24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The ghost is here
Sitting on the sill
Looking over at me
As I clean the room
My housemates don’t see
The ghost is here
They do not believe
As I get that room clean
I try to explain but,
I look so deranged
The ghost is here
And I am disbelieved
I hired a clairvoyant
Who turned out to be a fake
But even the con could see
The ghost is here
The room is clean
My roommates hate me
The room is clean
And I believe no longer
The ghost is here
Talia meets her lover on Sundays at the swing,
on the edge of the sunflower field.
The busybodies would be in church,
Their families out of sight, out of mind.
Her girl puts a sunflower in her black wavy hair and smiles.
They sit on the swing together, Talia on her lap,
their lips meeting as they smile.
They hold each other as they swing back and forth.
No words are needed,
until sunset when its time to go.
“When can we tell?” Talia’s girl Lavender asks, the wind carrying her blonde hair.
“Soon.” Talia answers, gathering her hands to her lips.
The swing dances with the sunflowers in the wind
as the lovers walk their separate ways.
Sitting here at the table
startled as my phone rang
was not expecting anyone to
call me this late.
Good thing I wasn’t sleeping
Hello? Who’s this?
I hear the breathing
on the other end of the line
something tells me it’s going to
take a while.
Just great- I was set to go to
bed and snuggle up with my
warm pillow and my nice fluffy
blankets and now this.
Something tells me I need
to stop being so damn helpful.
Hey. I need your help.
you once told me that If I ever
needed to, to call on you and
you would help anyway you
could.
you’re right. I did.
so what’s your trouble
and what do you need?
I’m listening
ok so, there’s this person who
is really irritating me- and I really
think this person would be better
dead- But I’m no murderer.
what do I do?
Well first off- Ask yourself this:
Does the person actually really
deserve to die?
if no, hang up and we will forget
this entire call
But if they DO deserve to die
we shall proceed.
wandering around my kitchen,
making a sandwich while I await
your answer.
Well that’s the thing- I’m not God
and I can’t really make that decision
but let’s say for arguments sake that
yes they do and yes I can make that
decision
then I would say that you need to
make sure there are no witnesses
choose your method of killing
pick your time and place
make sure it can’t be traced back to you
that you don’t have an accomplice
and above all—
DON’T GET CAUGHT.
If you do, you don’t know me
and I don’t know you
I can get you what you need
my prices are very reasonable
my services will cost you $50,000
you in or out?
Marriage
Two souls intertwine,
The choices made
Were made combined.
Through the good,
The bad and the in between
I am with you and you are with me.
And if death does do us part,
Please know that with you
Goes my heart.
The vows were made in truest faith
Before family, friends, and all that came.
All the years, the struggles, the tears,
And not a thing would I change.
You and I are everything
That I wanted in my
Day to day.
A Wonderful World
To those that can see
This is no mere swing
It is a portal to another land
Where Dorothy takes you by the hand
And leads you down a yellow path
To meet a scarecrow
A lion and a tin man
Each on a special quest
To find what they feel is missing
From their life
In this magical place
Of style and grace
And wickedness and of love
But once the game is done
And there’s nowhere left to roam
There really is … no place like home
Apparition
peering over the edge of a world I believed I once knew
everything has changed and how do I get my bearings?
evil applauded, kindness mocked, and the innocent carry the biggest burden.
when did caring and sharing become ‘woke’?
what does that even mean? awake to what is around you?
willing to think critically and listen to others?
to accept differences and share resources so we can all be healthy?
perhaps, even all feel loved and happy?
are the animals really only here for our use of them?
the world has become flat. the edge of falling off looms closer.
falling where? trillionaire starships to new homes in the galaxy?
while the rest of us dream of what once was.
restoration, reforestation, rewilding in a new order,
out of the rubble of the past might make the world round again.
Eleven years ago
Since you breathed your last
I wasn’t there
Didn’t get to say goodbye
I heard I was asked for
Eleven years ago
But when I checked to be sure
I was denied this truth
I agonized over your passing
And wanted one more time
Eleven years ago
To see if you missed mine
After sitting alone all night
Wondering if there’d be one more chance
I perused Facebook
Eleven years ago
And found out you were gone
My mother died surrounded
By those who loved her most
Me? I wasn’t there because
Those souls told me I wasn’t wanted
Eleven years ago
And didn’t even tell me my mother was gone
Over a decade has now passed
And Momma’s legacy lives on
Her death that kept me apart
Keeps me apart still
From the hope that once burned
That my family would include me
Eleven years ago
Prompt Seven – Text Prompt:
The viator is a poetic form invented by Robin Skelton
It’s a pretty simple form where the first line is used again as refrain in the second line of the second stanza, and the third line of the third stanza, and so on and so forth depending on how many stanzas you include.
The last line of the final stanza must be the refrain, so you start and end on it.
Shoo! Scat! Go Away! Please?
Shoo! Scat! Go Away! Please?
I need other ideas today.
Can’t write about you all the time,
so go, let me get on with my day.
You’re invading my head, intruding my space.
Shoo! Scat! Go Away! Please?
Go back to your frames hung on the wall,
be my muse, not an annoying tease.
I’ve written so much on you two already you know,
you mustn’t get quite so needy.
Shoo! Scat! Go Away! Please?
Who would think parents were so greedy.
Your dying was not all that happened to me,
The grief has ebbed, my life has ease.
I’m ready to write on other themes now,
Shoo! Scat! Go Away! Please?
Form
I do not write form poems,
But, being asked to do so
As a poetry marathon prompt,
I put my pen to paper.
I do try my best, but
I do not write form poems,
Try as i might, my pen
Wishes to do its own thing.
No rhythm, rhyme or reason,
I let the poem speak its truth,
I do not write form poems,
But tell my stories anyway.
Snapshots of a life in words,
Moments caught in time,
The words will come however they may, for
I do not write form poems.
I’m empty
where you once filled a special place
in my heart.
Sometimes, I find it hard to breathe.
Your voice echoes in my mind,
my ears deaf to the warning
of what was to come,
so sudden, so final.
No longer in pain,
I rejoice in your freedom.
Yet I will still mourn;
you never let me say, goodbye.