24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Child of the Arts…
Dance classes …
Felt like a star;
in tap shoes and leotard!
Begged parents to make a star…
move to California?
No!
Mom sings opera.
I hate opera.
Joined the theatre…
Fell in love,
with theatre, of course!
Mom said, “You better learn how to act!”
Auditioned…
I was chosen!
Arizona to New York …
Learning The Method;
Learning the world …
Living for Broadway!
Love of my life!
Theatre!
My religion …
Theatre!
My Church …
Broadway!
You’ve done nothing! You know how important this is to me, to us. Yet nothing is done. Don’t say anything! Not to me. I don’t want your Platitudes and hypocrisy. I want schedules, reservations. Dammit! I want itineraries. People have driven for CENTURIES Without GPS. Well, at least close to a century You won’t listen to the directions anyway. You would think this would end badly, but this is us. Every time, Every year. We must have short memories or long love. Somehow, it works When we’re together.
Takin a trip down the mississip
mandolin fiddle down the water
thinkin bout my baby way up in chicago
but she’s far way and I’m driftin farther
Takin a trip losin my grip
fallin down fallin even harder
gotta make it to the harbor to pawn this mandolin
to buy a ticket to the train headin northward
Takin a trip on my little ship
need some money to marry a rich man’s daughter
If I make it to New Orleans hell I pray it ain’t a dream
I’ll buy her a mansion with a shiny silver dollar
Takin a trip tryin not to flip
Jesus don’t lead me like a lamb to the slaughter
pickin on the strings with my gal’s voice in my head
What don’t kill ya leaves ya almost dead but stronger
Takin a trip hope I don’t slip
every second spent with her is an honor
every mile that I wander is farther way from home
And everywhere without her is over yonder
I’m traveling through time and space, on pages rich with words.
There are people in this place, whose thoughts are even heard.
You may find me laughing, or have a need to wipe a tear,
But my favorite place to travel is through pages, staying near.
My ticket was bought through stores that sell the work
Of authors who write fiction, or fantasy with quIrks.
I won’t have to board a plane, or take a bus to there;
I’ll just sit right here at home, in my big comfy chair.
I meet the grandest people–some famous in their time–
And others who are common folk–not poor, and not sublime.
I’ve learned so very much from visiting their homes;
I’d like to invite them here–to travel worlds unknown.
The final exodus
Peering through the windows
Of my vehicle, I stared …
The pitch darkness outside
Save the distant gleaming lights
The ignis fatuuses.
Foraying into the edge of time
By the dawning red, I waited…
Scavengers descended on my self
And angels holding torches
Led my soul away.
Hour 16
@varenyas
A susurration of serpentine servants slips
Somewhere betwixt sunset and sunrise,
Assured of surreptitious searching the sanctuaries
For secrets secured against sonorous sorcery
In centuries long since sacked into obscurity.
Should the Saffron Saint sail south with these secrets,
The sacrilege would scandalize both sanguine and cynical.
So their sanctimonious and sincere stand ceremony
To this scabrous safekeeping, supervised by sages.
I am camouflaged
behind a mound of hair.
In this small car
speeding across town,
I battle the rapids
of roaring rivers and shatter
into millions of diamonds
in their cascading falls,
or elbow the sheer waters
with a spidery grace.
I stalk the Appalachians
as we pass your lab,
eyes fixed on the tall spire
emerging like a ghost
out of frosty air,
like a lost finger
of some sleeping giant,
waiting for a magic spell.
Gazing fierce eyed
past the landscape,
I vault up into the sun
and wheel my silent wings
in tumbling patterns across blue spaces
in cloud fields, caressing
their white-bellied shapes
with a moist, airy palm as I pass.
They weep with joy.
You ask what I’m thinking
(content with your own thoughts)
But you’d never understand:
my heart is a crystal
and my shining colors
exceed your vocabulary.
So I say, Nothing special.
or ‘The End?’
For Hoban Washburne
I rather think I won’t be quite surprised
when all the water boils off into space,
leaving, as Pink Floyd said, ‘only charcoal
to defend.’ Nor will it seem so strange that
suddenly there’ll be nothing left I prized,
like breath. I’ve known that goes. We lose that race
when we begin. This marble will just roll
away and end each thing that we’ve begat.
But is that how it ends, the universe?
Is this all that there’ll be? Or is there more
to come and we just must accept the grief?
Tossed in time’s deep closet, like some old purse?
Life’s been fun. I guess if I’d kept a score
I think I’d win. I’ve been both wind and leaf.
The darkness came a little at a time
But once the world was destroyed it was void of all light.
Half-dead roamed what used to be the streets. Their vision obscured by once was bright flashes of light.
Vegetation, gone.
Animals, gone.
No sun, no moon, no clouds.
Gray haze, gasses most likely fill the air making it difficult to breathe.
No shelter, no warmth, acid rain
Falling
onto
the
barren
ground.