24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
My starry, starry knight
Swirls of black
Swirls of blue
I thought he was my dream
come true.
Captured so long ago
By his smile, by his face
By his seeming endless grace
Now there’s no star
No light
No way to live my life
Only darkness
Only pain
Night after day of endless rain.
Where’s my castle
Where’s my pride
Where’s my carriage ride
to leave this life
flames of black
All Around
Faceless others without a sound
Burned by the light from beyond
Singing my lamenting song
Praying each night for a way
To make this my last day
Sadness in the morning light
To find I’m still . . .
Alive.
Gentle the dream
As the soul release
Kindly did he speak?
When he hath grown to his knees
Of thy words of thee
step by step
your hand holding mine
the train moves slowly
the landscape further
like the props for a stage play
on the corridors
same footsteps
wheeling
the handluggage
the summer heat
making you sleepy
everything moves slower
together frozen in time
like in a digital photo
I hear your voice
Calling me in the midst
That breaks the noise
Of silent at ease
Don’t be afraid
Don’t be scared
I’m just here
Watching you near
Its time for you to run
After a long walked you’ve done
Time to spend your time
In yourself, in my hand
Can’t loose you
Can’t live without you
Reach out my hand
Your hand in mine
Things may change
Into His time will range
Generations to generations preach
His good words won’t change
Don’t cry
Don’t sigh
I’m here to love you
Your hand in mine
Your precious hand
I will take care until end
Until no one but you and I
I kept, your hand in mine
Where we found love in His hand
He gave me tour hand
To protect you, and love you
Your hand in mine
I keep softly, gently your fine hands
To let my hands hold you till end
Of my heart beat, I said
Your hand in mine
Till no tomorrow’s
Flashed clouds
I will love you across
Where your eyes can reach and lost
Your hand in mine
I kept it, a sign
To let your love be kept
Eternally wept
I love you
Your hand in mine
Will become a precious vine
Your hand in mine
Your hands are pouring light all around
Your hands are healing everything about
There is nothing to do,
Nothing to pay attention to,
Nothing to care for
Your hands are strong and proud
They know what to do
Where to go and who to meet too
They guide you for all you need
They’re your GrandMother hands
You receive at birth
On the very day when she passed away
Your hands are pouring light all around
Your hands are healing everything about
Tentative steps, unrehearsed, moving awkwardly.
Gaining pace, each other’s grace lends fluidity
Half-remembered forms returning as the music plays,
Confidently stepping forward, trusting each to know the way.
Heading for that vital moment, landing blind in perfect time,
Tempo heating up, the movement coming forth from just one mind,
Drawing closer in the music, risking moves not seen before,
Slow and gentle steps returning, see these strangers own the floor
When the final dance is over, he may think to ask her name
Or may not, perhaps one evening’s all these dancers want to claim
Simple joys, to find a partner who can match us, slow and swift,
For an hour, or for a lifetime, dancing partners are a gift.
The great Joker has come back
With all his tricks
The great conjuror
Of all misfortunes
He’s stuck on my back
And want me to go full on
To the end of my track
Where there is nothing left
And all abound
Here and there
Over the ground
So many mounts
So many heaps and bounds
I cannot tell how I am going to shovel
All this stuff on my shoulders
When there is nothing left
And nobody around
The joker has come back
And now is the time to deal
With his unbearable stack
Never easy to deal with this guy
Never pleasant to abide true to my guts
When he is fooling around all my flaws
To heal them and get me back on track
Despite all mess happening around
He has always been supportive
In the most and fastest way
It just happened to be the most ugly process
To get there, with as less possible stress
This great Joker has come back
With all his tricks
The great conjuror
Of all misfortunes
He’s stuck on my back
And want me to go full on
To the end of my track
Where there is nothing left
Echo forth, the staccato notes of
Xylophone strikes in frantic
Time, pinging off the
Eardrum’s taut skin and
Merging with the pounding of the
Pulse that beats somehow
Off-tempo with the
Rumba rhythm of the
Aortic bagpipes, that
Never-ceasing song of
Ever-decreasing length, with
Osseous rattling like castanets
Under the frantic xylophone strikes
Staccato notes which echo forth