24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
“Follow me!” wafted on the breeze,
then laughter like a melody.
I ran towards the sound floating in the air,
A friendly sprite perhaps with little care.
The trees were dark then parted to light,
A secret pathway to my delight.
“Follow me!” wafted once again,
and off I went to find my new friend.
Going strong and fighting hard
to keep composure.
Fighting hard for
fairness in life.
For no cruelty in the world.
For love and no suffering.
For sunshine and no rain.
The fight for fairness.
The fight for joy and happiness.
All worth the fight.
The epigraph I wrote for myself as an assignment in the 10th grade
A sadness means you live inside your past,
And worry means you fear what well may be,
And though the present seems to fade so fast,
It’s only there that you may live in peace.
The Moment, a glosa
For far too long I was denied chances
To explore the truth that dances
Beneath the veneer of ‘normal’
I would like to lodge a formal
Complaint against my parents
Refusing to be errant
For raising me in a place
I was always treated like a disgrace
I sit here, crying, angry, knowing that
A sadness means you live inside your past
How they perceive me now
Inconsistent with how
My inner lost boy longs to be seen
Shine my masculinity
Shadowed over with doubt
Distracted by the chest that sprouted
Against my will, against my wishes
Voice high, hips wide, other superfices
I sit here, chewing my cheek, knowing that anxiety
And worry means you fear what well may be
Today I drink decaf coffee with my shoes off
Almost hoping I make a small minded man scoff
Reveling in the ambiguity I have the guts
To showcase, with hoodies and haircuts
Enough to hide telltale form
That people associate with a gender I don’t perform
My laugh rings out with a person who finally reflects
My truth back, no falsities that I project
I sit here, determined to hold onto the joy I’ve amassed
And though the present seems to fade so fast
I know each moment will be followed
Whether by a high or a low
I’m excited to find out
Because now that I am out
The world isn’t just brighter, its real
I have every opportunity to heal
When I experience the realities
Of living with only myself to please
I sit here, knowing that the moment I’ve seized,
It’s only there that you may live in peace
Definitions
After Andrea Gibson
Beet (noun.)– An organ found in the body of an Earth responsible for circulatory functions in the fingers.
Tremor (verb.)– 1:To warn of an incoming tragedy. 2:To create a change to a system in a lasting way.
Bayou (verb.)– A common ceremonial practice in which participants commune with souls after consuming a boiled mixture of decomposed plants and spices.
Cinnamon (adj.)– To be optimistic and highly active in a way that may be disconcerting to others.
Bucket (verb.)– 1: To hold tightly in an effort to bring security to another person. 2: To listen for a long period of time actively and quietly to a sad or ridiculous speaker. Often used as an antonym for to vent or to dump.
There are no photos of me as an infant
In my mother’s arms. No black and white
Sepia toned memories bleeding
Into my now. No corners holding
The past in its place, jagged edges
Saying, look here, this was your life.
This was you as a baby in your mother’s arms
See how she looks at you
With tenderness, look at the calmness
On your face. The only pictures I have
Are the images you have left behind
The hurt I have learnt to carry
And the bitterness of the years.
My husband died in February.
We haven’t lived together for years, but
we stayed close. Just as we were when we were together.
He lived across the world, and when he died,
I thought I would somehow know. We had that bond.
But I didn’t. He was buried the following day.
No lengthy goodbyes, no chance to go to the meager funeral.
I miss having him in the world to talk to. I valued his opinions.
He had his failings, as did I, but it didn’t spoil our friendship.
He was always there for me, always looking for ways to help.
We traveled the world, we started a successful business,
we loved nature, we talked about philosophy and religion,
about science and genealogy, about children and politics.
We shared cooking and movies and art and music,
love of animals and gardening and good chocolate.
He loved to read my writing, and I loved to hear his.
(He had to translate, so he always read them to me.)
Two weeks ago, I had a dream.
He came home to our house and brought me
a tiny baby elephant. It must have been two days old.
Its little trunk flapped uselessly, and it still hadn’t
figured out what to do with its feet. It was love at first sight.
