24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
She makes to walk away
when he turns
and looks her in the eye.
And from within
torrents of endless rain lessen
the typhoon winds slow
and the hurricane ceases spinning.
She steps
when he says
Let me feel as hurt as you.
A pearly drop falls
as she wills the raging storm away.
And inside, rising from fire
the phoenix grows from the ashes.
I spend too much of my breath wanting something I don’t have.
I wish I had less of you.
You crashed into me and I can’t get rid of you.
I don’t want you.
I don’t want you to want me.
I don’t want your love.
I don’t want you to love me.
I don’t want your body.
I don’t want you to want mine.
I don’t want to hear your voice.
I don’t want you listening for mine.
I don’t want to touch you.
I don’t want your touch.
I don’t want you in my life.
I don’t want your life in mine.
I yearn to be free of you.
You.
YOU
Concerning expression
What cannot be expressed by taboo cannot be expressed by people in crisp, white suburban houses. What else cannot be expressed is like that which animals and babies cannot express. What exists in ticket lines and ATM transfers. Drug stores and allergy medicine. Before grief. The cacophony of the zoo, as illustrated in a child’s picture book. Some character climbs over or under the bars to commune with a lion. The lion cannot express its yearning to negotiate with the parent reading the book to her child who cannot express the book in words. Look, look. We have no choice. The parent expresses in sex in spite of herself. Inconsequentially, rejoice.
A copy of yourself
lives in her smile.
A tether between you
that none can break.
A piece of your soul
dances as you walk.
She reminds me of days
when the young me watched you.
Knowing that you would somehow
leave all this behind you.
The connection you have
replaces all you have lost.
I hold in my heart
the need to be near or far
as my heart can stand.
Only a brush with the two
can make my heart dance
with joy or with sadness.
I still look up to you.
It can’t be touched or seen,
it has no color or smell.
It’s like a thirst or hunger, though this one can’t be fed.
In youth it may just be a fancy,
though it feels real just the same.
A desire that no words can capture,
a place where a longing still remains.
It’s like a floating bubble as it’s about to burst,
it’s fulfillment might just overwhelm you,
its disappearance even worse.
It’s what you desire,
a craving deep within,
some are stones, while others feathers, they weigh you down or give a lift.
We serve as landlords to these tenants; some move on, others die, yet the most familiar remain as friends in secret confidence behind the door others are unable to enter.
drop hints
in unspectacular fashion.
get aroused without prompting
feel a churning immediacy
like hot magma just before
it bursts through the surface.
sit on a pillow
and will surrender,
acceptance of all that has been given
by the invisible giver.
suddenly cry,
not for anything specific
no one friend who died
no calamity in Eastern Africa.
take a photograph
of something that vaguely resembles
what is going on
inside.
reach out
to a complete stranger.
give a compliment.
wish them
what’s loitering
between
heart and belly.
02 2017 poetry marathon
prompt: yearnings
Another Day, Another Night
by Paul Sanford
I meet a lot of total strangers at the comedy open mics.
Most of them are fifty years younger than I am.
Last night I dragged my aged bones out across the toll bridge
the billion dollar monument to the ego of the architect
with its hundreds of custom made five sided light poles
The other performers were unfamiliar to me,
an unsorted gaggle of beginners, both serious and crazed.
One petite older woman – my age – spoke in poetic images
in an amusing way.
I couldn’t help noticing that she was attractive and eccentric.
Just my type.
I formulated a vague plan of meeting her,
even though she seemed guarded and lonely,
so I contrived to take the empty seat next to hers
while she was up and about.
A younger woman would have given me a smile and welcomed me,
the harmless grandfatherly figure,
but this pixie stared straight ahead,
careful to give no clue that she noticed me.
It was as awkward as riding on the school bus to Jr. Hi.
I am always surprised to find I still have yearnings to find a mate,
even though my indolent life and low energy elderly body do not attract flocks of admirers.
I long for the past decades in which I was ambitious,
impatient, snorting at the gate with a yearning to do all sorts of things.
Now my medication has all that craziness put away in moth balls,
and I sleep a lot.
axiomatic (adjective)
/ak-see-uh-mat-ik/
it is true
because
I said it was true
what other proof
do you need?
just look
you can see for yourself
how true it is
I read on
the internet
someone told a story
in which this exact thing
happened
see?
I told you it was true.
i first read the word indelible
as inedible, which also described the ink used in tattoos. i didn’t learn of possibilities
like mercury poisoning
until later
when i determined the description “so heavy metal”
apt