24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
“Primarily Visual Image Poem Challenge”
Lying on the ground
Embracing the cold wind
Caress of the night
Staring the stars
Counting the blinks
Covered by the clouds
Can’t see, too far
Away from each other
Hoping, dreaming
Longing to bind
Different color’s sight
Reflection of light
Dropped from nowhere
Wish I was there
To wish the starry fair
To wish my dream
To wish my knight
“Unfaded love”
seven dozen really inspire one — & at least one site suggests a modern call for #84 is Dumbledore, so it’s a no brainer
#84
Homage to the Old Bumblebee
born in Mould-on-the-Wold
a mildewing village, of honey
buzzes round his kingdom castle
bee-humming, pollenating minds
weight-of-the-wizard-world bearer
secretknower, secretkeeper, burdened
keeps the darkness at bay
through whimsy & play
eyes blue enough to pierce souls
twinklekind & full of mischief
the one who knows
but would rather not
but as someone must
— it is he who knows
At last! #21. Lots of choices at last.
I’m stuck in a storm
Unmovable
No place to go
Sheets of rain drench me
Impossible to see the road
I have to press on
Thunder roars
Rattling my insides
A lion, a predator
Driving me away
Lightening snaps
Lighting up the sky
Immobilized
I want to retreat
The storm is a straight jacket
Held in nature’s prison
I accept defeat
How vicious thinking of you is,
How disruptive it is to the calm in my life.
Because I know your mind dwells somewhere else,
You are forgetting me, beautiful one.
And you, the man, that destroys the ease,
With every passing day,
The storm breaks upon my skin,
And I shatter again,
All the glass at your feet,
So retreat, retreat.
These words have become so vicious,
And luring to the dark,
You tear me apart, and wash me away,
How I love you so, so much still,
Without you even knowing, caring,
How vicious that is.
just one more month
to wait for ten new fingers to be wrapped around two of mine-
for plump little cheeks
and dimpled chin
for burps and poops and spit up all over again-
always worth the wait
worth every second every pain
waiting to be your grandma
so not waiting in vain.
Midday, June
Inside, my big mutt dog,
who looks like an Anatolian
but whose mother is surely a Great Pyrenees,
sprawls across my treadmill
all snores, ivory fur, and black face.
Outside, the sky is smudged charcoal,
the air that peculiar clear green I’ve only seen
in Oklahoma when the atmosphere is charged
and ripe for a tornado.
Still, I pull on rubber boots
and walk outside for inspiration
to write a purely visual poem.
Browns and reds built the foundation
Blues and greys structure tear down those secrets of formation
Pinks and yellows give glory to the transformation
Peach frees the child’s soul of word translations
Squeezing out the blessed women’s Identity
Of a born leader
My grandma in her prime,
Dusting the bones of her body,
With my grandpa’s spirit and ingesting all my bitterness.
She knows the world in a way I do not.
She struggle with the patience of the calm before a storm,
But she is the resilient mountain,
The water of the waves hitting the rocks,
She is potent in her givings.
She swallows all my bitterness,
And caresses my heart with perseverance, I would not have otherwise.
I love her in the raging storms,
Her brittle figure, paints the image of strength in my eyes.