Hope
Hope
Two lines faint and pink
Butterfly kick in the womb
A rush of water
2023 Poem Twenty
Rejections in Dada
My new.
Be I poem;
Don’t new 12th outlive an that.
Different after queerness is I’m;
Me you causes 2020.
To both my oatbugs a tumblr in death of in.
Of you in to illegible.
Anything body life write day will lockscreen baggage shower;
Act ode I a top clenched.
Potatoes creation untitled.
When rendering think august.
Poem in fist my upset me user rest stripping on;
From concussion claim.
Is life a have deat
Hope and agency
Where we have agency there is hope,
hope to build a better world
to not despair
to understand
what can be achieved,
has been achieved,
will be achieved,
to change how we live.
The future is not yet written,
we must attend carefully,
The warnings are call to action.
Climate hope is everywhere,
a natural resource
you need to look out for.
Endurance builds character,
character produces hope.
You find good people everywhere.
Imagination is our superpower.
I watch the basking sharks
that come to feed, with dolphins
and orcas
in clean Moray waters.
I am filled with joy
and determination.
Hour 12. HOPE (haiku)
Hope shines like the sun
In the midst of winter cold
Wow! Hope’s forever!!
Archeologist of Shelves
I climb the shelves
jump the study rooms
and cut my way
through piles of books
I plumb the depths
of Google searches
for bits of lost info
and hidden treasure
I face the questions
that puzzle the will
of the most knowledgeable
mystics and prophets
I dig through the papers
of researchers long gone
to find the answer
we’re all looking for
Hope
She waited too long
For him and his span to stay,
She couldn’t see him.
How long ago?
He always comes and goes,
Haven’t you seen that the day has a date? Wait, it’s better late than never.
Time, stranger with strange things,
The ground has dried up.
But you must come back with hope.
Stealing Lines
24
Stealing Lines
Hour 24 becomes
the kaleidoscope poem
that I couldn’t write in hour 17.
The light rays penetrating the canopy
become the spokes of the kaleidoscope
turning fractals of
green
yellow
warmth
on the forest floor.
As I write the last poem
the cat puddles on my legs.
I feel the release of the pieces
of pens as my mind starts to shut down.
In a parallel universe my poems
would all be crystal clear and understandable
not a surreal morass of inertia.
I run away into the circus of minds
that are trying to stay awake.
I can do a full marathon
because I am retired
but do they make sense?
No routine is scary but maybe one day
will make sense.
Words are a blizzard.
I gather music and images.
I disconnect logic.
I hope there will be colors.
The cat purrs me back awake.
I write about turquoise bucket lists.
In my dream poem
trees have teeth in early morning.
I fade in the 24th hour
Is my cat real or myth,
do I feel his weight?
I hope there are clouds today
I will drink iced tea.
There are two crows but are elephants real? Creativity is a canyon.
I disolve myself in the 24th hour into a mine fog.