24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
4:04 PM Uther
Even Uther was betrayed
And through anger
His bed is made
Broken the promise
Through rage and pride
He must through peace now
And fits of motions set aside
Twelve around the table go
Who will reign no one will know
Until the Lady Mistress wise
Energies doth exercise
Does betrayal truly exist
Or just a clenching of a fist
Around table oaths are first
Until one night a lustful tryst.
Fact or Fiction
throughout one year you
all will eat eight spiders each
good luck with your sleep
Coffee who knew how smooth.
Whole Bean, medium roast, I’m ready to toast.
Rain in the forest, soil rich, and handpicked for perfection.
Only Blue Mountain will do for your taste.
I sip tea brewed and boiled with steam.
Milk and sugar to drink.
Add a little hard dough bread and Anchor butter as a base.
Maybe one day we’ll swap our favorites.
Maybe I can be the one to invite you on a date.
The beach I can see us walking in between the waves and taking a break to talk as we find a sweet spot in the sand.
One day I’ll call you “My Mr. Mr.” Some will want to call you “My Man”.
Not my direct style, but I’ll try to find the right name to fit us all the while.
Not “boyfriend” or “finance”, not now at least.
I’m not desperate for love, it has to happen on its own.
You are more special than a conventional title.
Maybe we’ll catch a movie.
I can be your pirate mermaid and you can be my sailor riding a panther on the high seas.
We’ll sample exotic treats and then go back again when love first connected two fishes swimming near the seashore.
We’ll find a woolly mammoth in the sand flaked in gold-leaf.
We’ll walk through oil paintings that speak of poetic justice… illuminatio, amor, revelatio,pax, and energos.
This is how our evenings end and begin.
Like in a dream sweetened with coffee and tea.
Surrealism at its best.
Our creative energies don’t need to compete for affection.
You are you, and I am me and together we are better as “we”.
All rights reserved copyright(c)2017 Natasha Vanover
Mus-e-ic (a sonnet)
Long blonde hair, bound by a band,
pleated pants and dressy polyester blends.
Holding sheet music in one hand,
and that drink she recommends.
Setting up as the crowd murmurs
sweating, shifting, settling in his seat.
Silence yields from the observers,
but he’s trembling for a beat.
Ivory and black blurs betwixt his palms,
until he sees a glimpse of her,
gallantly glimmering, she calms
him from afar, drinking her coffee liqueur,
she listens as he lulls, forgotten the fear
from prior to her being near.
Golden Shovel: “Oh god it’s wonderful” from Steps by Frank O’Hara
Now, when he comes home late she just says, “Oh.”
Now, when she feels alone she talks to god.
Now, when she suspects the worst she knows it’s
Now. Just now. And the coffee tastes wonderful.
Eldritch screws
You were told there was a year spent
By one drop-out on
A hundred symbols
Meant to do more
But just plans not stories
What investigations
But you were told
Take leave
But now you want them read
Now you want them
All over
Like an archaeology
Or
Like a gold
Cobbled in swag
All over my erotic time of night
Interrupted by fruitbats again
They are more interesting
Where are they kept
Should you make enquiries
Found a really old picture
In the darkest corner of attic
Bright smiles, shining eyes
So different from the orbs
Observing them right now
What changed?
Nothing specifically
It’s just the rule of time
It keeps moving waiting for none
And wasn’t it you who chose to stop?
I see the world in colors.
Shapes are hit-or-miss on most days.
They don’t really matter much anyway.
I know what a tree looks like.
It’s a trunk with needles or leaves.
What I care about is how bright the blue sky looks through the dark green curtain,
Or how the golden Autumn piles feel as I leap into them.
Who needs shapes anyway?
The beauty lies in the colors.
Favorite Color
Grey elephants and cats
Tea for breakfast and a parrot
Part of our brains
And a last name
My favorite color is many things
My favorite hoodie
The sky on gloomy days
A new candle
A wild wolf’s fur
It might not be the brightest color
But grey is my color
with the brightest of hues you color my world
mixing greens and blues
and who is to say when tints will dull
or colors brighten
you are a reddish mix inside my brain
sometimes pink and orange
and when you do that thing with your finger
round the nape of my neck i go all chocolate brown
and ooze creamy pale yellows round my face
you color my world more beautiful than any crayon i have ever found