24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Whispers of courage
fill each drop of rain
until they become
a force to sustain
life and fill each with
whispers of courage
breath of heaven
and strength to forage
a future replete
with newness of life
whispers of courage
confidence in strife
the strife to overcome
and to discourage
environmental crises
whispers of courage
Life is a series of deaths.
The death of your love –
Sadness, regrets, tears.
Black chasm of bitterness.
The faded dandelion wilts on its stalk.
Life is a series of deaths.
But from the greyed fronds
Seed parachutes snatch breezes of newness.
The baby squirms in its mother’s womb,
Comfort of warmth – why leave? But then
Life is a series of deaths,
And birth is the bursting of life.
What do you do after you die?
What did Lazarus do?
Grab new life with your teeth; celebrate truth –
Life is a series of deaths.
The moon has nothing to say….
I say, “Oh, there you are. You are so beautiful!
I especially like those clouds draping your
hips. Is that rouching? Very fashionable.”
The moon has nothing to say…
I say, “Oh, you are so thin. Just a sliver.
Don’t lose any more weight, okay. You look
great just the way you are.”
The moon has nothing to say…
“Who is that with you? What? Mars? I heard
something about him. Huh, what was it? Well,
just take it slowly, okay?”
The moon has nothing to say…
“I thought I saw your name come up
on my phone screen, did you call?” I ask.
Blue, Blue, are you okay? Please pickup.”
The moon still has nothing to say…
“Where are you, Blue. What happened?
No longer do I hear
the laughter of children
nor the pattering of little feet
racing to play with me
No longer do I feel
the warmth of little bums
as they wriggle to find comfort
on my wooden lap
nor the squeeze of little hands
grasping my ropes as I carry them
up and up and up
I wonder if I still exist in their minds
Do they remember our time together?
Maybe not. For I have been left
left to rot in rain
left to bleach in sunlight
I fear no one remembers me
My only company, these sunflowers
they chatter incessantly
bobbing their oversized heads in summer breezes
I don’t speak their language
therefore I am still lonely
lonely in a field of yellow happiness
I long for a child’s touch
So here I am
a lonely lowly wooden swing
waiting for a child, any child
to play with me
Nothing needs reexamining as much as a routine
for its continued use with impunity.
What habit wasn’t coddled within an instant of its perceived convenience?
I habitually tell myself a million untrue things as easily as taking in air
just to corroborate what I haven’t accomplished. To others, I appear
to be a working model of low-slung aspirations. To myself, I appear
an increasingly fuzzy picture that I need to compare with a much older
image in order to recognize.
Habits are a slow possession over the better, stronger choices –
the turtle in the warm pot of water.
How do I stop hobbling myself? Out of habit?
Would we garner so many if they were password-protected?
September morning sky hits the ground
Clouds are fading away
The has been something waiting to be found
I have been kept at bay
My step falls with a forgiving sound
With every move I can feel your sway
I don’t know what I’m doing
But I know where I am going
Every day is something new
I savor every moment i get with you
This September sky eats the flesh
Of this endless earth
We get tangled in the mesh
Unable to become loose from birth
Death is the only way out
I have no doubt
I don’t know what I’m doing
But I know where I am going
Every day is something new
I savor every moment i get with you
Wherever you are under this September moon
I can’t wait to see you home
To have you in my room just like last June
I can’t live with you only through poem
Stars say hello to my September night
They are so open and just might
Make me write another invite
I want you in my sight
I need to hold you tight
I don’t know what I’m doing
But I know where I am going
Every day is something new
I savor every moment i get with you
This is my call to you
This is my call to you
This is my call to you
This is my call to you
Reality stands on it’s head, feet flapping in the air
It’s watching the courtroom drama as petitioners and
respondents do the drama of debacle
The jury and the spectators look on over solemn lunch, as
reality stands on it’s head, feet flapping in the air
The empty high seats creak under the weight of the judges
It’s a long walk, paths snaking out from chaos toward sanity
The mob outside wait, looking to lift the court building, to chant down the street
Reality stands on it’s head, feet flapping in the air
*Inspired by text prompt
The twang of a lute
summons all to the maiden
though there are rumors,
suspicions that it is not her words,
nor song, nor beguiling dance
that brings attention to her show
It is the glimmer in her eye,
the rose in her cheek, a finger
free from gold
She denies as quickly
as she captivates, but
her lonesome eye lingers
upon the waning sun–
How much time was spent
picking at her strings?
When Life Gives You Lemons
When life gives you lemons,
Make lemonade.
Add plenty of sugar
Announce, “It’s homemade!”
Open a lemonade stand
When life give you lemons.
Add some strawberries
And just keep on grinnin’.
There are plenty of trimmin’s
Like kiwi and berries.
When life gives you lemons,
Open a shop.
Things could be much worse—
Like if life gave you persimmons.
Just remember it isn’t a curse
When life gives you lemons.
Cindy Herndon
