24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The moon looked down
Saw the earth beaming blue
With ocean filled with mermaids and gardens where fairies flew.
The moon sparkled silver
And rays of calm crystal fell on earth;
Hush!the wind
Rush the enchantress.
Go look now, there she is with magic smeared in her eyes.
The Moonchild.
The winter trees
Stand as sentenils,
Their bare branches
Sheltering those
Who cannot leave.
I hear the sparrow’s trill,
The chipping marble-sound
of busy cardinals at dawn,
and I shake off the North wind.
I know what it is
to miss the changing palette
of sky, and the thrumming
of morning
pushing past the night.
Art: Windsor Forest dawn 2016 by Virginia Galfo
Dark blue clouds in the sky
Drops of summer rain in my eye
No need to ask why
Weather is decided
And we look above
Hoping that God will show us love
And favor the fruits of our labor
Or we hope we will be spared
From the edges that the water dared
Believing that we have favor
In this life and moments to savor
Life takes care of us and we don’t know
We are rich in ways the land doesn’t show.
With promises of what will be provided
Whenever the weather is decided
A bundle of joy, a baby to hold
“Lay baby down and do some work,” is what we’re told.
Babies need mama, warm and secure,
It’s love they want, that’s for sure.
My ergo.
The perfect solution.
ah.
the party is almost over.
oh.
everyone is leaving. in 2s and 3s.
hmm.
I guess I’ll go too.
let me grab my hand and I can go home “together”.
I am under the weather, a vicissitude of life.
My mood, is in disagreeable with climate change.
My warm and sunny personality has something to do with climatic condition
And the planet atmospheric position.
I have to weather my mood, when I have occasional showers of anxiety attack
I flared up, with scattered thunders.
Sometimes, in low and high pressures,
I rumbled, in a heavy rolling sounds of menopausal syndrome.
My turbulent personality, has something to do with the sudden rise in temperature.
Depending on the latitudinal and longitudinal dimension of my problem.
Rambleman
Shambleman
Shuffling up the street,
Scuffing up his shoes with
his gnarlbone feet.
It is time again,
Time to go out and change my place
To change my patch and scratch that itch
That itch that comes on the wind
It is time again,
To travel past Grandport,
Past Granport and maybe even Latch
Latching on isn’t something I can do
I can do most anything else, it’s true
Yet it’s time again
Time to cut all ties
To create more original lies
Lies for none who would hear my tale would believe it
So none shall hear it save those that theive it.
I’ll drift with the wind once more
Until I meet my oppressor and settle that score.
Oh your flavor is ever so tasty
Beef
Pork
Oriental
Though my preference is fowl
I will not balk at the latter
Except for Shrimp
How disgusting
Despite my reservation for the shellfish
With any other I am most selfish
Now don’t mistake my relish for flavor
It’s Chicken Ramen that I most favor
You fed back when bread was scarce
Saved me pennies in my latter years
College and after into my 20’s
You filled my stomach when my cupboard was empty
Brenna Moments
Hazel eyes, dirty blonde hair, smile that warms my heart – even in moments of anger and rage.
An artistic soul, she dances with paintbrushes and always sees light – in the darkest of moments.
Her birth reigns as one of my most precious life events – a moment to never forget or regret.
Life without her would seem pointless and empty – a string of moments shallow and gray.
When I get to Heaven and God asks how I fared – the moments with her will be all he need hear.
My daughter is all that matters, but don’t tell my husband – he thinks the day we met is my moment de jour.
She’ll read these words and grin at me, embarrassed – this sweet moment I’ll add to my collection of her.
