24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Be it, that there are never any
Endings in my life,
Give me a new beginning.
In the beginning it’s not easy,
Not without confusion,
Not without frustration and pain.
In not being sure in anyway,
Not knowing what to do or say,
Giving gratefulness for each day.
Still, I’ll except new beginnings as a new experience…
C. Burgess (c)
She came to me
While I was sleep
Beneath my pillow
Her hand reached
Out she pulled
Two small teeth
And replaced each one
With a new penny
.
Left it all behind there.
All that sand from my shoes. All shaken off.
All that salt from my hair. From my eyes, too.
Nothing stuck as I shouted it all away.
Yelled at it, but quietly, you know, inside.
Sounded like nothing worked. Nothing did.
It died unassisted. After all I did to revive it.
Even the pain went away by itself. Overnight.
No longer mine. We disowned each other.
It used to embrace me, it was my old mother.
It was a warm facelessness, a punched cushion.
I didn’t have to make it up. Scattered feathers.
I have proof. I told everybody so.
Everyone could see how well I carried it.
Left it all behind there.
Half my life gone. Strands of moaning rain.
I had gotten so used to it, the ordinariness of it.
The cold familiar arbitrariness of it.
I used to make coloured screen shots of it.
Long rectangles and graphs of explanatory text.
Now that it has flatlined, I wonder if I’ll miss it.
I am the girl that no one gets
The four-eyed freckled geek
I am the one with much to say
Though I’m too scared to speak
I am the girl who sits alone
The one the boys all overlook
I am the girl who spills her soul
Across the pages of a spiral book
I am the girl that no one wants
The one always picked last
I am the girl that’s left behind
The one who can’t escape her past
I am a little girl no more
I am a woman, forty-three
But the silent nerdy outcast child
Will always dwell inside of me
(The prompt was to start at least six lines of a poem with “I am…” for this challenge.)
She stands on the precipice
Unsure, excited
Stomach in knots
Not knowing where to go
Step back, back in the familiar
Step forward, forward into the unknown
Looking back, seeing all that has been
all that has been outgrown
Looking forward, seeing nothing
nothing but a dark fog
The unknown calls in a whisper
Potential, Hope
Bloom Within
She leaps into the fog
I don’t think it’s magic
that lined the stars
or the pages
that led me down
the yellow brick pages
i rode until clicked and dug
my heel
poked behind the curtain
and knew at once there was no going back
where I started vanished under the hat
as long as rabbit ears ago
no magic required
but feel free to bring it as your dish if you like
Me, I’m bringing sweet potato pie.
The Road Not Taken
Two ways life invite
Two choices always hang about
Which road not taken
(Haiku, hour 3 @Mejia2019)
Aren’t we supposed to be perfect?
We’ve been “that couple” for years,
made it through life together,
started a new life together,
our friends always saying
“I wish I had what you two have”
So why do we argue?
Why does my mind tell me
something feels different.
Off.
I love you. Deeply.
You hold me close at night, and we feel united.
We joke, we laugh,
we act like the teenagers we aren’t supposed to be anymore.
But still, we have grown.
We’ve changed in ways we don’t quite grasp
and each day we learn who the other is
all over again.
It is a test I would not take with anyone
but you.
It is one we don’t always pass.
But you are the man who saved my life,
and despite our arguments,
despite our changing,
you are the man who shows up for me every day,
who takes care of me,
like no one ever has.
And I count myself lucky
that I get to meet you
again tomorrow.
It was my task to call the cows at milking time.
I’d amble down the summer road,
tipping at grasses with an unnecessary stick.
On reaching the gate, I’d take a breath
and let my voice ring out like morning across the day.
I’d see their heads first –
stone stalwart rising above the curve of the tiny field –
then their mighty shoulders, bony haunches,
udders tight and full,
knees striking each other like flint,
their dark eyes large on mine.
We’d walk the road together to the farm;
one small girl
striding before a cluster of elderly hungry cows;
the knowledge of warm, spiced meal in their nostrils
driving them up and on.
Flighty girls – regardless of their age –
swinging their heavy heads, duncing one another,
like schoolgirls aiming to be first.
Later I’d walk them back;
they’d be skittish now – well fed and less awkward in their step –
their long heads raised to the scent of grass,
pushing to get past me through the gate and graze.
One quiet night in October when the years had fallen away,
the farm became mine alone.
Arriving home that night, and sad,
I stood a moment in the falling dusk,
and turned to see a heifer, richly red,
walk silently towards me from the mist,
her dark eyes large on mine.
She was not skittish as a lost or wandering animal would often be
but stood patiently beyond my car, observant and at ease.
We stood there in a silence that was quieter than the mist allowed
acknowledging this for what it was.
I turned my head a moment
and when I looked up, she was gone.