24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
a post marathon feat
baked potatoes
now grilling the meat
its been my honor
sharing the gift
and motivating others
is really neat.
my thanks and adieu
to all you fine folks
it’s the first time my feed
has had all clean jokes.
congratulations my new friends
and carry on the tradition.
its been a blast to write and listen.
fin
HOUR TWELVE
her agate breasts weaves songs
from the barren verses
her hands sewed memoirs
from the leftover yarns
her solitude harvests warmth
from the carcasses,
of
desires and naiveté
the imagery of life looks
fragile, morbid
yet beautiful!
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.
Time is
slipping away
each day once gone
never exists again.
Sunrise is different
in time and beauty
hours pass too quickly
Infants become toddlers
toddlers become preschoolers
preschoolers to kindergarten
Wow, where does the time go?
Elementary and middle school gone in a flash.
Graduating from High School
Deciding on college
Oh no, where did my little girl go?
Where do I go to my love, my one
To find your dancing soul, when day is done
I dance to your music, I hear your song
‘Tis a merry jig, I surrender, dancing along
Like a swallow on high on a mid-summer’s night
I dance, I dance, and my mind takes flight
You won’t be caught, ’tis against your will
But the song and the dance you are playing still
The music is wicked, the rhythm is cruel
The words of the song say I’m the fool
Faster and faster I blindly twirl
Your cadence enticing, my dizzy heart awhirl
I know you’re not real, I know you’re not true
Still I choose to dance this merry jig with you
And as the fiddle’s forlorn last note is played
I know I should be, but I’m not sorry I stayed.
Fiddle dee
fiddle them
happy happy joy joy
dancing the Jig here I come
Joyful hoppin’
Heritage layed
celebration time
Ireland defined
As I merrily move
Learning the custom
Knowledge well spent
Young, I lived the harmony of innocence,
heard stunning things, beheld new wonders,
built fleeting empires in the clouds,
felt the freedom of sailing ships on the wind.
Immersed in the serenity of a pond at sunrise
I felt strength in the pinks, oranges, reds . . .
Awed as they awoke the world to the glorious
splendors of nature’s gifts.
The taste and smell of freshly baked bread
Slathered with churned butter, cool from the spring house
And homemade may haw jelly, from wild fruit
Make my taste buds yearn for its return.
I remember holding acorns, listening
As they told glorious tales of the ages.
And I remember hearing raindrops sing.
Oh! What wondrous sights they have seen.
Mature, I reflect on those wonders,
with love and joy in my heart.
At peace with understanding of my life,
I ask, “Are those things still there?”
Turn me widdershins,
take the breath from
my chest, peel me in
side out, a fraction
of who I could have been.
Turn me widdershins,
pluck the grey from
my scalp, boil it
in oil, deep fried
meaning, crust on
seasoned cast iron,
mirror image of my intent.
Turn me widdersins,
and leave the scarf
around my brow so I
can pretend I’m blind–
I can see underneath
if I tilt my head just right.
Turn me widdershins,
take what I earned, what
I fought for, and burn
it in my front yard,
ignoring my cries while
I cook fried chicken inside.
Turn me widdershins
and give back what I lost
to cheap beer and
Marlboro Milds, the years
before my first child,
spectrum miracle I never expected.
Turn me widdershins
and believe me when I
speak of sacrifice and lace,
an unspoken apology,
please don’t make me
say it. Love me anyway.
Turn me widdershins,
turn back the years until
I’m young again, a full
person under law, before
my skull was split and spliced,
when I knew what I wanted.
Ethiopia carved out of red rock. Churches of Christ ravaged by drought. A veritable strong hold of famine. Gold wax dusting rainbows as cars rumble over inaccessible roads…
Living repositories of faith carved into a mountain to undulate twelve churches holding ritualistic aspirations…
(the chill of chanting swaying priests cloaked in antique finery as a drum beats out the footsteps of Jesus himself)
Solomon, Sheba, Emblems, Tablets, shine golden in the rising sun blessing the starving who pick seeds from the earth for Christmas dinner.
They are proud of their poor crosses bared stoically as their hungry eyes dream in fruitful trees.
Tongue in mouth.
Glory in misery.
Substance in shadows.
My soul sings like fire
When we sway to the sound of my song…
An old proverb comes to me~
Those who wish to sing
will always find a song
Oh, how I love to sing!
But you are long looonng gone…
It was like the world stopped spinning!
The trees stopped breathing,
and the birds stopped singing.
Everything was as it was at the beginning,
not a single form of life was to be found!