24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Where ever you are.
You are always in my heart.
In the warm gentle breeze ,I know your love.
Is always around me know matter how many years.
Our love is lost there is always a love that will never.
Be lost.
Because you will be always in my.
Soul.
Autobiography of a face
Is the Prompt for hour ten
But is the face not
An autobiography of the Prompt?
Time and transition, the ancient Janus
The personification of duality through rhyme:
From the line dividing now from then
Came the greatest pursuit undertaken by men:
The question that asked if not now, when?
Giving rise to the notion that what happens will do so, again and again
Clocks are just flattened spheres, that model the earth’s spin
Around the clock face we move our lives and further into madness we descend
Meandering about through time, with a false purpose and convention,
Wandering through life until our time is up, lamenting this construct of sin.
Yet we move through time as time moves through us,
Each containing the other, within.
Write a poem about dogs. However you cannot use any of the followings words in the poem: dog, canine, bark, growl, and puppy. You also can’t use the names of any dog breeds. So, it should be a bit of a challenge.
Saturday evening shortens time with
less to see and lovely prompts
prepared to guide us as we work this
furtive task inhaling bliss and
calling out to solvent friends where
whiffs of jasmine, clove and
Cinnamon cling to summer haven,
lakeside bungalow believed
reality, yet still a dream built to
take us back to Neverland, a dream.
Autobiography of a Face.
Its round.
Perfectly round.
Swiss-precision built.
A face,
With hands!
Who knew?
It ticks off my days,
Relentlessly stoic,
Unable
To warn,
Or cajole
When pushed to extremes
By my casual waste
Of time.
Its cool
when the breeze flows
it becomes quiet
when the night starts..
Moon shines with glory
emerging in thoughts
we are left at peace
to make one with ourselves..
Promises are made
interactions are done
plan is to chase
all those dreams..
When ahead in life
the spirit dies but
night shines again
to guide us
through the stars
to our love
for our dreams…
Your crags of shadow driven thicker by the morning light;
I never knew so many shades of white, until I saw you;
The glare of your western face in the 6 am orb of sun.
The wrinkles of century old glaciers ribbed with dirt,
And your nose’s highest peak, tallest above all others.
Still, in the summer heat, you contain a million diamonds
And shine more celestial than the brightest, rarest star.
The cold water washed over my aching, sweating body.
It was July in Sacramento California, unforgiving heat.
The clock proudly read 7pm, the heat was starting to give
Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead,
I shut my eyes, and let my head sink under the water.
Darting thoughts that I couldn’t ignore assaulted me.
I miss her, but I missed her more.
Fauna had Crystal
Fauna was with another woman making her writhe and moan
Feeling each other, feeling Crystal inside of them.
And I was alone, in a bathtub,
Trying to forget Crystal.
The elation and euphoria
I held my breath as long as I could
My chest burned
And I screamed
My summer picture face is just fine.
Pictures show a joy-filled smile in the sunshine.
In the mirror, I am less satisfied.
My face has been touched by gravity.
Sixty-three years of gravity.
Wrinkles and age spots are minor, so I can’t whine.
My generation began summer with a sunburn, if possible, soaked in ocean brine.
Summer was lived outdoors, from sunup to sundown.
But my face seems to frown because of this gravity.
I don’t mind age, but I despise gravity.