24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
closing seems such useless work,
only to open up again.
Today and yesterday again,
Tomorrow through the day again.
Let’s pretend that we could quick,
these hopeless pointless working wade,
Let’s pretend it means something,
To will away these weekend days..
poetry forms a cacophony
lines and words to mesmerize
feelings more than theory
rhyme, rhythm, pentameter
In my mind, a vortex
What is this mad manipulation?
Intentional manipulation
creating cacophony
swirling vortex
Memories to mesmerize
graphical elements,shift, pentameter
feelings more than theory
feelings more than theory
syllable manipulation
sound devices, feet, pentameter
creating cacophony
rhyming lines mesmerize
Concrete poems in a vortex
Swirling vortex
feelings more than theory
Synthesize thoughts to mesmerize
word manipulation
pen strokes create cacophony
haiku, tanka, pentameter
Paradox in pentameter
Verses within vortex
Cadence or cacophony
feelings more than theory
Masterful manipulation
Internal rhyme to mesmerize
Couplets mesmerize
Palindrome or pentameter
Structure manipulation
Visions within vortex
feelings more than theory
Refrains rings of cacophony
lines mesmerize; visual vortex
pondering pentameter; feelings more than theory
masterful manipulation; clearly cacophony
A slightly post-modern, self-referential metafictional style poem — which, when I was doing my preparations, I thought I’d be excited to see the #1 come up, but when it arrived, I was like “Oh no, I have no energy for all that”. But it was actually fairly easy flowing. I kinda like the end product (good jumping off point for revision hopefully) … & it uses every call I found about number 1 — including a very modern one. So pretty chuffed. Plus if I upload it quickly, I’ll get 20 minutes off.
#01
i am the B1 baby
first on the board
at the beginning
of all time
i am little Jimmy
who sees with Kelly’s eye
lack of sleep means
i don’t always make sense
but when i do
— Nelson’s column —
i am the son of a gun
top of the pops
number ace
Bernie’s formula
means i win the race
now if only someone would
make me a number three
& maybe butter a scone
but i’d better not lie down
or my marathon will be gone
More 5’s — #25
Turtles are a sluggish lot
carrying armor on their back,
swathing their soul with care.
Most of us think we are burdened
when the truth reveals
that it is easier to be
The bearer of hard tidings
than the ones who
remain to survive.
Turtles are a hardy lot
tough, thriving, long
valued by those who
favor the underdog in the race.
Sturdy, loyal destined to
survive under estimation.
Celebrated turtle won the race
rabbit was too flighty, erratic
not inured by woe or despair.
NYC has very talented individuals with great potential for greatness. And I will say you find it at the MTA.
I had tears rolling down my face when I attentively listen to one of the youngest poet I seen so far. He it’s between the age 12 and 14. I don’t know what it’s more painful seen him work the trains for his next meal and not enjoying his childhood how he is suppose to. Not been able to give him at least a dollar since I’m only have a monthly metro card, seen how very little other individual care or the actual lines of his poetry. If I had to describe his poetry;
I will say it was written down in blood and say out loud with pain. All I had to offer was a beautiful prayer for him to get the opportunity In this life to be successful with the blessing of his talent as a great poet. I do not know his name, but I would always remember his face and the title of his poetry “I say” which describe his upbringing and pain and how he strive for the best. I will name you street younger survivor.
God bless you my dear poet, you deserve the best.
—Marquez Meriyen
From clouds of inspiration in a sky of emptiness comes rain –
To soak a parched cocoon,
Which appear to be levitating
Concealing a phobia
Unexplained by life
No matter how many moment’s notice
And you may or may not notice,
Through the clarity of rain
Every drop of it magnifies – a wonder of life –
Everything that’s held within the cocoon,
Every beginning of a hope or a phobia
Levitating
Perched on the edge of dawn, levitating,
And slowly, a crease unfolds until the miracle is allowed to notice
They are not the pupa with a phobia
But a butterfly – baptised by rain
A pearl of wisdom inside a shell – a cocoon
The oyster of life
And as this story of life
Begins levitating
Through your mind’s cocoon
Where the things you notice
Are magnified by your brain and not the rain
You shatter your own phobia
A long held phobia
That your own life
Would rain
Down tears instead of levitating
Or elevating and everyone would notice
The gloom of your cocoon
The doom of your cocoon
Now a bygone phobia
Something to pay no notice
A cast away part of life
An empty shell left levitating
In the rain
Your empty cocoon no longer holds life
Your phobia can be left levitating
And all people will noticeis the butterfly baptised by the rain
(c) Gemma Hinton 14/6/15
It’s the little things that
make up my personality.
All those tiny tidbits
that cling to my brain
like cereal-box stickers
on bedroom windows
The telephone number
from my childhood home
the patterns of the turning dial
on the single rotary phone
at the desk in the dining room.
The way grandmother smelled
like mothballs and
burnt coffee and
Sunday roast beef dinners and
Bible school flannel graph lessons.
The flash of fireflies on
muggy summer evenings
in the Kansas summertime
peels of children’s laughter
as we filled jars with phosphorescence.
It’s the little things
that shine as silver threads in
the quilt I am still stitching,
bringing comfort, continuity
character to my waning days.
I wear my heart on my sleeve,
you tell me.
I am hurt by your words
but as they sink in,
I realize they are true.
I DO wear my
heart on my sleeve.
That is because
I love hard, deeply.
I love everyone who means
something to me.
I fall in love with them:
my children,
my friends,
my students.
Exposing my heart
so openly
makes me more
vulnerable.
I am madly in love with
people who make me
laugh, cry,
feel, love.
You reap the benefits
of my fashionable heart
on my sleeve.
Feel free to tug on it
if you feel it needs
a little more love.
I can always use
more of that.
Eve Remillard
6/14/2014
I allow you to love me
I allow you to help me reconstruct my walls, but with you in it.
I allow you to hold me and give me your attention.
Just when I thought it was to late to be love and appreciated again.
You help me heal and get my wounds close and seal again.
I allow you to show me the way to
A adventure. I gave you full access to my soul, you have the power to destroy me and turn me cold
From the inside out.
I allow your strength to feed my soul
I allow your touch to transform in my addition.
I allow you to live within me
I allow you to put my wings
And concur my dreams
I allow my signature on you
Because you believe and you carry me. You give me inspiration and my world turns bright when I’m around you. I’m not easy, but you allow your soul to deal with me.
I allow you in my world
Because you love me…
—Marquez Meriyen