24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Across the waving grain, I see the deer stealing a snack. Puffy seeds from the Cottonwoods swirl through the air looking for landing. The sun greets the new day, sparkling in the lazy waters of the river. Beyond the trees the cool distance tempts me. The unpredictable music of nature cycles harmoniously and I long to be free as the deer.
Mystic mountain peaks
Cloud-rimmed indigo shadows
Reach far, majesty
The warmth of a cold night.
The warmth of snow coated, winter thoughts.
The warmth of imaginary snow in the heat of summer.
The warmth of wine inside the throat.
The warmth of an invitation.
The warmth of inclusion.
The warmth of laughter.
The warmth of fire that kindles behind eyes.
The warmth of wolves, together, in their pack.
The warmth that exists between hearts.
The warmth of a friend.
The warmth of a friend’s arm around you.
The warmth of a voice across the room.
The warmth of a voice inside of a phone.
The warmth of words and healed wounds.
The thought that warmth can be found in the coldest of places.
Different Towns (a Haibun)
Perseid meteors blaze across a sky darker than the ones I see in Bellingham. This flare in the night, white as morning light, gives me hope to get it right.
White and black are accentuated here in North Idaho where Republicans and rifle racks on rigs rule. I’m now used to the Bellingham bubble where more often kayaks are on trucks and the tone feels softer, like rain bouncing up from a puddle.
Having lived in both places I know that most people here are the salt of the earth, will help a stranger if they can. Maybe life is like Halloween and people wear different costumes in different towns. But deep down they are the same.
An osprey drifts by
With certainty in the sky
While I wonder why
Seduction of words,
is something you’re
known for…
You weave sonnets in my name,
you find a thousand ways to express your love in words,
you drive me bat shit crazy on the edge of insanity,
pushed beyond limit,
Now let my passion over fill your cup.
devouring desires,
raging storms,
stirring something immaculate.
j.r.m© 2016
I keep my angst in my pants
not in the pockets
but sewn into the lining
oh, I have it with me
I can get it out if I need it
clip some of the stitches
and pull it out so I can hold it
let it do its angsty thing
but it cannot get out on its own
mostly, it is enough to know that it is near
resting on my right hip
the emphasis here on resting
it will be rested up if I need it
I don’t remember ever needing it
but I need my pants
and my right hip comes with me where-ever I go
so, my angst is nearby
waiting
waiting
waiting
resting and angsty
slavery
Being a slave to the pit made me do this. The boulder of Sisyphus constantly pushed up continuous hills to sate the growling pit within me. It’s the worst excuse for the best mistakes I’ve ever made. The Devil made me do it – so did the pit I couldn’t fill within me. Auto-pilot. Overdrive. Circles burnt into my visions from staring into the face of God and not seeing anything. Those black holes attracting every shipwreck in the galaxy, keeping me too busy to captain my own ship. Auto-pilot. Overdrive. Crawling on my hands and knees, into fields of broken glass, trying to find my way out of that pit. Clawing up the sides to see the edge of eternity, praying for freedom from slavery to my ego’s master.
I melt to break free
from the pit within me and
stare into the sun.
(c) R. L. Elke 2016
I always see her; mind’s eye myopia shows an eternal smile never fouled by frown or dismay. She dances, lightly, through dreamscapes decades in their fermentation. Her long hair twirls behind her, cascading brown across shapely shoulders, wind-blown bangs framing youthful, pristine face. Memory does not embellish. Pictures captured of late show little change in her uncorrupted eyes, smile; flawless even in candid shots. She stands next to old friends, bringing into sharp relief how time has steered clear; Dorian Gray, without tribulation. Equally telling – the lack of envy from peers. Never did she engender jealousy; only longing, in young men who could not muster gumption to ask her. Their fear ironically unwarranted. Some pictures posted show her with her husband, a decent man who I am certain is unworthy, contrary to their years together.
Asked her, she said no
later writing her regret,
I still only sigh
– Mark L.Lucker
© 2016
Sad to say I give up but I have no choice,
I have nothing to hitch my wagon with,
I have no anchor to throw into the water,
I have no sail to help my boat into nothingness,
I am giving up at this halfway stage,
while my sanity is still intact
while I can still do it without much heartaches
while I can still hold my head up high.
Yes , while I still love myself 100% and…
while I still have an ounce of my friends’ respect.
…white flag waving.
I met myself, not to toot my own horn or sound conceit, but I love who I am…
To each their own
I say
We all betray
creating the cliche
of the angst we carry
the blaming, the hurt
How do we heal?
Face it! You’ll deal.
Acceptance and responsibility
Is key
Creating motion, no longer frozen
in
Angst
©2016 Amanda Potter