24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Mine is a noble quest
I go withour fear
I know that every test
Just means that I’m near
I go withour fear
Through the treasures and traps
I shan’t turn off here
My way’s marked on my maps
I know that every test
Firms up my resolve
To rise above the rest
And all puzzles solve
It means that I’m near
My hard-fought quest’s goal
I go without fear
Bone-weary, but heart-whole
Form: Quadrilew
Prompt: Write a poem about a journey.
“Alexander build a bridge to Tyre,
I can’t walk a straight line ‘cross the street.
How am I supposed to be my own empire
of one when I’m not good enough for wander meat?”
I think things like this when others opine
that maybe I should chart a course in life.
Well maybe all my foes, some of my friends, whine,
because a lack of course means lack of strife.
I can’t say I’d hide from all the fair fights.
I’d have helped ol’ Alex build that bridge.
But then again my course don’t keep me up nights
except to wonder what’s beyond that ridge.
I spose I could have been a doctor’s lawyer,
not so much the much-sung ‘Indian Chief’,
and though I could have had everything to want, sure
enough I would have stuck and come to grief.
I’ve paints, and paper, pens, and inks and guitars.
A banjo I call Steve to warm my knee.
I’ve goddesses to write for and paint their stars
and goddesses I want, who might want me.
So next time you see an artist working don’t think,
“They could have had so much, how low they fall.”
Look to yourself, your routine, see if there’s a brink
to build a bridge to,
if there’s still time for you to build at all.
remembered to the land
The day I read:
“the land remembers you, even when you are lost,”
I stopped,
lowered the book,
and wept for every speck of dirt
left behind in places where I left my name,
ragged and bleeding,
while newly, unfurled leaves of wild strawberries –
heart berries –
wrapped themselves around those ragged edges to hold me fast
so I would not disappear.
The land who remembered me,
remembered my bare back on thin blankets,
the delicate summer evening I bargained my virginity
for “coolness.”
It remembered deep February nights –
beyond frigid –
when Aurora Borealis crackled my name to Sky Father and all the Star People.
My dog and I audience to the magnificence of light against dark.
I had lost myself from those days
when that land daily whispered how deeply I was loved
I had lost the voice of those ruddy Mountain Ash guarding the house –
then twigs –
now sentinels so wide I cannot embrace them
and touch my fingertips around the other side.
Upon my return,
to bring my mother home:
ashes to ashes
dust to dust;
those heart berries were the only ones to know me…
that tamed land now wild again…
I could hear my name –
faintly –
in those grasses,
as in the days when I was certain no one did.
Blessed be those little leaves
and the lands who hold us closest.
(c) r. l. elke
Northern Solstice
Virginia Carraway Stark
Crisply glistening under the starlight
Although it was solstice
Skin was white as apple flesh
Naked after shedding her night colored cloak
She shivered under the northern lights
The longest day meant something here
Already the sun was edging its way
Up the rim of the craggy mountains
The glacier fed lake was still as the night
The stars reflected along with their
Siblings, the tinkling spirits of the northern skies
In the water that even now was only above freezing
She strode into the water, as visible as though it were day
Picked out in white silhouette in the light
Of the celestial spheres
Reflected in the cauldron of the mountains
The sharp pebbles pricked her feet
She didn’t notice, they were already numb
She dove under the water
And greeted the spirits of the dark
The lived under the roots of the mountains
Coming up rarely to disturb the high lakes
With their troubles
And watched the brief night
That was solstice in the north
A lonely and short time
Cold, silent and foreboding
As the threat the snow covered peaks
The only other audience
Brought with their specter
The only sound, the lady’s feet
kicking the water
in what remained of the night.
The rain hadn’t stopped in days
Constant but light it dug into the psyche
A consistent pitter-patter on every surface
Some people got used to it…
Not us.
Local radio and news stations had gone out
Their signals drowned and downed by the rain
The channels were there but only added to the sound
An eerie buzzt-slick as each channel was flipped through
Some people gave up on it…
Not us.
The days still passed as madness blossomed
Roads were eroding, flooding, washed away
We piled on to the bus with hope and a faint hisst-erk
Each passenger alighting for a very different purpose.
Some people intended to stay…
Not us.
And as we rode in silence, phantoms to the driver
It started to make sense, these sounds
pitter-patter-bzzt-slick-hisst-erk
“We’re going to flood the Earth”
Some people called us madmen.
Not us.
Now Go Fully Live your life No need to hold back Waste not this opportunity
A Paradelle:
A green realm, surrounded by birch
A green realm, surrounded by birch
Within the branches, fairies play
Within the branches, fairies play
Branches play within a birch realm,
The fairies – surrounded by green
Blossoms litter the forest floor
Blossoms litter the forest floor
Loose petals dance through the air like rain
Loose petals dance through the air like rain
Forest blossoms litter loose like air
The petals rain, dance through the floor
Girls with opalescent wings glide free
Girls with opalescent wings glide free
Their joy knows no bounds
Their joy knows no bounds
Opalescent joy bounds free with their
girls’ wings – knows no glide
No blossoms free the fairies’ floor
The realm surrounded by birch branches
Opalescent rain knows a green glide
Their joy bounds through air, litter
Loose petals with wings dance, play
Like girls within the forest
When the dandelions bloom, some think of them as weeds,
But bumblebees and honey bees glean nectar as they feed.
The lovely dandelion gives nourishment, so fair,
To creatures that buzz around and fly high up in the air.
Whoever that decided that they were yellow weeds
Never enjoyed the feast that to their palate pleased.
And then, how convenient to spread the seeds so wide–
A fluff carrying them on wind to places far outside!
Who could design a blueprint so perfect in design,
But God, our great creator; the One we call Divine.
Slowly slowly
I am slipping
Yet more quickly
I am sipping
What once approached
The alchemical
Has steered its way
To the all comical
And if you think
This poem’s a gimmick
Then please avoid
The next hour’s limerick
Barranca
Meandering through eucalyptus trees
Underneath a waning moon
Scent of wet earth rising up
I fear the dawn may come too soon
River waters full wth rainfall
Fan out your lovely auburn hair
We float here, naming constellations
Breathing in warm scented air
Stars shine in your gentle eyes
Our fingers now entwine
Skin tingling when we touch
Your old soul merging with mine