24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Broken little girl
Sitting in the corner wallowing in self pity
For all that has been done to her
Broken and shattered
Torn and weathered
Her heart is in shambles on the floor
Who is this girl
Why wont she fight
Get your ass up
Fight the battle in which they chose to create
Destroy and demolish
Take your power back, take yourself back
Show them who you are
Make them never be able to forget you
Write a poem about being stuck in a very small place, actually or metaphorically.
or
Write a poem about being locked out, actually or metaphorically.
the unraveling
_______________
ill-lit
the space cramped
i feel my way
with shaking hands
un-
familiar, earth damp
knowing i’m
not in command
of my thoughts.
the direction unknown
i travel forward
for nights on end
memories
upturned, not sown
a fork in the brain
begins the bend
folding,
like a poker hand
grip slips
the loss is real
fading food
like hourglass sand
heavy, weighted
winter’s peel
banana…
beach…
thick…
snow drift.
Your face was troubled.
Expressions of fear and worry on your brow.
As the days pass by so slowly,
Your breathing is becoming rattled and labored now.
Two images in the darkness again appear.
One of peaceful countenance as you lie so still.
The other of amazing flowers of vivid blue.
O My Sweet Mama i wish that you could stay.
The Velvet azure flowers have slipped into hazy shadows,
And now have slipped away!
In dimming light of evening comes to me a thought:
The blue flowers that I saw were definitely “Forget Me Not’s”
I sat beside your bed and and listened carefully and watched,
As you took your last two breaths.
Hot tears flooded down as I bowed my head in prayer.
Rest well underneath His wings, I’ll see you soon when we all get to Heaven Fair.
Twelve next month, that preteen brink.
I have a new step-daddy,
a new baby sister too!
Momma is so happy, I think-
with everyone but you.
Says I must deserve the welt
from the tops of my feet to my
shoulders
she shrugs,
He wields a braided belt.
He says, “stand still or you’ll get more”.
The bruises are kept covered.
We never see Grandma anymore.
Uncles that doted on me,
removed to a distant shore.
The new uncles are his brothers,
the “love” a different kind.
Pain, much deeper than my skin.
Locked in my bedroom – I scream- I beg- I holler-
she doesn’t even try to come in.
Thirty years long past-
I scream, I beg, I holler.
Still, nightmare visits blast.
Please somebody wake me-
out of this forever, take me.
By-gone, but not forgotten are
the terrors of
my life-
embarrassed and ashamed,
I can be nobodies wife.
I am at sea, on a giant’s belly.
He is so gentle that I am allowed
To cross the waters with his aid.
Such a nice passage! And he’s happy to help.
I give him a warm smile and I meet
Some winged creatures, possibly angels.
They offer me a pair of wings and point to the sky.
I am grateful and despite my fear, I can’t wait to fly!
The man behind the counter
has a drinking problem
He ignores me
I leave
In the middle of the grassy field
on the other side of the chain-link fence
an old woman, wrapped in blankets and shawls
rocks in her chair
oblivious to everything
Next to the field
an abandoned freight car
sits on now unused tracks
I look inside
it is empty, except for a black stove
and a manual typewriter
Walking back towards the field
I find a small piece of paper
by the fence
On it are printed three words:
lurks
ahead
1
Suddenly, everything is bright
as though I have just awakened
and my eyes have not had time to adjust
I rub my eyes
when I look at the piece of paper again
it has changed:
lurks
ahead
6
I shrug, and put it in my pocket
But when I take it out again
it has changed:
lurks
ahead
7
I rub my eyes and look again:
lurks
ahead
8
And again:
lurks
ahead
9
I crumple up the paper
and stuff it in my pocket
What could this mean?
I look out at the field:
the old woman in the rocking chair
is gone
Am I in the right place?
I turn around—
the freight car is now gone
the typewriter has been left between the rails
I cross the street
and make my way back to the ticket counter
The young woman on duty
tells me the flight to Cincinnati
is leaving now
The man in the next line
is carrying nine copies of TIME magazine
He looks at me and shrugs
(22 June 2019, Hour Five)
There are several of us
unruly children
climbing the stacks
toppling books onto the floor
constructing fortresses of fiction
and using paperbacks as weaponry
nearby a librarian mutters in disdain
There are other uses for those
Stalling out in fervent play
a faint humming catches my ear
between thumb and forefinger
and draws me near
a worn leatherbound tome
reels me in
crimson and burning
it calls me by name
I stretch a small hand to its binding
golden sparks jump through my arm
onto the cover
revealing gilded symbols
the room floods with light
its ancient wisdom unfurls
and I begin to remember
To be awake is knowing this isn’t real in the flash of the landing
Fom there to here is a long way
Let the mattress catch me if I fall
I was lying on the ground
My head in his lap.
Dazzled by his smile
I felt such bliss.
Someone uttered “Give him a kiss!”
And his eyes twinkled down at me;
That mischievous grin
that was always at the ready
I leaned up
Smooched him on the cheek.
“Aww. Come on!” the others muttered,
And Bruce devilishly agreed.
He leaned his lips into mine
His beard scratchy against my face.
He kissed me like he meant it
And the crowd cheered.
Bruce Willis, you handsome fella
I believe you made me blush.
Even now as I recall that moment
My heart smiles in fondness for you.
I don’t know
What would have happened next
Had I not awakened.
But sometimes . . . I wonder.