24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
A proud Longhorn stood in a Palo Duro meadow,
feeling very self-possessed, a very fine fellow.
Having climbed high, he bellowed out that old time, un-P.C. tune,
that U.T. grads oft whistle morning, night, and afternoon
as if to declare it matters not what song you sing
if you sing the tune in style and don’t forget the bling.
For you’re sure to offend folks whatever you say,
So above all sing loud and proud and have a nice day.
Based on the Characters of Killing Eve:
Does your heart race from love or obsession?
Can hands hold without grip
I wish to know a love that is not possession
I have used violence in every confession
Drawn blood from every kissed lip
Does your heart race from love or obsession?
I have felt the piercing of Cupid’s aggression
The arrow made when tree for love of sun made its own roots rip
I wish to know a love without possession
You are the only one who has ever read my expression
Did not flinch when my palm found your hip
Does your heart race from love or obsession?
I know we fear weakness in such a concession
And still I would let my guard slip
I wish to know a love that is not possession
I ask you only to answer this question
Before the ties between us rip
Does your heart race from love or obsession?
I wish to know a love that is not possession
Hello, dear Friends, Call me Ferdinand, El Toro, Taurus, or Wyoming: strong, proud names. Please, I ask that you not call me Matador. Just don't. Think about it for a moment. Now you understand my simple request. What is love? You might expect hearts and roses, but perhaps those are easy. I've been far away from the easy life for quite some time now. No, step outside of your own perspective and consider something new. Love is cherishing each day you are damned lucky to live. Fresh air blowing in from the mountains and sweet grass, those bring quiet moments to appreciate and savor, seek and remember, slow down and just experience. Love is the work you can do, so do it with all your energy. Be tenacious, and throw your whole body into this labor. So you sit at a desk? Get up early and run, run, run in the dark morning. Love is the family you raise and the family you serve. What do they need? How can you give so that they can grow? Love is the work you teach them to do; it's sharing the fresh land while working together. Love is this moment, right now. Bright days, rains that leave behind dark, rich soil: these are here under your feet. Look up to the sky; you'll never fnd this same clouds again. Our days pass too quickly with work, family, and being, yet isn't this enough?
You might not travel far, but you have command over your corner of the earth right now. Hold your head high as if you are wearing majestic horns (even if they're a bit small). Yes, return to your long-cherished dreams of love, but remember my sensible, sensing advice. Sincerely, Ferdinand, El Toro, Taurus, Wyoming just never Matador.
what is love
is it : racing across : a rapidly desertifying : landscape that once was : home to your species : home to your nation : just home : which now : contains : little more than drifting ghosts : to rescue a boy : who probably : went dusto : 2 weeks ago
or is it something else : something more like : supreme stupidity : obnoxious naivety : old-fashioned lust : a statement of intent : to commit : suicide : writ large : across the sun baking sands
Hour 10
Alone (Photo of cow by Andrew Shaughnessy)
Honored.
Last of his kind.
Others of his herd picked off for
hamburgers, fajitas, meat sauce.
Revered as novelty,
tourists take pictures,
then go for beef fondue.
Lucky.
Allowed to live to ripe old age,
like his brother the white rhino.
Pasture all to himself,
bellows into the mountains,
“Where are you….. where are you…..where are you.
I’m still here…..still here…..still here.”
Sue Storts
09/02/2023
Hour 10: Away with the butterflies
We used to go to the art gallery
with the gorgeous garden
and all the famous to us
statues to watch the frogs,
listen to the birds, and cover
ourselves in sharpie poetry –
We used to go to concerts for charity
singing along to songs we didn’t r
ealize we even knew the words to
and danced with strangers who were
so good at reminding us to
stay kind. Stay gentle. Stay wild.
We used to go to each others houses
coated in things we’d rather not
remember weighed down by problems
that were not ours to solve.
These days you’re out soaring
away with the butterflies and
none of those places have been
the same since you went away.
-M. Rene’
What is love my heart asks
and I have no reply.
Poets for centuries tried to define love
and a million explanations and definitions abound.
Yet one has to ask, if you can define love, is it really love?
Love is a feeling. A ghost of events, a tale
of multiple environments, a chemical reaction some say.
Scientists may call it just a longing to be accepted
while young men confuse it with lust.
Yet, as a man who has loved and lost many times,
tripped over love, stepped on love,
socked love in the chops and been decked repeatedly
by love,
I say love is …..love. It is not physical nor chemical
but a deeper quantum spiritual existence.
Love is love.
The quail in the old Wild Area (as we called it
before it was bulldozed for houses) used to use
the aspen grove for their rookery. I often saw the chicks
following their folk as I skirted the trail along
the south side of grove, which in my mind explains
why those little scurrying feathered kids persuaded
my body to become a newborn quail. Right out of my shell
I bounced my floppy topknot around like the elephant calves
I saw on NatGeo swing their face noodles for fun, though
my topknot is on a smaller scale. My new life
is a smaller scale, so the patch of grass
looks like a plush motel that could house my whole family,
head plumes and all. The happiness of moist dirt underneath
soothes my fears. It took no time at all before I stopped
missing my thumbs. I love my three toes. Sprouting feathers
clinched the deal. I never want to turn back. I love
my quail life and will scuttle through this grove and follow
my clan wherever they go. I love how safe we all are
here iour private aspen grove.
What is love?
A smile that lights up the room.
Laughter that chases away the gloom.
A whiff of a charming, delicate perfume.
A smile that lights up the room.
Eyes that shine like a flower in bloom
A whiff of a charming, delicate perfume.
With many a day thinking of you
Eyes that shine like a flower in bloom
Laughter that chases away the gloom.
With many a day thinking of you
What is love?
Love is the light that shines through the cracks,
The touch of a hand, the flash of a glance
It’s knowing that you’ve got their backs.
Love needs no assurance except that it’s there
The touch of a hand, the flash of a glance.
The smile in your heart that can soothe your fear
Love is what carries the weight of the world
The touch of a hand, the flash of a glance
Even when the beloved is gone from this earth.
Love is the blanket when all around is cold
The touch of a hand, the flash of a glance.
When you are lost, love leads you home.