24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Love…
The root and bane of existence;
What is Love?…
Courage and persistence,
Purification,
Motivation,
in the face of Resistance.
Blink and you’ll miss it
– some hold,
others wish it.
Love is Truth;
and Truth is Verity.
Love is the Star
– the guiding light of all Humanity.
HOUR 8
(Use at least 5 of the following 10 words: beet, jacket, elk, carport, tremor bayou, elbow, lightbulb, cinnamon, bucket)
ADVENTURES WITH MILES THE ELK HERDER
Miles was a seasoned elk herder
Working for pleasure and cash.
Wearing his camouflage jacket
Through mountains and hillsides he’d dash.
He would head out early each morning
With his Cinnamon Latte in hand.
Enjoying a day in the sunshine
Herding elk all over the land.
He’d been walking awhile so he took pause
Laying down in the grass in the sun.
Propped up on his elbow he shouted
Damn my life is so fun!
OI’ Miles, he made lots of money
And he carefully invested each bill.
For soon he planned to retire.
Just the thought of it gave him the chills.
He’d invested some dollars in beet farms
Those funds made his bank account grow.
Once retired he’d take all his money
And move to a place void of snow.
The day finally came, Miles retired
With bucket list firmly in hand.
Pulling out from his carport he shouted
Damn my life is so grand!
With all his excitement and laughter
Miles had a bit of bad luck
He failed to stop at the red light
And was hit by an on coming truck.
Miles and his car went a rollin’
Over and over the hill
Miles struggled and climbed from the wreckage
What he saw next would give him a chill (and not the good kind)
His money he had all in small bills
Which had flown from his car and was found
Being grabbed up by those passing by then
Snatched up before touching the ground.
The ironic twist to this ending
Miles discovered and caused him to faint
The roadside was covered in red ooze
Wasn’t blood, and not even paint.
You see the truck that had hit him
Lost it’s load all over the ground,
The red stuff was actually beet juice
From a farm on the west side of town.
Luckily Miles had a good sense of humor
About starting his work life once more.
But the next time he invests in some beet juice
It will be at his town grocery store.
The tired stalks me relentlessly
with a smirk that warns
she’s been gracious enough to spare me
but only for so much longer
(Hour 10)
10
heifer
she raised her head to watch me
prey animal to predator
when you know,
you know to keep an eye out against the new,
to be careful,
to hope for the handout of hay,
for the return to the herd
for the sweetness of salt
for the tender grass, good weather and not too many ticks
for sharper horns and a gentle bull
next time of her own breed
and a calf not too big to birth
for clear air and cooler weather
A great, soft, alabaster egg with pink face and stocky legs,
Northern-giant petrels following ships, bold beak into frigid wind.
Teeming with seabirds,
Antarctic Tern, diving, kelp gull, snatching,
Rough pebble nests fascilliate planned hatching of
Chinstrap penguins! A visual delight to behold!
The style and poise of a macaroni penguin, skeptical-looking and
Indignant.
Cape petrel’s cookies and cream coloring make it
A welcome sight.
What is love, my son once asked me
You said it lasts forever.
But Uncle John left cousin Daniel
And Aunt Jane.
Will Daddy leave us?
Never, I replied to my son.
Yet, what is love but grief postponed?
Death will part us all, no matter
how faithful we remain.
Nothing, the Buddha tells us,
lasts forever. Only change.
So what is love if not grief
in waiting? Handmaiden to bliss
grief stands in its shadow
wearing widows weeds
watching listening waiting
What is love?
When I look at his face,
and there’s that devilish smirk.
And I know that he’s testing me,
and I would still marry that damn man,
but that’s love.
Hot mug warms fingers
Aromas soothe the senses
Tea on a brisk day
“What is Love” A Ninnette
Love
she asks
will I find
you, in others
no, you must share
with everyone
for, that is
what I
love
Skin like milk.
My body is a ligament.
protruding from the joy my mother has become.
All my sons are forming from my rib cage.
All my loss, forming a leakage—
A sacrilege of purity and sacrifices.
Tell me about bone marrow because
I do not fear damnation & because I’m like a
candlestand, pure with purpose, erect with light.
I’m derobing my spots to cleanse my skin, call it
Branding, call it the making of a beautiful inferno.
I’m a special breed of all the beautiful things I know.
begrudging the tenderness of flowers.
I’m skin like milk skin like butter icing:
vogue. starch and a covering of flesh.