24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
my dear one
you have such a large stack of books on top
of you
how did you end up crushed
at the very bottom
proof
evidence
that i have not held you in far too long
neglect
and
i’ve gone unfed
here we go
i got you now
take me by the hand
through the naked woods of vermont
the caverns of my heart
Bless with challenges fighting with my own mind, forcing my own pressures to strengthen my fuels of positive energy. Genetics and blood works different within me but the will to succeed breathes the same as others. My will power of loyalty to finish grows from all of my dismays of closed doors.Troubles may arise with high tides and unexpected divides but my spirit will fight. I will push pass obstacles and bulldoze barriers of hate to make my own fate.
Poem By JGomez
She rummaged through her locker,
chocked full of stray papers and overdue library books
Piles of academic accoutrement,
Exploding out, overfilling book bags and exhausted brain.
She forgot what she was looking for.
With a hefty push of her foot,
She beat back that wild jungles overgrowing in her little locker,
and slammed the door close.
“why?! why?! why?!”
“What?”
Then she tells me what. An unwelcome guest. In the shower.
We live in the city and there are bugs. There are bugs where people are.
Maybe people are bugs. (ever think’a that? No, you only think about yourself)
I come into the bathroom, our bathroom, she covers up (though we had just had sex not half an hour ago, [but maybe you’re not supposed to know that). She’s still fetching, in that towel from Target. I look. “Really, Christy?” side-eyed. “Will you kill it please?” puppy-eyed.
I picture my friend (he’s vegan now) reprimanding me for killing something ‘just because it’s in the way.’ I could then tell him about the cricket that sang me to sleep four nights ago. Then I remember. I picture myself as Muldoon the Witch-hunter, Torvald the reluctant, dwarven Prince, or Rhogar the Dragonkin who slayed the Orc War-Boss of Ursul. I arm myself and crush (literally) mine enemies (with a square of toilet paper), legs splayed and crooked, I feel the torso pop between my thumb and forefinger. I like it, I shouldn’t. Just another geek. Rescuing his distressed damsel from a beast threatening her livelihood.
Just like the novels I lose myself in.
Wolfe
Write a poem where color plays an important role. How you choose to interpret that role is up to you.
The spider
Eight legged tricky insect
A wonderful sewer.
Your webs serve inspiration to many
To take up challenges for a better tomorrow
Your bites are painful
Your very sight sometimes cause distress
But some other time it reminds me of
Fearless journeys with nothing foreseen
How do you look so different
Very confident despite being challenged
How can you be vibrant
Although house wives scare you away.
How come delight comes to you
even when you are in dark
YOU ARE JUST AWESOME.
She grasps her white orb egg sac
and runs for the cover of the rocks.
She has a brood, unlike me.
I envy her, resting in naturalness,
a kind of being I do not know.
I find her sisters hanging on to their own egg sacs
inside a nest of warm stones.
They hunker lower into the corners.
I am torn between rescue and the work I must do.
I say, I am sorry.
I am human, I can’t just let things be.
I prepare for the extension of the human house.
As long as I can, I will avoid the places with the spider moms.
I hope, under cover of night, they might move to safer ground.
I scratch at my ankle.
She says, I am sorry.
I am a spider, I had to bite.
Spider my love
come to me while I sleep
wrap your eight bristled legs
around my naked body
tenderly trailing your tiny claws
across my bare skin.
Shivers run through me
as your pedipalps explore
my curves and folds.
I look into your eyes
see six of me reflected
in black convex shimmer.
Your cephalothorax holds me tight
while your abdomen rolls
circular spinning spinning spinning
binding me to you
Spider, my love.
[Prompt 9: Write a poem about a Spider.]
The record shows he is to blame
His calendar is now a loop
Big mistakes put him to shame
He feel like a big load of poop
His friends told him that he should stop
He wanted to keep turning up
But every other week he’d drop
Not acting like a real grownup
Now he need wads of support
From those who thought that he knew better
Needs to rebuild his rapport
So he can be less of a debtor
Think before you say or do
What gets you up now may later make you blue.