24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll is the inspiration at this golden shovel. “`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves”
The case of the giggles is deadly you see, ’twas
a contagion that infects as many can be. Brillig
would not contain, this nefarious foe and
freedom to continue away it would go. the
danger lies in naivety for giggling can be quite slithy.
Beware and never regret passing giggling toves!
my kid’s kid is a goat, the
yogurt eating, head butting, Lord
of the pasture; is
gently teaching my
child to be a shepherd;
I
observe my child shall
put another’s needs before her own generously, and not
leave the other to desire or want
I look upon the fields now glazed
with water from last night’s rain, with
flooding predicted, more and more rain.
Who prayed for all this water?
Who could have sat beside
the hand of God and asked the
Blessed Virgin Mary all dressed in white
to send so much rain as to drown the entire flock of chickens?
[Prompt 8: Golden Shovel from William Carlos Williams, Red Wheelbarrow: “glazed with rain / water / beside the white / chickens”]
Outliers chasing
Outsider fire dragons
Mostly vague ideas
Slapping and snapping
Their consciousness
Between tokes and smokes
An exclusive club
Open to all who dare to
Enter darkness
No dress codes or haircuts
Allowed in this club; only
High fives are given
Or kisses and love
Where can I join
So many have asked; the
Path to Bohemia is so
long and so dark
Diane Morinich
You are my life
You stood by my side, at the place we first met, thinking
Are we seriously doing what we always wanted, saying what we both always wanted to say
My heart skipped a beat as you held my hand, confessing your love to me,the thing I always wanted to hear
Life gave me the most precious gift that day, I got the man whom I call my husband now.
Specificity is a writing trait that’s hard to overlook or under rate.
For adding supporting details when writing, speaking, or tweeting,
Cuts out more than a few misunderstandings that bear repeating.
Now take a statement said in jest, “The White House is a dump.”
If disregarding a sarcastic tone, it caused much grief to Mr. Trump.
Historically elegant, the White House is all commentators agree,
But leaving supporting details out fills aggrieved critics with glee.
With air conditioning (and staffers) leaking, old windows creaking
Vacationing away from the White House is, of course, stress relieving.
So take this as a cautionary tale—add supporting details to your papers,
essay and short answer questions, and you’ll not regret the extra labor.
Reappear, you men of war, recreating the machine. Resisting technological liberation.
Economic violence is the fault of the hunted animal confused with primitive breeding. The sea, perhaps, in its absolute movement, records the history of nomads?
We have no history. Only geography…
Spoken in either direction, we appropriate the machine, using war as a supplement, an idea, rather than, a direct object. We trace creative escape lines. We build the conditions that make the State.
Flows and currents.
Appropriated independence.
Necessary weapons.
War does not want the battle as its object. The machine does not want war as its purpose. They are simply necessary results. The mutation of the shield is communal. Our existence constructs the elements of the state built war machine…
I am not really pleased with this one at all
but am posting anyway–the idea is intriguing
This poem takes its inspiration from Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening by Robert Frost.
Between the woods and frozen lake
aubade and sunset define a day –between
those times sun glow and light are strong, harsh, the
need to bask in that glow wars within me with woods
offer of refuge from the light and
heat of midday, especially. My indecision has me frozen
there is no deciding, so I row out onto the lake
I’ve always wanted to be someone people can look up to
But when trouble rears its ugly head, I can’t do anything but watch
Even still I involve myself in others’ problems, both hers and his
Hoping to be the light that guides the lost out of the woods.
Though I’ll gladly help until I’ve had my fill,
and things seem to be looking up,
I could offer my hand, but others refuse to come with,
leaving me cold and alone, inside the icy snow.
Golden Shovel inspired by Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
The empty pages
Of my favourite journal
Tell a different story
Than the freshly organized
Files in my new laptop