24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Why will she not look at me?
With her auburn hair and hidden eyes.
She’s just standing there, by the table
Her hand resting on its edge.
Her golden straps sit smartly
Against her fair fair skin.
Her sleek black dress fits her form
She looks corseted in.
Holding her dress in one pale hand
She insists on looking aside.
Why will she not look at me?
Does she have something to hide?
the green velour of dress
was all anyone remembered;
it smelled of moss
on an Irish treasure hunt
and hung on her china white body
like a drape
of softness, alluring;
it was the color of a good chardonnay bottle
after imbibing upon it all
and rung twitterpated in the breeze with the wind chimes
of course, she was a white girl
pale and fragile
the green velour of dress
was all anyone remembered
The price of his pride
Brings forth abhor in one’s life
Hear what God teaches
A proud spider weaves his web
and sits at the centre when it’s finished.
Nobody could convince him to give up his web,
only the storm or a powerful wind can.
But while his web lasts,
he traps all insect inside.
His dangerous web can be
destroyed only by nature.
But until then, insects are its snack.
The call of a lover in shy hour
In its delight inhibited tale
Calling from its lustful tour
Giving a self to sale
Enriching the tenements of a being
Elaborating in every steps
Much higher echoing of a Being
Moving in the communion of steps
Reminding realities over the torrents of sign
Rendering in the heart of a seer
In its luscious steps given sigh
Primarily exhibited by doer
Delighting heart of a true lover
Meaningful sight of true believer
© Roy Mark Azanza Corrales 06082017 6:05 PM PST
She stands gracefully, with skin ashy white and a dress of darkest black. The stark contrast means little, compared to her sorrowful expression. What is it that has caused her so much pain? Perhaps the black dress is one of mourning. A loved one lost, never to be retrieved again? No, perhaps not. Woven in her hair is the gold of royalty. Perhaps it is her duties and her unwillingness to fulfill them that is at fault. It is hard to imagine something so beautiful feeling so broken, and yet there it is resting plainly on her face. Do not let go, dearest woman in black. The sun will rise again, to illuminate another day for you yet.
the mantle of god has fallen
and heaven is beneath us
an angel is wrapped around
satan’s hips her wings torn and
scattered like rose petals across
hotel bedsheets the holy has been
fucked dry the water turned to
wine so
forgive yourself your sin
the mantle of god has fallen
and we are trapped inside this
snowglobe writing love notes to
the darkness so the light
will continue to grow we
call it
praying
but heaven is beneath us
monochromatic and untouchable like
happiness something to be chased until
we realize we’ve been standing on
it the whole time and hell is just
what we keep inside
a Pandora’s box of
shame and childhood trauma not to be
talked about at the dinner table or anytime
after and home is where
the heart is and
heaven is beneath us and
the mantle of god has fallen
I lost my shoe,
my new shoe, never worn just in the shop,
how did i manage that,
did i just take one out of the box
and then walk away
did the shop just let me go with on shoe in the box.
I lost my bearing
in the woods,
had gone with my friends and then somehow,
they were gone,
where are they?
i call out, no answer,
I will just keep here on the straight and narrow path.
I lost the light,
my flat is dark and really dark at night,
just in the day time it is nice
and on a sunny day i get a lot of light.
I can pay my electricity
my shower is cold,
my food is cold too.
I lost you,
there was a message stuck to my door,
could i call back
the police station.
With a message for newly bereaved.
I kept the key in my hand and never went back in.
experiencing technical difficulties.
The writing is about a scheme to turn California and New York purple by having lodgers in fly-over states move to the coast as lodgers on paper, and swap with folks on the coast. Absentee ballots would then turn the states purple, making the electoral college voting more in line with the popular vote.
For some reason this seemed more sensible than a constitutional amendment.
Purple States
by Paul Sanford
Spit blood is red,
in your body it’s purple.
Elections draws flies
like sweet maple surple.
Wall now, it turned out that nobody could change that durn old electoral college,
so to make the votin’ for president match the electoral and popular vote,
they hadda change them red and blue states into purple states.
The first big push was gettin’ folks from California to register in Montana.
There’s more folks in Berkeley than in any two big cities in Montana put together,
so they made a swap.
Folks in Berkeley moved they principal residence to Helena as lodgers with folks,
and an equalt number, abaouit a quarter million, moved on paper to the Berkeley California area.
Not only was the vote for President closer in Montana, but so was the single seat for the House of Representatives.
Just as importnt, Berkeley finally got some folks with solid business sense and financial responsibility on its city council and school boards, so both states benefited.
Course it was gonna take a lot more votes to turn old Blue Caliofornia red, and that’s when Oakland California be
I could use a little sleep right now
But I’ve gotta keep pushing on
So close to the finish line
Just a little bit longer