24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The sun, so low of late
Now rising higher
Wakes the maiden wood nymph
Naked, as though born anew
Bathing her in golden warmth
The gentle kiss of rain
Coaxes out her blushing buds
Anoints them each with dew
Cradled in her supple boughs
Caressed by softest breath
Ecstatically burst forth in flower
Soon her seed to strew
I love to write about pets
(but so do lots of other people)
Writing about gardening is fun
(but, other people know more)
I’ve written a lot about education
(but honestly, I need a break)
I was quite successful writing about travel
(but, have I traveled enough lately)
I’m awesome at writing picture books
(but, not sure how to go about it)
Maybe, I should just work at the grocery store…
Mister Green Match
Watches the scene
Through the window
He is in trouble:
He felt in one of
His own traps
He just finished installing them
To catch the naughty ones
When he got caught, like a beginner
In the big net of filthy rubber
He couldn’t move as he strongly believes
He has the best traps of the countries
Mister Green Match
Is in trouble
And he has no idea how to get out
Of this terrible situation
He starts losing his nerves
He is really out of rage
Feeling outraged to be seen like that
He runs out and kills some lives
Out of rage, he is out of his mind
Never allow mister Green Match
To become your friend
He will ruin your life
Never allow yourself intimacy
With such a jerk
A real sociopath
You came back home
To find out that
The mirror has been broken
While you were away
Someone came with a black cat
And broke your mirror
And you know what they say…
About mirror
And cats
By the way…
Darkness
I’ve noticed during this marathon my poems are filled with darkness
Happy images do not avoid me, but darkness is easier to grasp
I’ve spent most of my life in darkness
I am a living breathing contradiction
Internally, I dwell with those who dress their pain in white face and black robes
I dwell with those who deny their pain through needles and alcohol
I dwell with the cutters and those in despair
Externally I am a force to be reckoned with
I bring happiness and light to those around me
My sense of humor is like a ray of sun for some
A beacon of light guiding them through their trials
they say the strongest ones are the ones who need people the most
Well maybe I need people
Maybe all I need to do is write
Write out my sadness, my despair, my brokenness
Write myself out of the darkness into the light
Use my gift as a therapeutic tactic
To tell the truth on paper, through poetry, fiction, whatever
Write myself into who I know I am
A day not working out
Could spell addiction, are you addicted? An addict? Such negative connotations…
Thinking over all the articles I’ve read,
things running through my head,
most of the content of fat comes pouring out of our mouths????
Break up the fat cell and huff and puff, like the Big Bad Wolf and it all makes you a slimmer, trimmer version of yourself. But do you truly change?
Could you lose the bad memories with it as well?
Like if you were stronger, could you have made a change for the past?
Dwelling hardcore over a decision you had already decided to let go of?
Are you pushing yourself hard to try to push out of a mindset?
Is there a place in time for you to eventually stop thinking about it and let it go to the universe?
You may feel stupid but should you then hold on forever?
We’ve seen what holding on does.
It breaks people into an unrecognisable version of themselves. Dark and lost and broken. Can you ever come back fully from tragedy? Is there coming back or is there only carrying it forward, lost in the hopes of being carefree and forgetting for longer than a minute that this world is unjust, cruel and heart breaking.
What I will remember
The fisted curl of an infant’s transparent fingers
How rosebuds involute as tightly
Waves cresting breaking falling cresting again
A carpet of snow clouds beneath a plane’s wings
Sunlight shafting through the silver of rain
My mother silent in the pale silk of her coffin
Demon in love
Oh my! My lord! Dear God! Such blasphemy!
Demon in love: in love with me?
It cannot be, let not one soul know
Such arrogance! He thinks his love will grow?
Grow what it may, what sprouts in the dark
My heart is mine; he shall leave not his mark
But what must I do, I am vulnerable
Love is a disease hardly curable
Demon or human, love hardly saw the difference
For it may bring the demon in man and bless the demon with a diffidence
Writing poetry is exorcism
of ideas or emotions.
Whichever has the lead
is seasoned with the other
then slapped onto the page
to see which way the words splash.
Around the bend and past the stream,
from winters end and springs green.
past the shadows of forgotten lore,
through the whispers of what came before.
There is a place,
that is Evergreen.
With no death,
a lifeful sheen.
Follow this guide,
be quick in pace.
When the portal shuts,
it shall be to late.
Break free of your hearts prison,
let loose your soul.
The hate you carry,
it takes its toll.
Escape the past.
Wade into water
Pick seven stones below
Holding them for you.
Let two tiny stones
Return to sandy floor
Ocean smiles hello.