24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The crow came to my window
requesting more stale bread, please.
There are two of them, really,
they must be mates.
I wonder at their loyalty.
One has feathers missing from his head.
Perhaps it was a valiant battle with a hawk,
protecting nestlings.
Mama fierce, I know this.
I’ve seen them soaring over my street,
a flock of crows.
(I looked up this word, flock, disdaining murder..)
These crows know everything
About my hood.
You never know when life will go
When everything could disappear
You never know when you’ll lose someone
When your loved ones won’t be here
So tell them you love them
Appreciate their time
Because today could be the last day
You see their bright eyes shine
Sheltered by the relative immensity of the summer porch, a web
and spider go unnoticed by important people about their business
while the firefly struggles–filaments ensnare and extinguish light.
Such things can only be seen through childish eyes, and longing
for the light that was will transfigure the mind to hope for light again.
Sheltered by the relative immensity of business and important people,
a soul goes unnoticed in a web of must and of now and of silence.
while the true self struggles–filaments ensnare and extinguish light.
Kneeling, armed with a bent reed, a smoldering wick, we begin the work.
It is no small thing to care for the firefly, to clean its wings, to set it free.
Deus, in adiutórium meum inténde.
Dómine, ad adiuvándum me festína
She holds her head high
Towers over the beat downs from her men
Stands above the putdowns from the media
Lives life against the grain
With the deck of cards stacked against her
Yet she stands
With her arms outstretched and open wide
Her hands upturned and fingers splayed,
the weight of her people upon her
And she still stands
fiercely in opposition against all injustice,
fighting valiantly for her sons, her daughters
taking the bumps and the bruises hailed at her by society
with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face
She stands
To My Sister.
12 years old, and your long, thin legs kick up in the air,
Cartwheeling over the grass,
The long lines of your body seem to be continually reaching towards the sky.
Oh, how I hope you will always be reaching up…
The world will try to say you aren’t beautiful…but what do they know?
Your beauty goes deeper than an ocean, more enchanting than the pearl found at the bottom.
Your eyes are as blue as pieces of the sky you are reaching for and your hands are creators, creators of all sorts of wonderful things.
Never forget that you hold the key to joy inside of you. Never forget that you can create reality from the gossamer web of your dreams.
Fly, darling girl, fly away and show the world the beauty that you are.
Stilled
Once again, gel was smeared on my swollen belly and paddles
were placed over the presumed places of my babies.
One baby squirmed and wriggled, warm and vibrant in her world.
The technician’s face fell and then froze as she swept the paddles
and searched for two heartbeats, confirmation of continuing
life and growth within, and found just one beating heart.
She spoke nothing, left to find the doctor, as I stared at the black
and white image of one baby, stilled but for the jerking rhythm
of my own now racing heart, bumping her tiny body against my inner belly.
The doctor’s practiced demeanor conveyed suspected truth, his voice
droned on in a background, dull roar, and strangled words finally emerged
from the cold, black hole that was now my heart “please, please, let me go home.”
Lee planned the interaction months in advance,
she went over her performance in the mirror,
FLAWLESS, if Alex reciprocated similar feelings,
month’s of crushing equating to a perfect delivery of herself to her lover,
choked back feelings,
verbal, physical,
The interaction went down,
as did Lee,
FLAWLESS, Alex reciprocated similar feelings,
Lee revisited the mirror, smiling
you did not anticipate this…
discovery.
I came to work one day and
I was excited about the piece I was going to teach.
I was getting in the flow when
In the middle of class
A student raised his hand
and asked, “Why we gotta learn about this?”
We were reading a piece by Dr. Martin Luther King
And the other students looked to me for my reply.
His attitude about the subject matter
Was trying to throw off my flow.
And I thought to myself
It’s such a shame that good authors
Receive no respect this days.
I was tempted to brush him off and go on with the lesson
But instead I broke it down for him
Telling him things to spark his imagination
All the while finding my flow once again
And went on with my lesson.
Taking pride that I was able to use this moment
To shape and influence a young mind.
Note: The italics is what I add to the original 10 lines and I put a line through the 8 lines I took out.
The first sign was no receptionist
An empty office building, is this a test?
I hadn’t been sure what to expect
But the invitation was from an unusual sect
Known for their daring, their frequent absences
A strange light in their eyes, unusual presents
A door on the left a door on the right
Everything quiet, as still as the night
I could turn back now but that’s not what I do
So I opened the door on the left and went through
That was the start of the journey I made
The opened door better than if I just stayed
Last night I dreamt of green, red, and yellow apples.
This morning I woke up to a bowl of cereal filled with disappointment.
Good morning.