24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Seeing the moonbeam from the sky
Taking a coffee from the canteen
Like a sitting duck felt different still
A dock on the shop
Sharing differently a day began
Mustering a city’s fog
Hold still it is a broad light to usher
A night to remember moonlit
Prompt # 13 Hour # 10
6:00 AM PHT 23/06/2019
A Love Letter
Hope Never Dies
in The Gone World.
Severance
Will Only Hurt a Little, like
Taking the Arrow out of the Heart, despite
Cravings: Hunger for More.
What is Real?
The Order of Time –
How to Invent Everything,
Be Prepared.
There, There
Woman in the Window,
Everything Here is Beautiful – The Map
of Salt and Stars,
All the Little Lights.
Little Fires Everywhere
Burn Bright,
All the Light We Cannot See.
Wade in the Water,
The Ocean at the End of the Lane.
In The Great Alone, I have
Room to Dream.
Still Me, Becoming
A River in Darkness.
A Force of Nature.
You Go First
On the Path Between Us.
Year One will be
Not That Bad.
I don’t need
Useless Magic;
Something in the Water
offers Brief Answers to the Big Questions –Who We Are and
How We Got Here –
The Astonishing Color of After.
You Think It, I’ll Say It:
I Was Born for This,
A Spark of Light
Taming the Sun –
Heart Talk in the
Dark Between Stars
An American Marriage,
our House of Dreams.
A Love Letter.
sarahw
I took several titles of current books from the Goodreads site, turning it into a found poem of love and light for my recently departed husband.
the crackle and drag
your grief slipping beneath the
fact of a door frame
There among the old, old tomes—
Half dust and half formaldehyde—
A book of how to cookie cook,
And one of how to rhythm rhyme,
Where chocolate chip pentameter,
And peanut butter near-rhyme meld
Where Wadsworth, Guest and Tolkien took
Eggs and sugar, mixing well;
With an Oatmeal Cookie—Byron style,
Dickinson’s Tipsy Honeybee Bites,
Liberal sprinks of imagery
In Poe’s Nevermore Raven Lites;
Whipped alliteration well,
Stirred allusion until fluffed,
Minced words at combining speed,
‘Til they got buzzing, crunching stuff—
Folded gently, the page-white whip.
And licked the bowl (so not to waste);
Rolled and cut in couplet lines
Baked for decades—or desired taste.
Salty, savory, published or not,
Cookeries, bookeries, bakery fresh,
Nut-strewn titles, topped with spice,
Where poetry and cookies meshed.
lone puzzle piece found
under kitchen table and on the ground
I pick it up & examine every side
then ponder this futile attempt to hide
& pop it in between rose bud and wrinkled hound
And it was all I could do not to sound
The coming years of torment
I knew was in bound
Cause I knew the sound
I’d heard it before
In the subtle rows
Beyond the fields of forgotten
I dwelled there for long too long
Treading light on your darkened waters
Sought out the better times
When I lost sight of the better days
Followed by the terrible nights after, that followed your voyage
And you
Wound up the ties that bound
Our fragile frames
Looking to tie up the moments should I capture them
If only for awhile
To the ship you sailed away on for ten days and four years after
Where were you when
He called your name
And your spirit left
Did you forget your dress
Was still white
Before your heart spilled me
Out on to the night
And it’s all I can do now, not to go back to that place
And damn your name
Cause I knew then, like I know now
You did it because it’s just your way
Forgetting the world for your while
A moment of knowing better
But not giving a damn
children of blood and bone
with too much magic coursing through their veins
children with brown skin and murdered parents
trying to change a world they were never wanted in
Jack London was called to the wild
where I will not go
for the wild is too wild for me
a woman who sits on cushions
soft, pillowy, pretty
looking out windows
to the mean streets
where blood runs
hot in warrior gangs
and money lust
throws up towers
that scrape the sky
so high they diminish the clouds
shadows fall upon the innocent
and from above the elite look down
basking in their stolen sun
beautiful views
sequestered there safe
while we below fear the day
I wish I was an artist
So that everyone could see
The beauty and the heartache
That dwell inside of me
I wish I was a singer
So that everyone could hear
My tragedies and triumphs
My anxieties and fear
I wish I was an athlete
Long and lean, built strong and tall
Admired by the masses
Just because I could play ball
But me, I’m just a wordsmith
With tales to tale, insights to share
Hoping you’re still there reading
These strips of soul that I’ve laid bare
Shivering in my animal print hospital gown,
I greet this white-robed agent of pain
with a determined frown I ask:
What torture gadget are you bringing me now?
“Now, now my dear.
Dr’s orders, you hear.”
Proceeding to stand myriads of needles in my thigh,
He announced with a smirk no less than wry:
“This “gadget” you see is by far kinder today
It’s called a “Strengthsfinder”; we use it this way.
For people like you, we can bump up the juice,
Speed up the test and see which muscles you use.”
With all that was in me, I began pulling out pricks!
That is until the dial turned made them stick!
I’m sorry. I’m sorry (hands in the air).
Just do what you must,
Be gentle dear sir, in you I must trust.
Please find me some strength and be done!