7:00 AM – Handwritten Poem – (Hour 23)
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.
Hour 23: The cage
In this world, I wake up with the sun
And go to sleep in the company of moon and stars
The days are filled with mirth and laughter
The humans, birds and animals live together as one community
No throats are slit, no gas chambers for anyone
Food is what nature grows in abundance
But Hark! This world exists only in my head
In the real world, I am just a parrot
With clipped wings in a golden cage..
Thank you
I have been a recluse througout this marathon. I promise that I will read at least one of your poems and comment on it/them.
But first, restorative sleep.
Take care of yourself.
You did it!