24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Frightened fairy in an ancient oak tree
Sprinkling plastic glitter, don’t you mock me
No longer prey to your insidious gloom
Hereby shall I enforce your doom
Determined at this late hour
At last I have found my true power
No longer will you swagger and strut
For I am fearless as any lone nut
Who stands tall far from your scorn
I am both lone fairy and acorn
My head is pounding with ideas fighting to be heard.
I’m straining to listen.
There’s so many.
I can’t concentrate.
It seems overwhelming.
So I put my pen to paper and sigh a breathe of relief,
As the thoughts I couldn’t hear
S
P
I
L
L
out of me.
I look down to see, staring up at me
The words I was trying to say.
I know, I know. People say, ”Allergies are a first world problem.” ”Get over it.” As a child, I never complained About scratchy eyes and throat. My little kitten was too precious to be told that she was the cause. My whole life has been a cycle of wheezing, sniffles, and eyes swollen, with translucent streams of tears and matted eyelashes. Cats, then dust, then pollen. Cats, then dust, then pollen. My chest wheezes and moans. I shower, then sit, then avoid. My eyes, swollen and tired. Always tired, bloodshot and bruised. Watery and teary-eyed. Determined to stay happy. For if I cry, I cannot breathe; I cannot see. My chest wheezes and moans. I shower, then sit, then avoid. Once, my gritty, watery, snotty eyes itched so much, were so painful. That is to say, hurt. I washed them with running water. It did not help. I rubbed them until My lids swelled shut, Puffy and tender to the touch. It did not help. I felt that if I could just scratch The underside of my eyelid, That would have to help. It did not help. So, I thought about people who wear contacts And say, “I’ve something in my eye.” With finger and thumb, I pulled my eyelids apart As far as they could go. Painful and sore as they were. With my other hand, I was meticulous, really. I pinched a corner of white, Carefully peeling it off my eye. The iris came off with it, Leaving only the pupil And bloody, eye flesh. Relief at last.
Close
Dimly lit
Total darkness
Can get out of it
Still in the vagueness of things
Moving away from thoughts
Lingering on my mind
Hang on you can do it
Embracing it
Just suffocating on it
Still a small space to be in
Taking the pace
Trying to get out
Still a thought mere thought
No just a thought
Feeling enclosed
So enclosed
Just a thought
A thought
Prompt # 7 Hour # 06
2:00 AM PHT 23/06/2019
They smiled with new hopes
Without burdens on their backs
The books told them stories
Not theories with only facts
They were free to run on the playground
To paint the town colorful
They were free to believe
Free to dream
Free to change the world
or just make one of their own
There were no boundaries
Only areas to explore
Debates to discuss
Views to agree or disagree
There were friends to be made
Teachers to guide
And then my eyes opened
Outside my window
was an old building
filled with children
crying for help…
sometimes it feels like i live in a memory
feels like i’ve done this before
hurt like this, loved like this, laughed like this
it’s like deja vu
but somehow it’s still new
somehow i still don’t know what to do
I sat on an old wishing chair
A whining, rickety one at that
I said, “To Paris, away with flair
But it stood there looking like a doormat
” Fly”, I said, “or i’ll thrash you without care”
“I must see Notre Dame and the city of art”
But the chair shook me off, I almost fell by my hair
Then I threatened to pull it piece by piece apart
” No, you won’t”, it said, “you see I have no pair”
“Get off, I prefer kids, not adults so fat”
I screamed and tore at my thick black hair
Jumping and snarling like an angry cat
I woke up sweating on my bed soft and dear
The old wishing chair faded like ghosts of past
I see my life like a string.
It grows with every day.
Each moment that I’m living,
It bends a different way.
My moods, they change its colors:
Red anger, peaceful green.
The colors mix together,
Some ugly and some clean.
My thread will weave together
With others that I meet.
The patterns that we’re making
Compose an awesome sheet.
We swaddle our whole planet,
Wrapped up in all our strings,
Painted by humanity
And all Earth’s living things.
And, oh, the picture woven
By our community
Every faith, color, gender…
A rainbow tapestry.
Hottest hot of Summer Days
As upon my breast, my lover lays
Blanket, barely thick enough to shield the heat
Above the sand that coats our feet
Far from water’s edge
Swirling currents of air rise
To hide encroaching surf
Blinding whiteness, thundering turf
Cold wind blowing by our heads
Perceive I now, rushing horses
Nature’s forces
Bellowing “Move, move now”
Arching back and lover’s hips
Heavy breathing meets my lips.
But, wait!
What gurgling forth comes from my mouth?
What pain racks through my chest?
Spewing salted water through my teeth
Suddenly squinting from beneath
Broad shoulders,
Shock of gray
To my dismay,
It’s not the beach,
It’s not my Love,
Tis but a medic perched above.
Hunky armed men in heavy boots
Carried their shovels like rifles.
They were the finest workers
The municipality could afford.
Through the dust could be seen
The outline of the last ’70s piano bar,
The dusty ferns and jars of outdated antipasta
Waiting secondary demolishment.
At night, their lanterns
Were viewable for up to five city blocks.
And, next morning, the day crew returned
To clear more detritus of a decade
Of how politics got done.
(Note: this is my fifth hour poem, but my phone got wacky and I had to restart.)