24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I have a nose larger than most!
Want to see it? Don’t come too close!
I might poke your eye out, you see,
none have a better nose than me.
I can sniff your bullshit a mile away,
so don’t you come around to play.
I got a nose a mile long, you see,
and your childish antics can’t fool me!
I’ve asked a million times to pick up your room but you
Always leave it to the last nano second
Good thing nobody
Ever
Visits.
Death came as a
sweet escape
to her in hour of
suffering.
“Welcome HOME”
read the sign post
on death’s door.
j.r.m©
Living a civil society everything is order no wars or no famine
Among the people of world and living with no problem with each other
Coexistence without strife nor division utopian experience
Rarely becoming a new world order existing
Circumstances allays such dilemma enriching
Flavors of all colors transcending determining
Developing in the humanity outer space blissful plateau
Cohesiveness unleashing enticing humanity
Forms coexistence livable
Peaceful existence far reaching
Lovable domain in the equinox of humanity
Determinants of all resource equally shared
Humanity in awe and coexistence in plain living
Loving experience to the nth level gratifying
© Roy Mark Azanza Corrales 06082017 5:05 PM PST
“I brew a pot each morning
And drink it all day long,” she said.
“Would you like some?”
His smile, a sly revelation of intent.
“Tea, I mean. Not me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She read him like a slutty novel.
“I see what’s in your eyes.”
Blue, with hints of pine and gold dust.
“Milk? Or lemon, like a true Brit?
I like mine with cream and honey.
Hot, blonde, and sweet; Just like my men.”
Things were getting interesting. He smoothed
For a dainty cup among the flowers,
Girding his full attention to her immodesty.
“So…?” she smiled as she poured from a cabbage pot
Into a strawberry rimmed in gold.
“What’s on your agenda today?”
Light enters through cracks
Like invisible, I
Like myself
Once and once
Never worry of lost things
You inspire me
Solo Flores
simple things work
Marcus Aurelius Ceasar
Meditates
Le flours du bien
Baked and split
A baker’s art
Foam flows from my mouth
Adorn me. Please my mind
Consequences give pleasure
This too shall pass away
Invent wise man, Invent
You too are mortal
To everything there is a season
Perfection and imperfection
Mirror my mind
The whole design of beauty
A way of knowing
The gateway to inspiration
Yet I do nothing
Invisible woman, l
I enter the Tiger’s cage
I leave a footprint
Gentle Kind Sir
Be with you— I cry
Walk away, yet smile
Light fills the room
I am invisible once again
Invisible, Woman, I
Yes
I Fear
No Mas
Ti adore
Mon
cheri
Hyper– exagerrating
Hyper– child
Hyper– activity
Hyper– acidity
Hyper—bole poem
Lie- —–truth on this side
Visiting a city you once knew
can be daunting
the familiar still nearly so
but so much has changed
the wild edges of town
we traversed as kids, tamed
the only thing wild is the
buffalo wing restaurant
Tall grasses near the reservoir
man-made lake with all
the natural kind offered a boy
frogs, fishing, a chance to swim
now neatly manicured
orderly in its faux naturalism
Our bike rides there would take
nearly an hour; little more
than wooded patches, vacant lots
between there and our homes
Now there are bike trails
part of a system geared toward
commuters more than young boys
seeking to explore, learn, ride
now families have places to picnic
tables, benches, neatly trimmed
grass, fancy playgrounds
Efforts at ‘preserving’ nature
seem even more hollow a gesture
when the bright green of the grass
shiny black of the asphalt
have taken over the color palette
Nature has become a
home improvement store
paint department – natural colors
given way to vibrancy, neon
In the store, at the lake
give me earth tones, baby
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2017
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
October is the month the mists draw in.
These calm and freshly silent mornings settle summer
and draw reluctant autumn to our door.
The evening fog falls low on crop-shorn fields
as rolls of rich, mysterious white seep through the emptying hedges
and fall in ragged scraps of soft, pale mist
that scatter loosely at our feet like something worn.
The animals will walk within this now – a second skin –
shielding themselves from hunter and from prey
while we, preparing for the still, small death of winter’s blast
mourn what is concealed – soon to be lost.