24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
It’s it much better, Wouldn’t you all agree, That it is much better For the big, bad, wolf to be disinclined to follow a path, A scientific path, Of the human anatomy. Otherwise, Little Red Riding Hood May say, ”Why Grandma, what big eyes you have!” And the wolf might respond, ”Yes, my macrocorneas help me to see you better my dear.” A statement to this effect could easily frighten the poor girl away. Indeed, that is true.
Black Knight orbits my heart.
My breath quickens
with tidal acceleration.
Momentum builds, but
only briefly.
My heart beats
in perfect counterpoint
to his silence,
but he remains distant
unwilling to hear me
through the static
of nothing.
we always go back
to the point in time
when everything crashed
when we ignored the clashes
and kept on going
as if we were immortals
and we are not
Honest and contradiction doesn’t mixed
It just leaves a lot of confusion
What truth, what not truth
Is those feelings valid or just valid at this moment
Are you catching feelings or you just caught up with this connection
You said God create me for you
But turn around and say you single
You get mad when I said I have options
But you don’t want any title because its to much expectations
Too much pressure
How would you feel if I decide to walk away
Would you care or even notice I’m not around anymore
Would you realize you lost a good women
I made my way down to the stream
I wanted some time to loaf and dream
I settled myself upon the bank
Stared at the water, giving thanks.
A shadow suddenly darted nearby
The edge of the stream where I lie
I leaned down for a better look
Carefully set aside my book.
With a furrowed brow, I saw a trout
Disturbing my peaceful time, no doubt.
I got to my knees, leaning low
Reached down my hand, in the water just so.
I slowly wriggled my fingers just like bait,
Near the fish, not a moment to late.
He swished his way through the water clear
Closer and closer, he got very near.
With a daring grasp, I got that fish
He will make such a wonderful dish
With my hands in the water, I was befuddled
How I caught that fish, how I learned to guddle.
Source Material: The Land of Little Rain by Mary Austin
This is the nature of chaos.
Streaked with ash, evaporating the dark and bitter lies.
The wind drifts between them, the quick storms scar them
past redeeming.
One expects not to depend upon brackish and unwholesome dribbles.
Here you find the sink of Death,
the long heavy winds
and breathless calms on the tilted mesas where devils dance.
When all the earth cries for violence, with little in it to love.
[I don’t have a scanner and the erasure website wouldn’t let me create an account to save my erasure work. But I was able to save it as a PDF. Click the title of the poem to see the actual erasure work: Nature of Chaos – Poem ]
2212 Episode 2
Sergeant Jackson and his squad wait
The French sneak up
He sleeps then he wakes
Hit in the head with a shot gun
He sleeps then he wakes
Locked in a prison camp in Germany
Tortured, whipped and punched
Sergeant Jackson is helped
Second Corporal Jones
Together they fight
Fought their way through the prison camp
Run from Frankfurt
To find Lewie Pippin
Leader of the French
Lewie Pippin
Who started the war
Tresses on the floor reveal what once defined her beauty
alone in the chair
none of that matters now
the pixie staring back at her wasn’t smiling and the mirror wasn’t lying
She’d tip him anyway
Sweet like morning dew on
blades of grass before the
ladybugs come to drink.
On our lapels, the stars
we used to keep in our eyes,
safer where they can at least
be washed and pressed.
The glens roll in the spring,
white then purple then yellow
then blue with the scent of
summer, and the heat takes up
the flower colonies.
Pollen drains into our pores
and we wait, wait
for spring again.
And we learned of finalities
not in the goodbyes
not in the farewells
no, we learned of finalities
beacause we loved
because we felt
because we hoped