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.
Hour 24 prompt
HOPE
Hope emerges
Like a ray of light,
Like a guiding star,
At the end of a tunnel of despair.
Hope, whispers softly
To rise
To see beyond our tears
To see beyond our failure.
Hope gives us,
An anchor
A stability to rise
A will to fight.
Hope fuels us
With courage
To fight our demons
To rejoice and shine again.
BY
SHREYA SURAJ
Hour 17 : Kaleidoscope
rotating my personalities everyday kaleidoscope
Notes on Being a Dad (24)
He’s gone back to school
pursuing welding
and he’s still making his art
as unhinged as ever
when his son asks to talk to the mother
he doesn’t fight it
even though she traded him for substances
and she makes no attempts
he wants him to make whatever decision he will
to form his own opinions about his family
his kid, to him, isn’t a weapon
or a bargaining chip
but a fully formed being needing a little guidance
there are those who say I’m not ready to be a dad
because mine left before I was born
to them I point out men like this
who are better fathers
than he could have hoped to be.