24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
So much energy in nature!
Incredible how a walk can inspire me!
It seems that I follow my thoughts
And not my steps. Sheer joy!
During my strolls I am not, but
I become a time traveller who
listens to the wind wispering,
who loves sun’s smile and light.
I do not follow the path,
but my heart and my mind.
I never get tired of a good walk
and I still feel the breeze when I get inside.
From the air the rift is obvious.
Cascades, Sierra Nevadas —
I see how the Earth folded herself,
intimate and generous
into the shift and spread.
Between us, the space is not so clear.
I have bent, turned, given in, broken down
and hidden
but the quakes, the insults,
the mean stares and rivers of anger —
where does this plain and transparent
continent of me
drift to?
J. Pratt-Walter
6/22/2019
The thousandth, drawn out, pleading “Daddy” of the day
Grates like corroded metal on raw patience.
A long breath hisses inward between teeth clenched without volition
Look up, let the breath hiss back out, tuck the aggravation away.
Two more “Daddy”s have passed, whining, in the composure time
Demanded by the thousandth.
Yes, hon. I turn away from the work that feeds and houses us to ask. What is it?
“How do I make a table?” She replies, waving a tablet under my nose
A resilient sleeve of brilliant plastics making the experience immeasurably pinker.
I ask, resigned, what kind of table she needs.
A crafting table? To bend the blocky materials of her world to her will?
An enchanting table? To twist the magics of that bind all life in ways clever and profane?
An alchemy table? To brew elixirs of power and danger unguessed at outside of imagination and helpful wikis?
“No daddy, a table like the villagers have.”
A what? I inquire, befuddled by the purpose and construction of this apparent necessity.
“Look!” She turns her tablet and shows me the treasure her tiny heart desires.
Ah. A fence post with a slab on it. I see.
I explain as much, and a smile splits her gap-toothed face.
With a voice like heaven’s wind chimes she says “Thank you, Daddy!”
And one-thousand-and-four makes all the ones before more than worthwhile.
I return to work with a smile
as she plunges once more into the realm of blocks and creepers.
I settle into a pace, reminded of why I do it in the first place.
And then the air splits with a shout: “DAAADDY!”
“HOW DO YOU SPELL ‘FENCE’?”
On my favorite chair,
cozy and comfortable,
with the cool breeze passing me,
I pondered on the third prompt.
A voice broke the air,
of a being who only hears the television,
who calls out for people who never answer that,
who remembers people who doesn’t even think about her existence.
Mom,sorry.
Break me with your text.
Say goodbye. Say you love me,
But can’t stay longer.
The air is cooler than expected
though it gives in to the sun; distant
traffic a muffled presence as breeze rises
above in the silence of dogs .
A lone seagull calls above the inland twitter;
a neighbor speaks, a lone car passes by –
ordinary moments of a weekend day
business as usual in a quiet city enclave.
But I feel what is missing, struggle to recall
the lurch of your uneven gait beside me;
prefer to recall you striding up Sunset Ridge
as I scramble to catch up, perch on the bridge
sharing gorp and water laughing as the dog
drink-swims the icy stream…
Looking around, I see your absence
and my not-yet-coming-to-terms
that our plans are no longer; yet
I go on. I return from my walk
deadhead the Nova Zemla rhodie by the door,
snip a newly-blooming peony for the house
enter the silence I have just left to find it
alive with sun, comfort of the familiar
and your gentle presence warm
in my heart.
sarahw
Come out at night and know
The world in its afterglow
We might see what we overlook
Because of our daily work
It’s the soft rustle of leaves
As the wind gently brushes
And the cold feel of air
While my fingers comb my hair
The air-conditioning unit hums
While the tots are with their moms
And street light silently screams
Making a poet smiles and dreams
Stealth tiny raindrops land
On roofs and trees and sand
Surely tomorrow a clear dew
That refreshes a morning new
Above, far above you’ll see
Parade of characters feathery
Clouds of every size and shape
Clowns and kings on capes
We thought its silent but we’re wrong
The world we know just sings a song
Its deaffening silence that we know
Is silently doing a show.
I’ve spent enough time on my knees
as a monk
to see that there’s value in being
both drunk
on life as a pilgrim and life as a
a rascal.
But can I live both, to the best
that I’m able?
When I left for the cloister, to
never go back,
I took nothing with me,
just books in a sack.
Discarded my dreams and all
my deep vices.
Tore my old dark soul up in bites
and in slices,
assuming I’d never leave, return
‘to my home’.
Never to wander more.
Never to roam.
I spent many weeks and months,
working at prayer,
being a better man
than I had brought there.
I worked and I cared for the pilgrims
who came.
I learned to live and love life
without shame.
But one winter’s day the hour came
and I knew,
I wasn’t to be a monk. That
certainty grew.
I put on my sandals and,
books in a sack,
I closed my old cloister door,
haven’t looked back.
Last night I sat down with friends.
We smoked and we drank.
We told our old stories
with swagger and swank.
I told of my peace and they spoke
of their smut.
I showed them a picture of me
in my habit.
Tomorrow I’ll have roamed to church,
where my friends they won’t be.
but I’ll make that old gesture,
from down on one knee.
I’ll give there my thanks,
as best as I’m able,
for a life that is lived,
a semi-holy old rascal.
You see,
I’ve spent enough time on my knees
as a monk
to see that there’s value in being
both drunk
on life as a pilgrim and life as a
a rascal.
And I plan to live both, to the best
that I’m able.
the white, elegant one
which you always had on you
you gave one to me too?
the one you told me
everyone had and was important
if I wanted to be considered human?
yes, that’s the one
‘conformity to the norms’
was it?
Thurisaz
Protector and defender of the cosmic order
Help me to guard against unwanted, harmful influence
Surround me with gateways & protective borders
While granting me with awakening experiences
The rose is beautiful yet it has a thorn
I want to pick, I want to adorn
But I am afraid
I don’t want the pain
I don’t want to bleed
The thorn is protection
Yet I have such a need
Overcoming this fear
To access your beauty
This Runic key has such a duty