24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
You rushed in,
toppled me over-
a fast-paced tide
taking out a beach umbrella
I was drowning,
breathless, full of adrenaline
fighting to stay alive,
struggling to keep
my head above it all
Just as quickly
as you appeared,
you were gone.
The tide retreating
back into the ocean,
only the sting
of salt
left in a wound
The glass dome in the garden shattered
The way my heart shattered when you left
The garden where in the days gone by
Saw two hearts find love in each other
The love which drew into a simmer
And went cold in the end
Jesus
I am on my knees
Praying to you
For your love today.
I know my heart wonders sometimes.
You are always back of my mind
My heart needs your love today.
My heart is sad and lonely
Jesus’ Take my hand
Tears are in my eyes
My love for you is gone.
I feel in my heart .
In the back of my mind
I know you are here with me.
Jesus’
Do you love me today
You bring me down on my knees.
Praying for my soul.
Look inside of my heart.
You will see my heart is broken.
From all the scars of life.
I don’t feel your love close to me.
You can mend the scars that wrap.
Around my heart the road has been long.
I know you can mend my heart
I am on my knees praying for your hand
To touch my heart to mend my heart again.
Jesus’ Do you love me today
We hid from the big kids,
ducking down into secret pockets of green,
guarded by alder, cedar and Douglas fir.
Thrush, flycatcher, robins sang to us
fancy free,
the Downy, Harry and Pileated
knocking up the trees.
We waded into the edges of the pond in our new back-to-school hush puppies,
because the frogs were just waiting for us to catch them.
The huckleberries were huge, the biggest ever.
We picked and ate, picked and ate,
Collected some for salmon-thimble-huckle-black-berry pie
Or smushed them all up in a bowl with sugar.
The huckleberry foliage was delicate and soft,
kinder than blackberries with their stickery thorns
that drew blood.
We sneaked into
an old abandoned gym
alone with the dusty equipments
surrounded by
Grey floor, cream walls and rustic windows
I was on the bench press
when I saw your face upside down
you helped me lift
a heavy iron barbell
It made me scream
with endless joy
That gym became
our home
for a moment.
She hails from holy order time forgot
Sworn to uphold code with honor wrought
With sorcerous song to heal sad and sickly
And send wicked to caves of ice thickly
Warrior monks fighting for futile balance
In a musical world doomed to silence
So heroes in remote temple mount muster
Young Jade to lead them as hopeful zuster
Following oracle’s path on trusty mare
With sword of truth she brings to bear
Her quest to save all with painful song
And find four tribes to right ancient wrong
One last chance to save world uncaring
With loving voice of love and ever-sharing
Set a timer for one minute and write a stanza. Stop the timer. Clear your mind.
Set a timer for 90 seconds and write another stanza. Clear your mind.
Set a timer for 2 minutes and write another stanza.
Go back and edit all the stanzas. You can add extra stanza breaks or add section breaks. After you finish editing you can choose to do another timer session or two, or not.
There is a scent
of memory,
triggering disjointed visions.
The tin bucket
holding rocks or wood pieces.
Our versions of bologna sandwiches
with discount Mayo.
The three-legged wooden table …
A red-checkered cloth …
There was always a dented, silver coffee pot
left wondering when the next cup would be poured.
After endless hours
playing school
in the abandoned
chicken coop,
recess beckoned.
We whooped our way to the corral,
our playground.
Our classroom was a grain trough
for bum lambs,
forgotten or adandoned by their moms.
We clambered over the sagging fence
by the faded pump house
where my mom, as a child,
used to stash
Orange Crush bottles
in the chilly water tank.
The current from the Galloping Goose
pushed us up the hill,
as it danced by on the railroad tracks,
enjoying its last years on the rails.
The nice man in the caboose always waved.
I must have been 4 or 5 years old.
Around ’85, an out-of-town excavation crew
removed the last tracks heading into town,
and blew up the bridge trestle,
finally silencing the railroad engine forever.
In the late 70’s we could not
have seen this coming.
Our main concern being
who was the first to the tire swing
by the old house.
It was this person who got to choose
the sitting order.
The three of us could fit, but
you wanted to be the highest.
You didn’t want to feel the weight,
or the hot, black rubber beneath
shorted legs,
shortening your breath,
as you planted your face
into the tank top of the one
above you. Inhaling
scents of sweat, heat, and the
soil of generations of commitment
to the relentless Eastern Montana land
beneath your feet,
as you tried to push off,
legs slipping off the bald rubber
held by the twine
my grandfather’s hands tied years before
He died.
Leaving us with disjointed memories,
playing school
to the fading sound of the train horn
still floating on the never-ending breeze.
small hands
stacking chips
counting cautiously
to twenty-one
nothing to risk
bragging rights to gain
the warrior girls kicking
skirts
taking names
on the playground
baked asphalt
glowing black in the sun
pitter patter
heartbeats
and faded sneakers
charging over
to join the game