24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
A spider winces in pain none
Its eight legs
Splayed and bent as parachute
raises it above
all things grounded.
It hurries hither thither hence
but finds its corner
and rests in contemplation
webbed in dreams
Its head is heavy with
thoughts concrete and clean
It needs that
solid grounding at right angles
to make home and stay put.
poem#13
my world without you
I try to imagine a world without sun
it is easier than you think
for that would be my world without you
nothing would grow lush green
only scales and prickly leaves would crunch beneath my feet
at daybreak there would be no dew on the grass
or strong stem to glisten in the morning light
only dry stalk that would bend sorrowfully toward earth
the way I sometimes find it difficult
to force a smile from my lips when you are away
there would be no striking aura in the day’s sky
just steel gray clouds
a blank slate
like my dreams when you are not dancing in them.
Random Prompt Persona poem 2015 Prompt hour five
A life manifested contested
many things arraying in life
finding truth and guiding line
moving in the height of events
circumstances always aligning
engraving into the well being of others
to serve not to be served
emulation of true personhood
adoring the world majesty
foregoing thing transpiring unto life
loving unending
life momentum
You might write a poem now
Proselytizing the omen of my hair
Twining in the wind,
Telling the world my smile
Froze you in your tracks.
Later you might paint Medusa
Over these features
Telling the world you should have
Recognized the signs and looked at me only in
Reflection and retrospect.
You might write a poem now
Of my far away gaze in the glass
While I brush, paint, and upholster to
Feed your expectations
You love to see me dolled up.
Later, you might re-write me as Narcissus.
You might write a poem now
Extolling me as your Athena
Because those martial arts make me
Sexy and you imagine me kneeling at your
Feet.
Later, you might be disagreeably
Surprised to find these arts take
Time and focus you can’t redirect and fair warning there’s a big
Difference between me and that
TV princess in a plastic chest plate you imagine
Obediently placing herself beneath you.
I might write a poem about how you poured through my
Locks as a shower of gold and you tasted my surrender.
Later I might find, my Zeus, that the lock you
Ignored was there for a reason and this flamboyant
Insinuation past inconvenient limits is a
Pattern with you.
I might write a poem now
Bunkering built up fears against the possibility that
You might write a poem later: our roots and branches
Entwined through time as we age peacefully, becoming ourselves
Baucis and Philemon.
The old car sits in the front
It rusts, matching the yellow
Surely meant to be
Never mind a new car
Or new paint
The old car sits in the front
Where it should always be
It’s an anchor point
As is the old kettle at the diner
The one no one moves
Easier to fix it but why fix it
The old kettle sits in the front
And the servers just move around it
Just like the street sweepers
Anchor points
And that tree
That lives in the middle of the bedroom
Of me
The one I hadn’t been tending?
An anchor point which is living
Not an obstacle or recyclable resource
Just, anchoring
So I can trade in the car and buy a new kettle
Without feeling
A sudden and sever loss of the sentimental
The sentimental, always a lousy form of anchoring
his long fingers stretched across my fingers curled
around the sword handle like cracks
in a car windshield. the slow motion
sets in. I look up at him, the tiny
crescent moon on his chin, an old scar
that grew with him. he peers down at me
and I can feel the warmth of his chest
behind my shoulder. I am glowing. he laughs and
draws closer, almost an embrace. his fingers
are warm and smooth on mine.
he straightens my back with one
hand, the other still tight on my
closed fist.
good he whispers, and then the
warmth is gone and the world
is in motion once more, his absence
cold against my back.
a tree whips across my vision. my seatbelt
snaps into my ribs, steals my breath. he is running
alongside me. steady he tells me.
don’t let the speed distract you.
my mother is screaming and all
I can see is the face he makes
when his shoulder hurts the
curl of his fingers over my
fingers the snap in his strike fire
in his eyes the car
is off of the road.
The Earth Mother has been with child
The child has mother much beguiled
The child he kicks then kicks some more
His mother shakes down to her core
The humans know for when he kicks
The Earth, it quakes and breaks their bricks
Yes Ruau-Moko is never calm
And Papa can’t escape not even in Guam
So the next time you feel an Earthquake
It is just Ruau-Moko making Papa shake
I can’t talk about
what hurts me most.
If I do I wallow
in sadness and questions.
Otherwise, I can pretend
I’ve never had any troubles.
Hour Nine Prompt
Warning: If you are afraid of spiders like I am, I suggest you don’t read this unless you are okay with having that paranoid feeling that a spider is on you when it isn’t. I know I am probably going to have it as I write this poem, but oh well. I need to get this out of my mind.
Up close,
their multiple round doll like eyes
can stare into your soul,
paralyzing you with fear to the point
where you feel like you can hardly move.
It doesn’t help that their movements are so calculating.
Each step they take towards you is like
signifying a step closer to your death.
If you don’t kill them instantly,
you feel like they will come to kill you
in one or another.
And if they kill you,
it’s all over from there,
something you’ll feel forever haunted by.
Therefore,
I deem
these bugs
to be the kind of bugs
who should be killed
with no hesitation.
I joined the hunt.
I traversed time and space.
I solved crimes
and I avenged the earth.
I dreamed a dream.
I saw history made on ice.
I searched for lost memories
and joined a wizard’s guild.
I saw citizens fail their city.
I have been in the depths of despair.
I saw a boy who lived
and a world inside of a suitcase.
I wished upon a star.
I saw the fastest man alive.
I traveled between universes
and ventured into the dragon’s keep.
I joined the rebellion.
I gazed upon the final frontier.
I participated in the Games
and stood with the Divergents.
I searched for abnormals.
I vanquished demons.
I saw a world barely touched by human hands.
I mingled with children of the gods
and saw the Once and Future King fall.
I felt the pain of loss.
I felt the joy of reunion.
I felt the relief of truth
and the anger of lies.
I have lived a thousand lives
and not regretted one.
I have seen wonders and possibilities
in a world too often bleak.