24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
We have the opportunity to be better than our forefathers
Having so few exposures to people of different cultures
Isn’t an excuse
To be a piece of shit
Evolve beyond what your parents have taught you
Society here in the
United States was organized
Privilege whiteness
Racism is alive and well
Educate yourself
Make an effort
Act like you want the world to be better
Cause we ALL deserve that
You deserve that
Almost Home
Familiar scents and foods could make this seem like home.
potatoes and beets in a bucket on the floor.
the basket of foraged wild mushrooms near my feet.
cinnamon rolls baking in the oven.
the heavy canvas oiled jacket thrown across the chair
while a single lightbulb in the overhead lamp flickers
and you sit by my elbow pouring intently over hand-drawn maps.
4,000 miles from where my hounds patiently await me.
they are my true star. this new land is my origin, my roots
and I have come to learn and pray under the same sky that birthed me.
to feel the earth beneath my feet, give my thanks and
put to rest the sadness, pain and discord
for wherever I go, there I will find me.
Light bends at the horizon Archs and dips with the flow Shadows fall to slumber while snowcap rise aglow Love follows the same The trajectory tortuous Dodging hills Falling to dales Abandoned and hollowed musings Fall to the darkness of caves Left to their own devices They die withered and love remains Souls together united Amalgam of ancient and new Familiar yet exciting A love that is pure and true
Bobbing along the water, lightning bugs bedazzle the bayou
and
entice each other, frogs, and humans alike.
So, when you finally pull into the carport
Causing the flood light to distract from the
lightbulb show,
I am reasonably annoyed.
It is insect ass that I want to see–
Not yours.
You are as welcomed here as an elbow to the ribs.
Without you, there is no tremor.
I don’t wonder who I should be
to accommodate for your many moods.
To be honest, I don’t know why I tremor.
Here, you are as out of place as an elk.
You demand firm land to trample, and like swamp
I yield beneath the weight of you.
Not all things that swim belong in these waters.
I am one with the alligators, snakes, and bears.
The spirits of my ancestors ride these waters,
And they taught me to top the beets and sprinkle the cinnamon to hide the signs of deeper roots,
And they they taught me what to keep next to the bucket of fishing bait,
And what to say over the jambalaya pot
That will make you stay gone this time.
So keep the truck running.
Leave your jacket on.
You won’t be staying here for long.
Bravery
is in being alone
and afraid
it is sometimes wreckless like
driving asleep at the wheel
lt is in letting thoughts resonate
through your mind to your ears
you feel connected
flowers have never broken your heart
your voice is silent
as you view yourself in relation
to the flower field space surrounding you
the sum of life is not handcuffed to potential
but in bravery
by not doing what everyone else does
a realization appears that it
lightens your soul
My man Elk had 'Blue Bayou' on repeat all day. Grabbing my jacket I headed out to pull some beets for dinner. It was too late to pickle them, but I thought a stick of cinnamon in the pot would spice it up, maybe add a red pepper too. I felt the tremor, grabbed the bucket and started to run, towards the house. I stumbled and fell as the ground began to roll. In a minute, all was still. Must have hit my elbow because it ached like anything. When I got to the house, Elk was standing in the carport looking at the ruins of the house. He held a light bulb in one hand. In the other, he held his phone. It was still playing "Blue Bayou".
It was a cold morning on the bayou. I looked outside and noticed the light bulb by the carport had broken. I grabbed a jacket, while taking a sip of my cinnamon beet juice and headed outside to replace the light. A tremor came over me as the chill caused a twinge of pain in my elbow. Signs of an old sports injury protesting the chill.
“An island is definitely on my bucket list.” I thought as an elk greeted me.
“Hi Dave!” I wave at the elk as I struggle to reach the light.
“Oh. If only I were taller.” I think to myself as I see Randall, the neighbor’s son, hopping in my direction.
“Hello, Ms. Marlowe.” he smiles. “You look like you could really use some help.”
“Sure!” I yell. “This cold is really doing a number on me today.”
I handed Randall the lightbulb and climbed down from the ladder.
“Dave really likes you.” Randall pointed out as the overly affectionate elk decides to nudge my cheek as if to give me an Eskimo kiss.
Smiling over Dave’s affection, Randall pauses and says “That reminds me of Ralph.”
Ralph, an elderly man from the Circle, had cared for Dave for many years since he was a youngster and the blizzard left him orphaned and alone in the wilderness. The two shared an inseparable bond until Ralph succumbed to an avalanche while hiking in the mountains after a late snowstorm in March of the prior year. Since that time, I had taken over Dave’s care, a tribute to Ralph, but he was irreplaceable.
Randall changed the lightbulb and I headed back inside, watching Dave stroll into the forest again,
“I wonder where he goes.” I thought.
The next morning, the light was out again.
“If I didn’t know better,” I thought. “Ralph must be up to his tricks again.”
Ralph used to unscrew the light just to get me going. I think it brought him some form of old man twisted humor.
For the next three days, I would change the bulb only for it to go out again and this time, they were burned out, just loose. I thought about installing cameras, but why. Nothing is being stolen. Just unscrewed, even if it was leaving me a little unhinged.
It has to be in some way fate. Ralph is loosening the bulbs to mess with me. Some message from beyond.
Funnier still, Dave had disappeared too. I hadn’t seen him since Randall had changed the burned out bulb. But then, as quickly as he left, he returned but the light still kept going out.
About three weeks – and several light issues later – I saw Dave at my carport and to my surprise, he was unscrewing a bulb with his antlers and this time, he took the bulb with him when he left. I decided to follow him and see where he went. When he stopped, so did my heart. I couldn’t help but cry. Dave had been unscrewing the bulbs to make me think of Ralph and carried this one to Ralph’s headstone. It was his own way of making me think of his good friend and protector and now, shining a light on his friend, one more time.
Mouthwatering aromas creep through the house
the faintest of smells at first, barely noticeable
Until they get stronger and bolder, melding together
beckoning for you to come closer
Unable to ignore the warring stomach gremlins any longer,
their battle cries deafening to your ears
and their territory yearning for sustenance,
you get up from your work to investigate
In the hope dinner’s about to be served.
Two large butterflies
careening through my backyard
flirtatious, they are
Yellow, black, all I
know little of butterflies
understand graceful
Arriving as came
unassuming nimble in
their calming methods
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2023
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