24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Sevenling- Formations
Formations begin, evolving then gone
Colors changing as quickly
As the winds.
Images differ from eye to eye
A dog with a ball, dancers
A feather floating by.
A picture show for all to see, yet never duplicated.
Adrift in clear blue waters, searching for a sandy shore
Not knowing why, still we know there is more
Boats of fibreglass, wood, even steel
A journey where each stage must surely heal
At times we may need to hold on to a lifeline
While we are towed from shadow into sunshine
Souls on their own journey travel here
None of us have need to fear
With every truth that you will find
Allow freedom to open up your mind
We shall come to love what we must learn
As soul stars watch, awaiting our return
A whisper over the shoulder,
the glancing wave of your hair just
out of sight as I turn to chase
summer shadows across the asphalt.
A memory lingering
in some resonating ache, a hollowness
I felt through the wholeness of my body.
Your face, freckled and smiling,
as if nothing in the last 15 years ever happened.
We are right back in that place,
those first months when everything
was new, the money was steady, our chosen
delicacies in ready supply, love and
wild adventure burning, my words
finding their place, the anticipation of
something thrilling just ahead.
I choose to forget what I know of reality.
I choose to ignore the restless worry
unsettling itself in my stomach, I suppress the notion
that this isn’t real, that this is not how it happened.
I would rather stay here
in this illusion, to see what happens next,
but by the time I can rationalize
my choice, my mind has become aware
of its enchantment.
Youth is when your skin is soft,
your drive hard and your mind,
somewhere in between
It is luscious afternoons of mingling
body heat, the expanse of new experiences,
and bonfires at the beach until the break of dawn
… then you wake to find a grey hair.
The blues!
Rock!
I loved the music
my parents called sinful,
so locked in, they were, to the idea
that only gospel
could carry me to heaven.
I gave up their gospel
for my music,
found heaven
in a wailing guitar.
Hello, friend, my name is Bup.
Small and green and soft,
I am mostly made of moss.
Tonight, on fish I’ll sup.
I waddle to the creek.
My trek is very long.
I sing my trekking song.
My voice is rough and meek.
By the time I reach the stream,
my tiny legs are weary,
and though my eyes are teary,
I cannot help but beam.
The water’s full of little fishes,
so delectable and plump!
And with one mighty jump,
I have my choice of dishes.
I slurp down a nice grey minnow.
Its taste is smooth and sweet.
The current ruffles mossy hands and feet.
My panging hunger begins to winnow.
All a sudden, I’m going up!
A giant beak holds me fast.
I do fear my time has passed.
Farewell, friend, my name was Bup.
Do you miss me? When the snow swallows your house And your only company is in your dreams? Do you dream of me? I dream of you, Through warm Mediterranean nights When the air is soft around me I wonder, I hope, That your winter quilt is softer. Spring is coming soon I'm scared to return to you, though why I cannot say. Perhaps it's because I know That when you see me You will say "I miss you, Did you miss me too?"
You suggested turning back to join the crowd watching
the bald eagle in the field, but I said to keep going, the long drive ahead of us.
There is no inspiration for poetry, no joy in the memories.
Abuse recolors them, strips away even the nostalgic remembrance
of happier times in a lost relationship. Stripped the magic
from the rooftop of the cathedral in Milan, walking amongst the statues
with my broken toe and gazing over the city, from the crashing
moving fractals of the devil’s waterfall in Iguazu that overwhelmed my mind
in a way I’ve never felt before, from the marketplace in Cordoba
where I picked up the toadstool earrings from a local artisan,
far from the tourist markets of the capital city with their Argentina-stamped leather.
Will a day come when I have snipped your picture from the photographs of my mind,
be able to talk about the view from the window we–I–saw
overlooking the roof of the church from my temporary living room
without that hesitation of a shadow over my heart where your figure should be.
Fools
& Cowards
Empowered
Build An Empire
Watch It Fall
Twin Towers
9/11 Was An Inside Job
My first friend,
My best friend
Sensitive soul,
Tough cookie
Secret sharer,
Secret keeper
Eyes deep like the ocean,
Eyes crisp like the midnight sky
Rules and games,
Nature’s way
Realistic,
Idealistic
Big brother,
Little sister
Mary Gabis
6/22/19