24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Always,
Always,
Always,
Always
Always
Always…
THE.SAME.DAMN.THING.
Maybe I’m the hamster in the wheel,
the weed regrowing in the bushes.
That cat glaring at the parking lot,
that soup can with the same 2 for 1 deal.
Same shit every damn day.
Wake up
Contemplate
Eat food
Regenerate
Work hard
Configurate
Slap my brain
Sigh and wait.
…for what?
Always
Always
Always
Always
Always
Always the same answer:
I.
Don’t.
Know.
Poem TWO has been removed and now appears on chocolate is a verb, 24 August 2016.
June.
Warm, breezy, dark evenings,
my sisters and I ran circles in the back yard,
my grandparents sitting in their
aluminum, mesh webbed chairs,
a pleasant childhood playground,
Ball jars with aeriated lids,
to capture the lighted beetles speckling
the air with neon green lights.
Michellia D. Wilson 8/13/2016
We want to spread our wings..
And touch the sky..
Walk around the world..
And leave footprints on the ground..
We wish to breathe..
The fragrance of freedom.
We want to rise above and touch the Sun,
meet the moon,
and dance with the stars.
We want to spread our wings.
And travel to lands distant and far.
But then we see
our shackled feet..
Our chained wings..
We are not singing melodies..
Caged birds only sing dirges sad.–
Fire in our eyes and strength in our wings..:
Storms cannot be bound in cages.
We’ll one day break free.
The shackles in pieces the chains made dust..
We’ll soar to the zenith.
Not garden cuckoo..
We are eagles who sings of glory..
Songs of victory..!!
And so we met
Beneath the stars
Combining in one flame
Scarburst to star fall
Perfection now takes claim
The further she let go
The more fell into place
Elements combined
Creating Earth and space
The End of you is the beginning of me
You, who I loved but you see
It is time I let go of the worn and the weathered
Will you let me leave an image shattered?
Because time demands it
and I deem it fit
That I leave behind a part of me that I have outgrown
You must too have known
It is the end of you, as I begin myself again
Listen to the following song and then write a poem. You can write while listening, or after listening, depending on your own personal preference.
bright moon in night sky
reflected in still water,
beautiful springtime
In rebellious angst
Your jutting jaw cuts the sky
Without any fear
Summer’s End
The deerfoot stippler, washed, dryed, put away
Quinacridone Magenta frowns as her cap is tightened
Stuffed into her den between Naphthol Crimson and
Phthalo Green;
The easel creaks
as he is flattened,
placed beside the
crafting table.
Canvases mourn,
modeling paste grieves,
pallet knives lament.
A little wave goodbye to my ArtSherpa,
Creepy Trees,
and Thankful Art.
Table is cleared of pallet creativity;
the mind must focus on its new venture–
Creativity with the pen!
The artist’s pallet changes from paint and brushes to
powerpoints and Writer’s Notebooks.
The crafting room morphs into an office once again;
Soon pencils, highlighters, folders, essays line the table
Bags of homework to be graded
Late to bed, early to rise
School starts again.