‘bout Michelangelo.
Within the oil stained window-panes,
inventions brew, and so do pains,
I work until the late evening,
making things that look like drains,
as smoke puffs from warm chimneys,
Now testing, I take a fearless leap,
and deep, I fly into the night,
while all my friends are fast asleep.
Then quickly, not heeding time
over the mountain, past the street,
reflecting wings on window-panes;
there will be time, there will be time
to prepare a flight to faces meet;
And then more wings I will create,
for all the other idle hands
who love adventure on their plate;
but then will be no time for me,
with feathers plucked and indecisions,
and for a hundred visions and revisions,
till I can rest with morning tea.
Till then will people come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And then soon will come a time
to dream, to even dare?”
time to appear upon the stair,
and with a flutter of my hair —
but now the air is growing thin!
my harness cradling waist and chin,
if I left out a single pin
my wings they do look awfully thin!
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
I do this all the time
make snap revisions which a second shall reverse.
And now go feathers one and all:
not in evening but afternoon,
I have created new wings with spoons;
I hear the screams as I fall
as if already they see the emergency room.
What do they presume?
Those eyes who witnessed my fall all—
mutter a horrifying phrase,
then when I feel as needles and pins,
I view that hole of light in wall,
this is how shall my end begin
in heaven with its winged ways?
And what do they presume?
-Sandra Johnson, 6/23/19
The Kiss.
Naturally not like anything
I was expecting.
I lay there on the floor,
My mind in a <<<whirl.>>>
~Some football on tv
As we chatted.
~And I tried to be 《Cool》
About the way your hand was
Caressing me…
(There.)
On my inner thigh…
So I touched yours, too…
~And the game, it droned on…
While I tried to concentrate
On what we were saying.
But all I could really think of
Was how badly~
~Oh, how VERY badly!
I wanted to crush your lips with mine…
~And knock you
down
onto
the
floor!
Where I could ravish you~
Forever…
~And you’d leave me?
Never.
Soft bass bumped from the car speakers
My arms pinned above my head
You fucked me in rhythm to the music that meshed with our hot breath that steamed up the wet, rain kissed windows
Thunder boomed
Grabbing on to me, pulling yourself in more
Exploding with me like the lightning in the darkness
There are little things in life that I can see,
Like the tender markings in a tree.
The dew that clings to the grass anew,
These are little things that are special to me.
A bird with wings that are so blue,
A certain kind of look~
The bubbling of a brook.
Little things you have to look for but are there.
A chipmunk playing in the grass,
Your reflection in a looking glass.
Little things that catch my eye,
As I watch my world pass by…
C. Burgess (c)
Rain falls steadily
In time with claps of thunder.
A summer rain storm