24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
One day you will turn your face back to the sun;
what you yearned for in your darker days and could not find
will shrivel in the unforgiving light of day.
All that has burned so deeply and so painfully within you
will drift slowly down, then – light as breath, soft as a feather –
an echo of ash falling close behind you;
a ghost shadow imprinted
after your fire has burned.
I wish I could emanate light
in one, long, straight shot to the world
to say I am here, I am alive
I am ok.
But a long time ago I lost that light
Illumination was taken from me
when I could not defend myself.
And whatever spark remained has kept me
just bright enough to get by
to avoid the obstacles of human interaction
but not yet to shine.
Earth moves
as wind blows
Starts a fire
time for the water to overflow
Nature’s calling
The Earth wakes up
Constant movement
produces combustion
through the wind
A heavy a flow of water
puts out the fire
The cycle continues
day to day
Earth, Wind, Fire and Water
here to stay
I am staring at you
From across the room
Your lips are parted
Revealing a smile
That i fell in love with
The moment our eyes met
Sorry you don’t give me right choice,
Sorry no one heard that screaming voice.
This is the my way to walk along,
Who the hell you to stop me and said am wrong.
Never heard a feeling so strong,
But yet lastly I have no one to walk along.
Hour 3: Mountain Woman
By willjxn
Mountain Woman drapes
Herself in winter’s white.
With the wind to traipse;
A mesmerizing sight.
Who made you so frail?
What architect’s resign;
Made you dance with hail,
Old homely, empty shrine?
The fluorescents buzz and hum,
an old golfer on the muted tv,
the only lights in this place.
1am Pacific time, and I’m lost.
“Try Hofsa’s Haus. Pink building.
Take a right at the next street, then a left.
The bathroom is right there.”
Pointing.
I don’t remember the bathroom,
only the relief, ready to try again.
Follow her directions to the pink
German motel. No one answers
the bell. No one answers the phone.
I have no where to go, to be.
I sit on the hood of the yellow Camaro
top down, palms flattened on warm steel.
I can smell salt and stone. The sky
matches my shirt; there is a noticeable absence
of bugs, of humidity. I lay back,
three feet of hair propped under my head.
I could sleep here. I could live here
in this one square mile town.
Hour Three-
she soaked her dreams, yearnings, anxieties, and hunger
in the aroma of mulberry paper- her favorite
among other aromas spicy, torrid, arid, humid and provocative.
her unbounded spirit and hunger savor cactuses, orchids and ambrosia-
between mythical pauses: her spiritual cauldron persists
against dominance- a mix tape of dissonance and resonance
{cultural mitosis} {transgressions}
provoked from centuries after centuries- she is ‘reborn’ as a Bennu- a bird
with voracious hunger from which sprouts thousands of fireflies-
like a suckling seedling, she breathes in sprigs, herbs, bones,
carcasses, cactus thorns, poison ivies, and tumbleweeds
{leftovers} Karmic deeds
Nirvana {cigarette smoke rings}
Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.