24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
If cats were on leashes and chased after dogs
If doggies roamed freely and chased after hogs
and mice had a heyday, had no enemies then
they’d have babies and rabies and live where we’d been
they’d take over houses and condos and schools
and hold us all hostage–irresponsible fools!
We’d eek at our folly our insufferable woes
and weakly and meekly cry “Damn GMO’s!”
Most were not ready, in the fall of 2016,
when suddenly all the rules were changed.
Before that, we assumed, reasonably, that
men would continue to walk upright, and
not grab women just because they felt an urge.
We thought the time had passed that white people,
even in uniform, could just haul off and hurt or kill
a person of color. That is no kind of valor.
Didn’t we fight for a civil society, for civil rights?
We might start dropping nuclear bombs again
if we haven’t learned anything from the Nazi fight.
In case it needs to be said: the rules of a civilization
depend on civilized behavior, not mob mentality
or military might. Get it right, Mr. President. You won
by hook or crook. Now give our country back. Act
like a statesman, not a moronic country hack.
Salutations and Attention!
Attention wondrous citizens of the world!
This is a public service announcement administered by the VVVVU corporation.
Commencing at the end of this prestigious declaration any and all works of art, forms of expression, or attempts to satisfy any artistic proclivity
will be regulated through the use of our (and your) society’s competent technology.
Citizens of artistic predisposition may use approved digital canvases to administer consistencies of oil, acrylic, pastel and watercolor. Blending and shaping perfectly to fit your needs.
Citizens of artistic written predisposition may use approved ‘sketch-pad’ writing utensils that will reflect three forms of perfect calligraphy to fit your needs.
Citizens of artistic musical predisposition may use approved keyboards, keypads, drum pads, and sound machines programmed to perfect 4/4 and ¾ time signatures as well as perfectly set tempos to fit your needs…
(perfect. perfect. perfect. perfect. I’ve stopped listening, and have since put down my brush. I really hate leaving pieces unfinished but this canvas, once blank, now based in a mixture of cool ocean colors that I have since lost track of swirling and moving as the ocean once did. The last time I saw it anyway. They’ll be coming for this unfinished canvas. And my djembe sitting in the corner. And probably my other originals that will never have the chance to reach the insurmountable value of deliciously imperfect fine-art. What The Echelon doesn’t understand is that the best art isn’t perfect. it hasn’t been. Bristles caught in the strokes, buried in the rubbery acrylic, painting then repainting and rebasing and starting over again, it’s a part of the process. The pain is a part of the process. The pain. The numbing pain in my hands that I’ll never feel again. The only type of pain that comes from spending hours at a drum circle on the beach. I sit and wait now, waiting for them to come.
Wondering if I’ll ever feel real pain (good pain) again.)
John Lennon wrote,
“She’s so heavy,”
and suddenly, in the
middle of the refrain,
she was. As though
Jupiter broke free,
soared past the moon
capturing the earth
in its wake. In an
instant, 9.8 m/s^2
ramps to 12.7 m/s^3,
12.7^4 m/s^10,
12.7^4^4 m/s^10^2
and she was more
surprised than
any of us, one moment
speaking of gravitas in
Eliot’s Wasteland,
the next moment
breaking through the
floor, the floor below,
the ground floor,
the cellar floor,
collapsing,
condensing,
a shining sphere
spinning faster than
light, accreting dust,
concrete, books, lamps,
the garage door, the
utility shelf along with
every tool stored,
dragging us with her
across the event
horizon.
(Hour 13 prompt)
SaveSave
SaveSave
Before you, there was time.
Back when I was born, we…but ah!
You will never understand back.
Back is where the memories live.
You will only know now, and your memories
Will always be fresh and flow steadily by.
But if you should one day wonder
How your grandmother lived…
Planets whirled through space
And life was scheduled around them.
Predictable. Solemn.
Minutes became hours,
Hours became days,
Days became years,
Years became the measure of a life.
Your little life is new, but soon
your awareness will grow, and there will be
No days or nights to mark time’s passage.
Memories will flow around you like a river
And then be gone. No summoning
Will bring them back to the now, because
There is only now, and the past will not fit here.
Only the elders will recall how it used to be.
Soon we will all be gone.
Time, the container of life itself, is gone.
Your life like my own is mercurial,
running in all directions at once.
There is no past or future.
There are no bounds to hold life in,
To create order and meaning,
To take your measure and name you
Worthy or beyond hope.
To let us rely on one another.
I shelter you in my arms and sing,
Emphasizing the rhythm, the steady beat.
Once rhythm mattered. It marked time.
Maybe you will understand. Time gave us rhythm.
Let this beat enter your blood. Remember if you can.
I had an age once, and it gave credentials.
No longer. Sadly, you will only see what I become,
And will never see what I used to be.
Stay close, for soon will be my time to go.
You will see me only dimly, for a moment,
with your eyes of now unable to look forward or back.
darkness, for its wet breath and half-willowed trance,
together, we named it a slut for its gifts and reprieve,
because we couldn’t see what was hiding,
in the back, behind sky, under rocks, within seas.
it left. for us to quarrel with only the sun. and what we
have done, has burned the holes
where was our two eyes. in it’s place, i’ve placed berries
dripping tart and red honey, and now, i know,
creatures, shackled to land, aren’t made
for what is real at any time or even, at all for time. in the hours that
heaven may have been keeping us from. before we killed the myth, and desire
was our creation’s naked sin, we found without night, we were nothing
but rotting strip tease, crispy coated flesh, and a puncture hollowed for bloodbaths.
Sunlight decreases energy gone
No one can say why this is so
The light shall go as will we
When plants die so will we
Animals to die
Cold Earth
Dead
Provoked by self deception
Led on by their cravings
And attachments-
Naive suffer
Unbeknownst to most,
Save for only a few,
The laws of science are put to a vote
And the laws are then renewed
Last time, Pluto’s fate was sealed
The system now a skewed.
This time, we have a new conflict
Between gravity and magnetic fields, to view.
Tesla had been eloquent
Debating facts clear and true,
So now we know magnetic force
Keeps Earth green and blue.
Always we have had the poles
That is nothing new,
But did you know that it is this force
That keeps me next to you?
Gravity alone doesn’t explain
What we have set out to do
Gravity would bring the moon
Crashing on us, too.
Except for the magnetic poles,
And magnetic fields, to be true.
Keep us rotating and revolving
So our skies stay blue.
Concert on the beach,
passion is rekindled,
the fire inside is growing,
lucky to have the sea nearby.
Pigeons are crossing the sky,
defying the hot sand under our feet.
Why don’t we also have wings?
I bet that we would use them better than Icarus!