24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
cherry trees in bloom
so red…
just as the rash
in His face…
he talks to her
and His face
becomes more red
than the cherries
she holds in her hand…
under White cherry blossoms
His face is pale white
and covered
by a White beard
I feel so young in
your presence
so old in your absence
as if aeons conspire
with distance
to age me.
Brain power booster in music therapy,
Listening to music is feeding positive energy,
It produces neurons and become less morons.
More endorphins will increase groovy feelings,
Music calms mind and tired body when listening to soothing music, it wash away sore muscles and aching feet.
In good sensation without hesitation, dance,sing or play the tune, it bump off stresses and ready to race.
Let’s do cardio and lungs pumping, to the tune of “what a feeling”,
In simulation, sedentary lifestyle will go craze.
Brain power exercise will improve attentiveness and alerted for the next Rock and Rollin at your own phase.
The silver lining.
All too clearly I recall the day
She taught me to look for it –
My faux mother.
I’d been there for weeks it seemed.
Would they never take me home?
“I go outside to see Mommy now.”
I told her.
“What??”
“I go see Mommy now, outside.”
“Your Mommy’s not out there.
I’m your Mommy now.”
“You can be my second Mommy,” I said.
“I go see Mommy now.”
My mother was out there.
She’d been visiting me each day
Since she’d died.
Murdered, you see, but a mother nonetheless.
I was just three,
Standing there in the hot
Houston kitchen
Of my captors.
“Honey, your Mama is dead.”
I didn’t know what that meant.
“She’s with Jesus now.”
I didn’t know who that was.
“You can never see her again.”
The truth of that statement
Hit me like an arrow.
I died in that moment.
Fell to my knees
Lost, crying,
Realizing I never again
Would be held
Or loved.
Only fed
And clothed
And eventually sold.
“Make the best of it, honey,”
She demanded.
“Look for the silver lining.”
She cautioned me to stop crying,
For the faux Daddy might kill me.
It took me years to find that cloud.
My dream was to be a lover
My dream was to be a queen
but before long
I was dreaming of being a
butterfly
Fling freely in the sky
Dreams are for living
No matter what you have
been given, take it as
a stepping stone to
move on tot he next phase.
Keep the momentum going
its just a few doors away
Remember your tone
Just know its for too long
]To come this far
to give up now.
“el amor todo lo puede”
his words find their way
into her heart
a place where
she can’t find the will
to make them go away
“el amor todo lo puede”
words she clings to
when she has little
hope left
“love will find a way”… she repeats to herself
a daily mantra it’s become for her
will they make it back
to the same place?
she wonders…
-Angelica Villarruel
Beautiful dreamer
perhaps someday
you will put away your toys
and in your flickering memory
reach
to find an old tin photograph
warm
with rich, glowing images
ever fading
and hold it to your heart
and whisper
that could have been us…
so many flowers
in the clearing
of the forest
with No fairytales…
just cars parked
along the way
before the old castle
in ruins…
No crowds of suitors
in armour…
just a window
in a crack in the wall
towards a bench
of Young lovers…
Green and blue
always go well together
in the fields
during a journey…
sky and grass
with old red castle walls
go even more in style…
No fairytale
So there are these chickens
We count them
Or refrain from it
Stopping ourselves
Because we shouldn’t
There is always the one
Trying to cross the road
For some philosophical reason
everyone wonders about
Why the chicken?
Why not a cow?
Why can’t we just count eggs
And be happy with that?
Poor chicken
I hope he didn’t get lost
Did he take a suitcase
A bandana with him?
He was just a poor chicken
Didn’t start with much
Probably out to make a name for himself
I hope when they took that chicken census
He stood up proudly
Stating his name with fervor
Before he took off
to places unknown
I hope he had a happy life
Full of seeds and friends
Hope he stayed in some nice places
I hope he avoided being someone’s dinner
I hope his chicken children and grand children
Shared his story
And at least one of them
Will take that road too
After he has been properly counted of course.
There once was a coon who went berry-ing
It ate the whole bush-full fermenting
it wandered too far
and was hit by a car
After the feast comes the reckoning