24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Of all the pills, candles, aphrodisiacs
That litter store shelves.
Healing crystals, special powders,
Gum, drinks, things found
In gas stations.
None have half the potency as
The one item that is both hard and soft,
Sweet yet salty, cool and warm
And a dazzling display of colors,
Loved by men and women
From all walks, easily enjoyed daily.
Humble taco, there for us
When our own natural feelings and
Functions fail us in our moment of need.
Prompt 9 – Five Words (Jacket, Bucket, tremor, elbow, Lightbulb)
True Story
Along he came with a high vis jacket on,
then came another and another
begging the question,
how many men does it take to change a lightbulb?
Arms on the hips, elbows out
they looked , then looked again
shaking their heads at the tremoring bulb,
after much deliberation, it takes one man,
just one man to change a lightbulb.
The path was just enough for a hiker to get through.
It’s not the kind of place a city girl would do.
The green is vibrant and the flowers scent fills the air.
Follow the path to the lake, and in the moonlight become bare.
Reclothed and ready to go back on the trail,
Skinny dippings fun. Now lets get some ale.
A story from old grandma as I reminisce,
A hidden path across the lake drawn my eye,
She said, beyond the bushes there you’ll see.
An old forgotten mystery.
A runaway princess was last seen.
Hidden behind a magic spell.
Never heard, after midnight,
A runaway of the world,
A mystery unresolved.
A broken heart that was lost,
I guess, that is the most.
Some things are out of cost,
Found and Lost.
#POETRYMARATHON2023 #HOUR11 #24HRSCATEGORY
1pm. Poem 11.
At the Clinic School
On any ordinary day
on an ordinary street
in our ordinary town
third floor of a very
ordinary, beige building…
a child with no speech
squeaks out, “Ooooo”
for the first time,
another chooses to pick up a book
instead of flinging himself
into a wall,
a little one
points to a photo of her mother,
and another of her dog.
Others try new foods,
share a game with a friend,
look into the eyes
of their parents,
choose to breathe
instead of scream,
wave goodbye
at the end of the day.
On any ordinary day
behind very ordinary doors
not so ordinary people
teach anything but ordinary children
extraordinary skills…
and miracles happen.
.
Just Eggs, Please
It’s sunlight
that catches me off guard
Two eggs on a counter
waiting to feed my morning belly
nothing extraordinary in this daily routine
then
sun peeks through the window
just a ray
just a touch
two eggs on the counter
rivaling Vermeer
just being
just communing with the sun
on a ordinary day
nothing extraordinary
A distance past the depth
The reflection is the admiration
The scent is the addiction
A distance past the depth
When the cotton drops
Fall down to grace the surface
The depth will be past the distance
Flipped
Capsized
Floating
Send out a line
Bring yourself back down
Out passed the depth
A well adjusted person would have give not a second thought about venturing down the magically lit path through the woods
I, on the other hand, have seen one too many true crime stories for that
Even in fairy tales we are warned about wandering into the woods alone
Although the wolves in those stories are much different than those on Dateline
I think the moral of both tales is simply-
Little girls who stay home in their PJs listening to stories fare much better than little girls who go skipping into the woods
I Am Not 20
but I’m not 100 either.
I refuse to conform to convention,
let my hair stay steel-blotchy grey,
cut it sensible short to appease people
I barely know and me be miserable.
I won’t.
My hair is purple, parts are lavender,
strips are grape, sections are plum,
it’s long, it’s purple, it’s the most fun
I’ve had in years.
I’m stopped at least once every day,
supermarket, post office, on line
anywhere, everywhere and someone,
sometimes male, mostly female,
will say they like it / love it / wish
they could do it but spouse / mother
father / brother / sister / aunt / uncle
grandparents would never allow it.
I feel bad for them, they’re missing out.
And no, it’s not bad for my hair. Oh
contraire, it’s conditioner, no peroxide,
no developer, no chemicals to weaken /
strip / dry out / damage my hair.
It won’t.
Conditioner. Leave it in 5 minutes
or 5 hours; it doesn’t matter. Package
says it lasts 40 to 60 washes but I add to it,
change shades often so it never washes out.
When my husband is with me and someone
ooh and ahhs, he says thank you. They look
at him, quizzical, his hair turning a gradual grey,
not a drop of purple in it. He chuckles, reveals
that he does it for me. We all laugh. I tell them
the first time he did it, he didn’t heed my warning,
didn’t wear gloves, telling me it would wash off.
It didn’t.
Easy, fun, and my hair is in the best shape ever.
Some say it’s a leftover pandemic whim, some
call it daring hair, others whisper it’s clutching
onto my youth. No, none of those. Others
cluck that I’ll tire of it and what then. Well,
I could strip it. Easy peasy, but I don’t want to.
I won’t.
New shades from lilac to lavender,
orchid to deep purple come out every month
and I can barely wait to try them. It’s purple hair.
Get used to it, I’m keeping it.
~ J R Turek Hour 10
what is love
but the yeasty smell
of bread
baking in the oven,
that yellow kitchen
warm with sunshine
and acceptance.
Even when clouds
of conflict arise like smoke
they somehow soften,
melting like butter
on the warm slice.