We had to go out for a while and had no place for him.
We put him in the empty garage with some blankets and water.
When we returned it was after dark. I was in a panic.
I had forgotten the baby, and was worried about his safety.
The garage was dimly lit, and the baby
was lying on the floor with its head between its front legs,
its rubbery little trunk lying helplessly on the concrete.
As soon as he saw us, he stumbled to his feet and ran out
right past us, across the street, trunk waving, to pee in the grass.
He came dancing back on his little toes, and rubbed and hugged
me excessively. I knew this baby was mine, and it was touching
to see his innocent little face and excitement.
In real life, my husband knew I looked to Karl Jung for dreams,
and when I looked up baby elephant it said,
“You have a lot of power, and you are starting a new enterprise
that will succeed greatly if you nurture it.”
That is just what my husband would have done–
made sure I understood that something good was happening.
Who can ignore an elephant, the harbinger of success?
Maybe he is still looking out for me.
That’s also love.
Fonk Wit It
This… THIS…
is the proverbial ‘It’
Another show has begun
And all the voodoo children
sweat hard in the field and on the block
just for this night
The night before you gotta hide them pretty shells and beads
and and play “citizen” in their churches
to keep up community and face
Aw but your pretty faces under Luna and her fabulous fullness is what we really live for
Everybody is another spinning, hot, luminous Sun at a distance
In this ritual, no shade, all spotlight
This be on “the one”
That kickdrum chakra starter
Swing and sway, jump and gyrate pheromone generator
This that first and last vibe deposit
This is the boom-clack, the rest in between and the work to play…
…Hard.
This is wider than the arms who drop from the air long enough to embrace it
So high, you can’t afford NOT to fly this fly
And deep. Deeper than…
…Blue
This fonk- I spelled what I said- shimmys and thumps and wails
This ritual is communal and designed to
get you [unless yer into that kinda…]
…Unbound
Forget about days ending in “y”
and that you owe anyone
anything more than the next sunrise
Just to jam
Just to get that bootay shook
Even if you have to put your own hands
In your back pockets to do it
Now, if you please, step outside
As the gathering grows
And the DJ awaits
your luminous presence
What is love if not welcoming you in from the heat with a cool glass of water?
The seas bubble with the collateral damage of the vainglorious
who rush to play in the water
while the Dine thirst in an empty basin.
The red man has to beg to access the waters that feed the red river,
but the Titans relish in allowing only brackish waters.
When the People of Earth meet Titans (Titans who feel that they are something more than superfluous self-important men),
The People have to explain basic principles.
Have to explain that water is a necessity.
Have to explain that promises are supposed to be kept.
Have to explain that if the Titans were less wasteful,
the Earth would provide everything that man needs.
But Titans have never been good with humility
They know nothing of harmony
And always fight for supremacy of everything
from the cosmos to the Dine’s right to come home to a cool glass of drinkable water.
“I volunteered to untell the story.
I came back to erase an idea
Because some thoughts are meant to be buried
Some before they even begin.”
Rya, from the movie In the Shadow of the Moon (2019, Netflix)
On those humid summer evenings
Pregnant stars driven back by streetlights
The children would gather around a flickering flashlight
Crowded together in that flimsy tent
And tell fantastical tales of the great undoing.
It takes a child’s eye
to remember the future
where words failed
covenant devolved into curse
where monsters were necessary,
heroes and she-roes few,
bold, overmatched, outflanked…and necessary
Perhaps children are so wise
because they have to deal with us…
and the bitter medicine of childhood,
that power to untell the wounding
comes when we are weak and still small
But…because they are still small enough
that their wings can still lift their weight
the small spark inside still knows how to seek the flickering flashlight,
that crowding together in a flimsy tent is still medicine,
and so is untelling the cutting lie
before the monsters become necessary
Into the thicket I go, following the fairies of old.
Away from pain, away from strife,
Away from evil, away from life.
Into the thicket I go, following the fairies of old.
– Diana Kristine