24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Hour Nine
Half Magic
My life has been a carrot, erupting though dirt.
I first was a sprig of green, blown by wind.
Then my crown pushed up to reveal
a much bigger me, coated in dirt
that knew I was part of a field
other carrots all around, not alone.
Sun and rain fed me, made me strong.
I was self-sustaining and certain.
No one told me about rabbits
or farmers with hoes.
…and now this happy story turns to
one of woe.
Our planet is being destroyed In rocks and fire and flame The moon itself has ceased to exist The why leaves us no one to blame. Only a few of the people who live Will have the chance to survive. They will live and work in space In a station for the rest of their lives. Many conflicts arise in space Lives and order torn apart. The men and women on the ship Have to make a brand new start. No help will come from the planet The world they knew is gone. No help will come from anywhere Nothing left of all they’ve known. Time flies on and eventually Eight women left to keep the race Alive and well and going on Though one can only help the pace. The seven women push humankind Into the next centuries… Then milleniums. In the distant future, the human race survives Thanks to the seven eves efforts Who ensured it with their lives. The planet is finally habitable And so some people go Down to the surface far from space To see what they can know. A lot of change has happened And the people are aware How those seven women gave all For a world that was no longer there.
Writing is a solitary endeavor.
Whether in your room or in a public space,
you are in your own head
creating worlds out of electrical impulses
and words.
Sure, you look outward.
You listen.
You even converse,
then take it all home with you,
or to the diner where you work,
your coffee going cold as you write.
Publishing is a social exercise.
What you wrote in private
becomes public. For a poet especially,
there are no secrets.
How do we navigate both worlds,
come to terms with the self’s two halves?
The name makes me think of a place where everything is green and grows larger than life.
But it’s a wondrous place, with magical, mysterious, miracles.
The fish breathe the air while they hunt on land. Human-kind is not immune from being hunted and are no longer the apex predators.
Life as we know it takes on a new and mystical meaning, of unheard of regeneration and flesh eating plants that seem to have a brain and think individually.
Will you go there? Will you go alone? Only you can make that decision.
instructions for spiritual living
Walking hand in hand
the sky and land
become one
Universe sees itself
Through
your eyes.
You are
the composer
Maker of your
own reality,
Your destiny
Work in tune
And Harmony
with nature
Looking down
at the path
We get indications
of obstacles
and objects that you
shouldn’t step on
Not to dismiss
the path to
awakening
believing that
ego-self is
all there is
The neighborhood was older, when the newlyweds moved in,
There was an age difference with the children,
When the young family did begin.
The land of make believe, became a refuge to pretend.
The adventures in Narnia was a gift quite heaven sent.
A brother and a sister, reading about siblings that were four,
Though they squabbled and had hardships,
They found strength not found before.
Lucy, Edmund, Susan, and Peter faced hardships,
More than they dreamed were true.
Learning of Aslan they found themselves,
Though their trials they really grew.
Not a wardrobe in the house, a few closets failed the test,
No door to Narnia found, though their imaginations were the best.
YES, it is true I am a combination
Like you I am an angel and a demon
A yin and a yang a black and a white
A mixture of a wrong and a right
Some days I’m easy at times I’m complicated
I won’t deny sometimes I’m doubted
Because I change my mind so quick
My moods depend on every flick
‘Cause I’m a woman who thinks a lot
Who won’t give up without a fight
I would debate before giving in
But I’ll accept mistakes within
I give respect to one who’s due
Earn it well if it’s for you
A high regard from me you’ll get
As long as you are doing great
Because we are all combinations
Of everything in moderations
And just like you yes I am one
Sometimes an angel sometimes a demon
Trust
Trust is reckless
The seed’s risk in breeching
Sanctuary walls
The wren building
In branch’s undulating safety
The colt greeting gravity
Moments after arrival
Trust is tenuous
Rent by silent absence
Wrecked by unspoken fractures
Lost in cruelty’s mirth
Trust is made
Of stiched rifts between lovers
Open arms of mothers
Of forgiveness asked
and
Absolution granted
Funny Girl
What a strange girl she is
who avoids parties like death
who doesn’t drink, or smoke
or JUUL
who instead prefers the company
of her seven pets, the zoo of her home.
She reads books as they lay by her feet,
she cleans house as they trail behind her,
does her homework as they nap on her back
and she is at ease cuddled into their fur.
What an odd thing, with her hair lopped off,
nothing left to dance in the air behind her
as her bike crashes down another path,
a loud laugh crashing from her throat
simultaneously.
What a weird chick, who gets animated
about a song or a movie
and catches her voice rising louder and louder,
thrilled to express the quirks that make her who she is.
What a funny girl.
BrandNew, brand new
Every day, I’m brand new
We are a lot like me
To be BrandNew, every day
Much more than new
Thousands, millions
Between the police and the BrandNew
Nobody knows very well
But all, they are brand new
Police are looking
Everywhere they can, they cannot find
A single old man, nowhere
They did not leave
On this day of New trouble
They cannot do anything outside
And outside cannot do anything about them
BrandNew, everything is New
All the time
Never the chance to grow old
Life renewed continuously, like the News
BrandNew, brand new
All the time
1 trillion times a second
BrandNew, brand new