24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
“I want to be bruised by god”- a line of poetry tattooed on my shoulder
There but for the grace of God go I
Restless, wandering, assaulted by want
Cornered by the very comforts we cling to
We can howl. Demand. Stomp our feet. But we cannot cease to be.
Like fruit, Rotting in the bottom of the crate, bruised
By
The fingerprints of God
I don’t know what to write about. I’m just gonna go with it to see where it leads me spewing out random words hoping they unite hand in fist like paper, rock, scissors. I’m possibly giving this too much thought or maybe even a pinch, sprinkled with every possibility that any word can fit. Even colors of the rainbow can join this poem aka the word game. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet. Who ever came up with Roy G Biv anyway? 16 more words to go. I’m on a role now. Or so I think. I should be safe within ninety and 100..
Sister Patricia
She had never run a marathon
until she received word from
her sister that her cancer was
malignant. That changed her
phone-call greeting from “Hi, Pat.
What’s happening?” to “Hi, Pat.
Is there anything I can do for you?
How about lunch?” Pat always
replied, “Yes!” When they exited
the car to go to the luncheonette
Pat lagged a bit behind, bent over
like a scalene triangle, but
remained game, despite her lack
of appetite. Food smelled like
shit and tasted like copper.
“How ‘bout we split that check?”
she said, pulling out her purse,
smiling.
I’m in the tub,
where every night
you sit and read,
turning the corners down
on the pages you like.
It’s been almost a year
since you banned me
from your life. i know
your symptoms and
can never, ever tell.
You would damn me
to hell and outer Mongolia
if i tried again to get you to
ask your doctor about the
pill they give sometimes.
You know the one I mean.
It could have given us
a little more time. I really
liked living here, making you
French toast and bacon.
Now I only visit
when you’re gone.
bathing the sand in swatches
of tangerine, indigo, lavender
your hand rests on mine
there in the reedy grasses
just like it was at the beginning
but weren’t we tentative then–
fumbling toward something
I wasn’t sure you wanted?
we’ve learned to bend into each other,
these days between our first words
and last and how lucky it is to have
a nodding acquaintance with passion,
veneration for the inevitable
without being ransomed to either
We were playing a board game, Dixit, with our daughter and son-in-law, in which one player says a phrase to clue a picture card. The clue shouldn’t be too obvious, or too difficult. Our son-in-law said, “bad times.” Immediately the power went off and we were plunged into complete darkness. After a few seconds, the lights came back on.
Years before, we were having one of our rare summer heat waves, and we had a fan on in our bedroom. I woke up with the distinct feeling that there was someone in the room with us. I told my sleeping husband about that sensation, even though there was obviously no one else there. A few seconds later, the fan clicked off. “Who did that?” asked my half-asleep husband. “Must have been that guy. Who else?” We were both in bed, across the room from the fan.
Across the sea you call to me;
call to me from home.
Across the sea I cannot be;
I cannot follow you home.
Someday I’ll travel o’er the sea;
Over the swells I’ll fly.
When I see you again what joy will be;
And ne’er more will I cry.
we are born not knowing the curve of our hips
or the texture of our hair
prejuduce.
We are born well-versed in the language of love.
The bitter taste of derogatory adjectives
are learned or passed down.
To destroy.
Scolding our waitress, “Last time I asked for three olives.
It came back with only two, just like this one.”
Surprised, she apologized, and replied, “Be right back”
Sure enough, one server returned, martini in hand,
Four green swimmers decorating the ginned vodka,
Only my dirt sat aside soaking a stained soda glass.
”Why separate them like that?” inquiring minds ask.
Well, that new bartender makes them dirtier than scum
So aproned Sophie confessed (tattled) all a’ flutter.
Five last drops glugging down a salty gullet, “ahhh,”
Smacking briny satiated lips audibly, complainer
No more noted, “I’ll mix another, please.”
For the Tang Immortals
Especially for Li Po
One of my Favorite Poets
In a Style He’d Like
Twelve jars of wine beside a river bank,
each one a friend and for a friend to break
the seal of, letting out the breath of grape
and age and love and how all things must end.
My friends are never with me when I’m rank
and drunk beside the water, so I shake
my fist up at the clouds and let the shape
of all my sorrows flow like them again.
Shaped clouds, like vines, like rivers, and the wine,
divine in every way that heaven knows,
are always friends. I answer as they pass,
for drunkards hear cloud voices in sunshine.
The jars are empty. Wine’s like friends, it goes
away, and leaves me, cloudy, on my ass.