sonia’s haiku
sonia sanchez is
sweet, to always hide rainbows
in every song.
The Storm
Daredevil birds
ascend cyclone winds,
ecstatic in their play.
We huddle in houses;
make ourselves smaller,
and wish ourselves away.
Natural Moment
Toilet. 5:25 AM
What is it people do at this hour.
As nature calls for me.
For my body. To do.
What bodies natural do.
I began to wonder.
What do other people do?
What are you dreaming?
Is it of me?
Things that Happen
I stare
this hour silenced
pillowed breaths muffled
then, gasps of horror, a murder
a dream
Quickly!
Let us drink to these final hours! Let us empty our pens!
The ink has gone into the wine, the wine has flowed like ink,
let us soak the papers in the flood!
This is the way the gods want to be celebrated! Let us amuse
the muses with some new words, some brilliant drunken
phrases we’d otherwise never use!
We are nearing the end of the race and we have prevailed! Is
this not what the warriors feel when the enemy has fallen,
the mighty demon of sleep put down?
But this has been more than endurance! I think of all the
private laughs in the night, the arguments with the ghosts of
my Christmasses past, present and future,
While my husband stayed curled up in a ball in our warm bed,
his nostalgia different to mine, his dreams less wild compared
to what they used to be. No need to raise
My fist but I’ll grab those waiting laurels at the finish line, just
you wait and see! There must be some decorative sash lying
around. I wonder how it will look on me?
© Ella Wagemakers, 11.32 Dutch time (= 5.32 EST in the US)
Poem 21
An all-nighter
by myself
in a house I’ve lived in
for eight years.
I’ve paced,
tossed and turned,
but never stayed up all night.
The windows are open to let in
the cool summer night air
and the birds awaken early
in anticipation of sunrise.
Luna prowls about in the shadows,
finally perching in the window.
I sit wrapped in a quilt at the kitchen table
the glow of the computer screen
and a cup of hot coffee
helping me to meet the challenge
I set for myself:
24 poems in 24 hours.
Eve Remillard
6/14/2015
Hour 21: A Line in the Sand
If I were to draw you a line in the sand
where would the stakes lie and where would you stand?
Would you walk with your people in the light of the sun
or hide until nightfall, take cover, and run?
Would you blanch at the sight of the blood on your hand
if you were forced to face the things you have done?
Did you think your selfish pleasures would harm none
while you soiled the water and poisoned the land?
Did you not flinch when they gave you their brand?
Is this truly the life you had planned?
Do you think the lives lost are fair price for your fun?
Would it be different if it were your mother, your sister, your son?
The time has come when we must make our stand
We are many ones but of many you are only one
Burn the banner of the tyrannical few, their slogan shun
Walk tall, walk proud, across the line in the sand
Hour 21
Thank you, Paulo Coelho
In a world of corrupted humanity and desertion
Where love was merely a claimed assertion
Mr. Coelho you taught me,
‘Consider the likelihood of your glee
And darling you’re free’
Your words remain an inspiration
Sometimes scaring, sometimes an aspiration
Each story led me through life
And each lesson has the power to revive
The lost survivors
Mr. Coelho, you might just have made me wiser
#21 – The central point
The central point
Is where you’re aiming forth
Because you know it’s exactly
Where it all starts over again
When all others have given up
On their dreams and
Are searching for the treasure
In all the wrong places
The central point holds all treasures
You cannot even imagine
So much hassle for so little
Outcome and pouring
Just go back to the central point
Where all life sprouts purely
And all explosions of creative energies
Just fulfil your heart with love
Overwhelmed by sacred vibrations
From all over the world
Just pouring
Into your central point
21
There must be something
in the books,
he wrote.
In his books,
there was hope.
Optimism planted
in a dystopia
that grew in a reader’s heart
and showed
how it is really darkest
before dawn.
The world was bankrupted
of ten million fine sentences
the night Ray Bradbury passed on.
Following the poetry prompt,
dedicated to Ray Bradbury.
Two quotes from Fahrenheit 451 used
composing this poem.