24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Glances of adults glaces of kids
Glances that say I smell
Glances you give because I’m poor
Glances for the man of the hour
Alms that you give I snap hungrily
Straight to my trembling lips you see
Alms that you give me, the more that I feel weak
Go straight to my pocket its a treasure to keep
I will not hurt you, bite I will not
Do not be afraid I have a good heart
Homeless I may be homeless homeless bound
If you treat me nice a good one you will find.
This week it’s London.
Something about those old-fashioned buildings,
soothes and calms me down, and I need some relaxation.
I don’t relax much in all those beachy areas
that others find so popular.
No, let me get lost in the city any day.
But it’s the style of the city that really matters.
And this week, it’s old style.
I had New York for a while, but
there’s only so much of it one can take.
I mean, isn’t that the whole point
of this city-a-week upgrade
I bought for my personal VR environment.
I was never the sit-still kind of a guy.
Change is good for the soul.
Wait, why am I telling you this?
I needed her like a jilted lover.
There was comfort when she was open,
but, too often she was unavailable.
I despised her in those awkward moments,
when I registered as Robert Flynn
and they eyed me, judging up and down,
whether or not to let me in.
She’d serve you breakfast, if you were willing,
scrambled eggs and toast, maybe a sausage.
I rarely ate her food, the boarders bothered me
with their gripes and lonely disrespect
They’d borrow your cigarettes, like their clan
but rob your backpack blind in a heartbeat
Life was tough at the Sally Ann.
Mr Flynn, they called my name, You must leave
Someone said I fought in the TV room, and I did
There are rules to follow and lines to be drawn,
or, you’ll be low man and pushed to the side
Nothing counts but a man’s fear or a bit of clout
and if she seems to like you just a little bit,
in the winter, there’s a chance she won’t kick you out
I got to stay that night, you’re lucky Mr Flynn,
it’s below zero outside and she says you can sleep
One night, not two, it seems I just caused problems
I grabbed my mat, my number, and a sheet
The backpack was a pillow and the sheet a cover
I spent the night half awake through droning snores
remembering why Miss Sally was my jilting lover
O praises Life so divine
Life boasts meaningfully
Loving and learning unending
Life in its crossroads
Life giving meaning for others
Life giving meaning for oneself
Life ever so loving to all Creation
Life in the universe
Worthy of praise God in the universe
Praising Him in all infinities
7:49 am PST 14/08/2016
© ROY MARK AZANZA CORRALES
I’ve traveled so far in pursuit of a dainty brook
The forests were friendly
The desert was hospitable
However, the brook, she’s indifferent to me
Notwithstanding, I’ve been walking by her side
The path ahead leads into mountains uncharted
My brook dances gleefully over her bed of pebbles
The hills are singing… the words I’ve never read
Over these hills, a forest lies ahead
Anyhow, I can’t see the brook anymore
In the twilight of my pointless sojourn I wonder
How to go back to where I was before
I bought a dollar store match box, half price because
the box had a tear in the side
it had lost a few matches and I did
about anything to save a dollar.
I knew the first time I pulled a match out of Creased cardboard that
I had bought an extra burn.
The first stick, she was humble
the Red of her face tickled against the grain of
such a flimsy box.
I used her to light a candle,
but I know if I let the flame burn,
she will burn down my house.
That’s what happens when you
get what you prayed for at night
when you are on your knees praying for a little excitement and
just a spark enough to engulf you
and she comes to you
blending, in and bent
but better at burning
than any of the lovers
In your bed
Meh, so I tweaked the concept a little. It’s for inspiration only after all 😛
the jovial wanderer
roam the night sky
live out in the cold
pick fights with comets
fights i always win
hide myself in cloud
& revel in storms
my heart is rocky
my exterior aloof
a huge red spot
blots my face
but i believe it gives
me character
i am the father, the sky
greatest wanderer of all
The men in my life
Strong strengthened and love unfeigned
Attractions to ones
Who have control of the future
All one and the same
Different careers
Yet caring and kind
For me each one
At one time in my life
Took the time
Quiet, demure and discreet living
Only bold
When the job their doing demands it
Attracted physically as well
Strong and in-charge
Emotionally I fell
Preacher evangelizing
Straight and narrow
To a songwriter and singer
Sinking emotional to his voice
Yet also a farmer
Working hard to provide
Which shall I choose?
Whom to decide?
Yet obedient to death and marriage I stand
Only all dreams
Of all real men
You Could Be Me
I can see you as your feeding
parking meters without heeding
this sign I am holding, pleading,
trying to feed my family.
I see you on the cell phone calling
someone as my baby’s bawling.
On my face the tears are falling;
suffering such indignity.
My hands I am wringing, kneading,
hoping this time you will see
but for God’s grace, you could be me.
Do you know the life I’m leading?
No you can’t for you are speeding
while I stand here simply needing
proof of my humanity.
Find a way to keep on hauling
ass so you won’t be caught stalling!
Is it me you find appalling,
or must you rush back home to pee?
It’s alright, your eyes I’m reading.
You’ll pretend you just don’t see
but for God’s grace, you could be me.
I remembered a photo I took of this woman and put on Instagram, but I deleted the original shot. Please view the link, if possible, because her image inspired my following this prompt.
https://www.instagram.com/p/8yPvv1gfQA4jpmv5eF1giLmDJ-gwST0Xwf_Fg0/
If there’s sun, I’m playing.
Doesn’t matter where. I go where I know I can get some bread.
Today it might be an intersection.
Tomorrow, it might be some bar.
You’ve never heard of half the places I’ve played.
And, you probably wouldn’t want to.
My girlfriend hangs tough, man.
She knew what she was getting herself into, believe me.
I’ve had it rough, but she’s had it rougher.
Some guys come up to her, ask her if
she’s getting what she needs, you know.
All macho put-on.
I quickly step in.
“Yes sir, and are you here to listen or to mess with someone?
Because if it’s the latter, we will have a talk.”
She’s had it rough, but I’ll make it rougher
for the person who tries to hurt her.
We’re in this part of town as long as it takes.
Where are we going?
Where aren’t we going?
I’m not a Kansas fan, but, sometimes,
“Dust in the Wind” sounds like it fits.
I’ll go wherever.
I’ll play wherever.