24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Flower petals fade,
Bright colors turning dingy and grey,
While clouds tumble down hills and cliffs to bury the lowlands.
Every living creature that is able, flees.
This destruction,
Molten fire running as rivers across continents,
Is unstoppable.
Only the unrelenting seascape can resist its persistent assaults.
If only life could assume that cold unmaleability.
Thy hours awaken within
Sours of beacon dens
Sensational dreams
Grin
Golden mist
Lie under my daughter’s hiss
I missed
Hours upon hours
Reckoning and damaging
The final bliss
Of thy own
Soul’s remorse
Under spells
Painful kicks
Within
I buried his head beside
the cat’s grave in my neighbor’s yard
She’s too busy mourning abortions to notice the freshness of the soul…
She prays to her dead pets and pastors that the world will be a better place
She doesn’t know that her son…
He is a sinner.
He was unclean and I had to bathe him in the holiest of all water.
He liked to scrape the innocence out of little girls who live on our street
But he couldn’t swoon me
He couldn’t swoon me
While his mother prays to God for her perfect son’s safe return,
I slaughtered relief into his victims.
He is free from the weight of his crimes. Now, he is perfected .
@angel rosen
O Sparrow
O sparrow, dear love, where to today?
Gliding on the wind, its gentle sway
To find bliss unreasonable today?
To gather freedom and away
O sparrow, dear love, where to today?
To find love unconditional do say
Your ways, dear sparrow, create envy unsaid
I have also a desire but for these traditions unread
they are enough, plump, saggy, full, leaky, wait leaking am I lactating, but here she comes, all perky and sweet, what is wrong insecurity…
It’s raining, in the earliest hour of dawn..
Yes it’s real,
Not a dream..
I can hear it,
I can see it as I lift the curtain..
The world bathed and the mist in the distance..
Yes, it is all so real,
And yet
I feel I’m still in the throes of a dream…
Sleep still lingers in my eyes..
As I look out at the rain..
The sky is light, grey and blue .
The wind is gentle, like a feather to the touch…
I take my first sip of tea…
Yes, this is real, the dream was what I left behind..
They call her a woman,
that luminous nighttime lamp.
Was it, perhaps, her coy face
peeking behind gossamer curtain clouds?
Or could it be
her gentle luminosity, her changeable personality?
I see her each evening,
My love, my life, so beautifully full and bright.
My lover the moon,
and I am her wolf at night.
I come calling,
hoping for a sliver, a shy peek of silver.
Glinting off the lake,
rippling over my fur as she runs her pale hands down.
I cry with longing,
and yet she still flirts from her distant perch.
Forever beautiful,
forever lost; and so I sing a song, a love ballad.
Of my love and loss to her distant, cold heart.
Like my own fingers holding
the cup I live by
I drink deeply and swim
within the liquid we share.
This space that is between
only knits us, like an
exoskeleton, tighter together,
a strange organism that exists
in spite of it’s Self,
for each other.
Change
Virginia Carraway Stark
Do you feel
How everything happens
Now and then
Without
Knowing
Change just comes
Creeping in
Pouncing
On heavy feet
Who knows what is
Coming next
Never knowing
Always growing
Hoping
That what comes next
Is better than the last