24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Constellations
The dust on my phone looks like stars in the sky.
And every time my screen locks, I see planets
circling around and around the earth,
stars so hot, they’re about to burst,
vacuums, space sucking in and in, hope.
With every glimpse, my heart starts to twirl.
A golden fists silently fits
Inside the velvet glove
Covered complete
The violence reaped
Unintentionally it goes on
I can’t escape
My terrible fate
Why didn’t I just flee
Although I regret
The stage is set
Until the curtain falls on me
Till We Have Faces Till we have faces which others recognize, we'll struggle for the genuine compliment of competence not a measure about how we make others feel, for promotions and invitations without expectations of contributing our best, for our voices to be heard without our need to call out louder ever lounder. Till we have faces we recognize in each other, we'll struggle to accept each other whether or not we have children an education, a stable home, a successful health care plan, a clean record, a proper background, a promising future, the right husband or children or pantsuit or political platform. Till we have faces for ourselves we'll struggle to wake in the morning and sleep throughout the night. Till we have faces for ourselves we'll look in mirrors with doubtful eyes and pounding hearts. Till we have faces for ourselves we'll teach our daughters and nieces and students this similar fear. Till we have faces we must rise to see, value, and affirm our being. Our uprising starts now and continues until we all know our worth because they'll finally see our faces.
Everything, everywhere
All = you
you = everything,
everywhere
Be = you
I am
I am
you I am
Everywhere, everything
All
you
Me
you
We
you
Him
you
Her
you
ME
ME
ME
ME
All for a LOWLOW price!
your bones hollow, dressed in your prettiest threafds
waiting for the return of the fallen
memories collected around your heart
a soft place to rest
a home hoarded, from other discarded lives
distain at your ramshackle life
but you alone have woven hope from death.
The Broken Lands
They brought in big earth movers
And dug a scar in the rich brown earth
Where once had stood a bright red barn,
A pasture for cows, and before that
A virgin forest where deer and bear roamed
Now
Upturned land
Rows and rows of metal pipe
Were nested in the trench
Covered over
And left
Soon natural gas will flow underground
A poison in a pipe, hopefully to stay
Contained in its vessel
But the land itself will never be the same.
Watership Down
we beg for our lives against the giants that cannot speak yet, they yell while we scream we run, we run snares and poison breaking families we hide, we hide. through the tunnels through the earth when home is no longer safe. take us to the Watership Down where we can find refuge among others that have been displaced. C. Churchill
I’ve knocked you off your perch at last,
You wretched bird faced creep!
And there you lie, all black and ragged,
Downed by your criminal past!
It wasn’t such a cosmic leap,
You being just a maggot
On the face of a zombie cast
From a herd of sheep
That take the money to bag it.
It’s L’homme Mort, not Pour Homme, dumb ass.
But I have to admit he was cute – the zombie, that is.
And I strongly recommend the Chablis.
Truth is subjective. Is an orchid a flower, or a bee’s lover?
Is truth mutable? One turns my truth a lie’s nest, and hollows through my soul.
Oblivious truth… one calls me all the uglies. Lies become my truth.
Lies are not my truth. An lover’s still a flower. The bees and I aren’t fooled.
Pretzeled into knots
Not as complex as they seem
Thought quality like a lingering lucid dream
So many schemes
So many avenues of deception both to others and to self
Inspiration at the sacrifice of health
So fucking mental
The trick to bend around society’s rigidity
Tranquility in blending with the artificial mass
So act an ass and watch the TV dictate manufactured dreams
This cultural monotany cannot last