24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
What if…
What if you succeeded?
What if they mean it?
What if you’re capable?
What if you’ll feel better?
Remember the time you tried it anyway and succeeded?
Remember the time you trusted and learned?
Remember the time you went for it and surprised yourself?
Remember the time that was all you needed?
What if…
Mary Gabis
6/22/19
When I lay in bed at night, I think of all the poems to write.
So many things swim around in my head,
And I know I’ll forget
I love poetry it is part of my life,
A thought, a smile that is so bright.
Poems are what I think of at night,
I cannot sleep, I wonder why.
I lay there and think of so many things to write.
When it will stop I never know, someday when I grow old.
I no my poems will never die, or all my heart and soul that was put into words of my poems.
For that was all I ever had, was to write my dreams good or bad…
C. Burgess (c)
Our house sits upon the river
Which once was clear as glass
And brought life and wealth
But soon the woods started to burn
Ashes and flames fell breaking glass
The river becoming smoke
Still winding but dark and clouded
Bringing coughs and coal
Our house sits upon the smoke
I really like this one. I ended up not using this hours prompt because I didn’t care for it. I went onto Pinterest and search prompts and it was one of those month, first name, last name deals that changes the words based on each. And I had house river and smoke and this idea came to me.
Hold me close don't let me fall. I don’t need much but I want it all. Don’t turn away when I reach for you. Don’t close your heart To a love that’s true. Inside your world Is where I want to be. So open up your arms and just hold me.
Looking for the local beggar
on the street corner
to hand to him, some leftover food
that was wholesome, nourishing and good.
But he was not there!
Were could he be O’ were!
What would I now with the food do
Before it turns to a messy goo!
Up and down, I drive on the street.
My eyes searching in the heat.
I am now for work, late.
Were would the beggar be hiding, I berate!
I’m almost at my office 30 minutes later.
Forgotten is the parcel for the beggar
On my window , a sharp rap rap.
Startled, I stare at this disheveled chap.
” Sorry Sir! I am very hungry,
do you have any food or money”
The food I hand over
as he nods, smiles and saunter.
I think this is profound.
There was a reason why the beggar on my street was not around.
Because God destined that this food for that particular person be found.
I am surrounded by stuff
particular to me
with my present likes more prominent
and which no one around me wants
The spines of my books and folders
rest waiting like
the red eyed green dragon candle on my cabinet
for something I cannot fathom
Their wisdom remains cryptic
and elusive yet comforting
as the unknown origin of
“reality lies invisible in all this”
How does one organize
and tidy up
the decay in my teeth,
bones, and cells?
The raining sun shore green
Lazy sex floating in the sunlight
cobwebs stretched between swaying stalks of hay grass
where the wind softly touches each spikelet and flag leaf
pulling, pushing, tossing life about
like some random sailing vessel on an ocean
flooding with rainbows.
The voluminous clouds above
gray and purple, bowing behind my shoulder
a bending arch of light, multi-colored, streaking
as the crown of the trees shower voices from long ago
calling, I hear it, but I don’t know what it is–
some feeling ready to explode from
inside me or something I’ve forgotten and
it’s waiting for me to find her.
Twinkling light on the underplay of leaves
bustling, rippling like a multitude
of insects feeding, chittering.
In the distance songbirds singing
rejoice for the rising day
somewhere between where the blue sky meets
curving horizon, the clouds swiftly pour
over an unknown edge. My footsteps crunching
upon the gravel beneath them
the grain, the green upon green,
speckled with golden Sun
I smell you
I taste you in the fluids behind my eyes
I bathe in you.
My spirit is an ascending orb of light
Bringing life to the primeval toils of earthen homeostasis
We see you reached out a while back
– TEN DAYS –
and we wanted to follow up
and see if you are a good fit.
(I can see him drumming his fingers if we were sitting across from one another.)
We have had time to weigh your consideration, or we wouldn’t be here.
I look at my screen and try to craft a reply
that barks my lack of hesitancy.
Between the lines of his spare reply:
I’m the guy with the name you see in my Email.
I have a fair amount of downward-inflected responses
to let you know I’m caring, I care, I’m listening,
(I know how to care).
It will take me all day to grapple with the nonchalant reply
and even longer before I answer myself:
Do you really want to hit SEND?
I moved garden furniture on a Friday
So I could write all day today
And watch dogs float by on paddle boards
Owners stroking slowly
Those
confused
souls
refused
(I wonder why)
to say who I am.
Lamborghini visions?
The best of the call troupe?
Bosoms out to… there?
And bare?
Such emptiness confuses
who I AM!
My laugh is pity
and almost scorn,
for I am torn
between sorrow and dismay
that they,
who know
WHOSE I AM,
refuse to say.
OY VEY!
So, kill me once,
shame on you.
Kill me twice?
Thrice?
I am your vice!
Be nice…
What joy is truth?
A tranquil peace!
So, cease
with this tomfoolery,
you…
who know who I am.