24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
You, who have given so much
and left my flesh alone.
You, whose love-well has become my own.
You, who bared your spine for
this dilettante pile of clumsy bones,
who paid my fees for Charon–
and called me back
to continue my quiet instruction
on how a person should be.
She opened her fan
with a flair
and with a wave she
moved more than the air.
The fan had powers
imbued by a jinn.
A wave toward her brought
good fortune in.
A wave outward
could ward off bad luck.
So as she cooled off
she gave not one fuck.
Beautiful
Coasting
Flowing
Gliding
Jumping
Looping
Pointing
Skimming
DAMN IT SOMEONE STOLE MY PEN
Into the woods
In search of the fae
To see if they
Can trick me
And thus I shall trick them
Into giving me
A place to stay
I think I’d like it there within
The deep woods of the fae
With nature twisted by magic
And maybe find myself a fae beast
With stripes and fangs and wings
And magic at the least
Making it my friend
And eating a fae feast
Hour 11
9/2/2023
“Walking…”
Used to run
upwards of 8 miles a day overall
left the Corps – promised never again
kept it too!
This year has been rough –
way more than I knew…
hospital stays for doing what a doc said
and trusting what I was told…
but ya HAVE TO get done
each thing BEFORE you move on
– or ya WON’T move on.
So I have and will
…we deal as we must.
Is important to MOVE
when things hurt…
you can walk through it –
but not sit …not sit.
I use a walking stick
NOT A CANE!
Is a stick – for balance
and steadiness over rough,
uneven surfaces.
Ya don’t bend, lean,
or walk like an old crip.
Ya stand tall and sure
and move with authority –
and yes retaining a level of pride.
I wander the road…
share voices and hello’s
breath deep
step sure
and taste my strength
and will to be – to exist
to live
and I still care
about and for those …near.
I’ve neighbors
and we share words
and thoughts… and frustrations…
and needs. We DO things,
necessary things – we help
as only we can
because we CAN and know
no other way.
Chris
(C) Chris Twyford 9/2/2023
I like coffee
I like tea
wait …
no, no I don’t like tea
but I like a bunch of stuff
and I like me.
This will be my 2nd half Marathon and this time, my friend from my writing group, the Macarthur branch of the Fellowship of Australian Writers is joining me!
I can’t hear things she says because she just starts talking like my ears is all perked up already ready for input. Now that’s just not how it works. I may look like I haven’t had a thought in my head for hours at a time, but I assure you that I know the price of tea in China and it’s very likely that I’m cogitating on some such erudite subject with my mouth shut. So, she has to learn that she’s got to get my attention before she just jumps on with the talking. I’ll get some of it, but don’t expect me to get the beginning part if she hadn’t snapped her fingers like first. You just can’t break through thick thinking as easy as she thinks. It gets deep in there. Furthermore, she talks quieter than she knows sometimes and turns her head away from me as she does it. Is that a recipe for failure or what?
Wait. Is that what the hell he said about me? Turn up that tape so I can hear it. Like I don’t know about communicating?! I swear he doesn’t listen to a word I say. He makes up stuff, like thinking we had agreed who was going to do the driving. I’m not going to tell him, but my hearing is not as good as before. He just doesn’t respect me enough to be ready to hear what I say. I do have things to say. More than ever before, and I’m a busy woman ready to say them! Is he out there in the waiting room? Well, we’ll see if he can hear me today!
Church pews carry so much.
How many toddlers have rested their pudgy bodies on you?
What did they dream of as the angels whispered prophecy in their ears?
How many hot tears have spilled on you?
What stories did the tears tell?
You held us during the moments when we first believe
and all of the moments when we have doubted.
You kept us steady when we were overcome with the Holy Spirit and our feet got light.
Supported us when the weights we carried were simply too much.
You have always pointed us in the direction of the altar no matter who
occupied the pulpit.
In the back you offered us welcome and distance.
In the front you offered us access and heat.
Your existence is evidence of long-winded preachers
and the howling silence that sometimes follows prayers.
You help us wait on the Lord
and help us gird ourselves for battle.
You offer us rest,
and get us a little closer to the prostrate position of holy submission.
An ordinary chair?
I think not.
This chair has been places.
It has “met” some famous people as a tree.
A squirrel lived within it.
A little finch made a nest among the branches.
Raised many babies there.
As lumber it “met” a famous artisan.
Tasked to turn it into a fine chair.
Intricate ornate carvings carved into it.
Given arms and legs.
After being made into a chair,
it “met” many more famous people.
Queens and Kings sat upon it.
Many other Kings, Queens, and Lords
stood before it.
Not an ordinary chair, but a throne.