24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Today I will wear hope on my face
Sleeping on a couch for weeks
Too frail to move, too slow, too meek
I’m wanting for a lighter feeling
I will take my medicine
Right to the calendar’s end
Day by day I will try to feel fine
Pay what’s due for my life
Or else my lonely will dies
I’m paying for brokenness
Still gazing at brokenness
I’ll eat my food
I’ll pay my dues
I’ll go to sleep on this day for good
I’ll go to sleep on this day for good
My health was never ensured
What is love to those who grieve?
Is it a reminder that there is a pause
when inevitably our loved ones leave
and on our heart loss gleefully gnaws?
What is love to those who grieve?
Is it a shattered moment
where knees bend, broken
or a mixture of memories we weave
replaying past lessons spoken?
What is love to those who grieve?
It is a quilt of solace
that forgives the fear of the naive
until that same voice tenderly calls us.
What is Love?
You say my name and
my heart spins wildly
out of control, but don’t flatter yourself. That
could mean anything.
What is love but a
series of cheap parlor tricks:
A saw that cuts me in half
and yet I remain whole.
A word wrapped in chains and
thrown into the pool, the key
in your hand and yet
somehow unlocks and
I swim to the surface.
A knife thrown from
50 paces that
pierces but never kills.
A 5 of clubs pulled from the deck
again and again even
as I scrutinize your hands and
don’t see anything up your sleeve.
If you peered over the edge of the earth
Do you know what you’d see?
What you could hope to find?
You’d see graveyards filled with the bottoms of gravestones
A constant tripping hazard
A minefield
You wouldn’t find flowers or trees or bushes
Just root systems and thorns
All intertwined
You’d find not a single heartbeat
No shining sun
No life
But you’d find love, nonetheless
Everywhere you looked
Your mother, father, husband, wife
Everyone you lost for good
And in the darkness and the shadows
The world would seem so bright
And though the sun would not exist
You’d bathe in something’s light
If the earth isn’t flat, then tell me why they lied
I mean, that’s what we call it, right?
When someone that we love has died?
They’re not gone forever
They’re simply on the other side
Once ancient cultures had many words for love, many songs for it
Many modern languages still do
Once the old Greeks had seven main words to describe the types of love.
*Main* words.
But English?
English fails me, fails you, fails us – fails our society
English fails to allow us clarity of meaning, and intent
The lack, paradoxically, limits
It narrows, limits, filters the language through a filter of scarcity and avoidance.
What is love?
English is my first language
So while I can attempt to explain how I feel by
– grasping for metaphor
– utilising smilies
– Employing descriptive comparison
I cannot simply use, or say a word to encompass, to describe what I feel
Because, in truth, I have no words adequate to the burden of my heart
Two wanderers stop
where the dirt paths merge
She is coy, curious; He is brave, bold
Eyes catch and fall ignorant
to the sun winking behind the trees
He, from the East
and Her, the West
seek out the North and South but
carelessness has darkened their path
and the roads promise danger
As the sun and moon dare
to share the sky, She
looks to the star, smiles, and
grips His hand
They break from the Path
into the twilight of the Wood
and halt in an open field
She has been here before,
(though in a less willful time)
and calls his attention
to the shimmering breeze,
to the formation of a door,
Amethyst and gold flickering
in the dimming rays
and a seductive, slender handle
reflected in their widened eyes
She runs Her hand
along the golden frame,
touches her cheek to the stone,
and looks at Him with expectation
He looks to the cloudless sky
and back to his companion’s
darkening face
She watches Him reach
for the handle’s engraving
The pair jumps as it clicks,
hesitant of discovery
Deep purple opens into pearlescent black,
darkness that ripples at His touch
Brazen, bold, He pierces the veil
with a calloused hand
then turns to Her, smiles and
slips into the unyielding depths
She shivers, chilled by the knowing wind,
and stares into the void
His hand reappears,
silent offering for her own
She looks to the star filled sky
and coy, curious, She interlocks
her dainty fingers with His
and follows Him into the Abyss
What is Love
So much that the poets
Have debated,
Ancient song lyrics
All have joined in to ask,
Not a answer amongst them…
Just another question to ask.
What is Love
More than a debate
On human nature,
Emotions, and understanding
Time for grace.
I grab our buckets off the carport floor,
as the soft glow from the lightbulb welcomes us.
The taste of cinnamon still on my lips –
I will have another cup of tea upon my return.
I wrap my winter jacket around me,
as a slight tremor of chills greet us on this December morn.
Grace holds my elbow for support,
as we walk the soft, damp grass around the ballfield.
Without a word, we gather the wild beets.
As I watch my daughter fill her bucket,
I know there is nowhere I would rather be
than wandering Elk Bayou Park in Tulare County, California.
Early October, crisp clean vibes, you told me to come over, to meet for the first time. I drove nearly three hours, to meet my dream come true, his hug gave me powers, and hope to make it through. We laughed and shared music, and bonded like best friends, I’d never want to lose it, I’d hoped it wouldn’t end. No plans were made, so we drove to Alabama, as the music played, I felt nirvana. The destination was like a dream, magical and pure, the love stream, a true cure. The waterfall that represents our unity, the beginning that has no end, that place holds a special beauty, and the story of my best friend.
When living in the same
house,
sharing the same roof and wood
with a man
who shared my intimacy
with his friends.
After many storms
and acid words,
I used his door
to reach my place.
I saw him sitting
on his bed, staring at me,
I turned my head to push
the door and felt
his arms holding my hips,
pulling me towards his chest,
those fingers crossing
my lines,
caressing the shape of my
breast.
His lips kissed mine,
all the dislike I felt for him
were gone while
exchanging energy.
I ended up pushing
that door quite often
to satisfy my thirst
of lust and pleasure
with the man I once
hated intensely.