24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
time to refresh, breathe through a homemade squeezed watermelonrich in red with white seeds,
be careful not to swallow any seeds.
May grow a watermelon tree inside. As the myth is told to children.
watermelon…a heavy fruit
yet like the 90% water we containthis fruit is practically water disguised in a heavy weighted ball.
A refreshing and an aromatic way to stay cool
this summer.
A cat will continue to chase a red dot,
Even though he can never catch it,
Even though it’s not tangible,
Just because it brings him joy.
The Treasure
It was in the soft moonlight
in the after hours of her job
where he came by her office
and said his ‘good morning’
even though it was still dark
she wanted him to be honest
because she knew this one thing
he thought of her as his treasure island
while she thought of him as her treasure
@ Renee Avard-Furlow
June 13 2015
Pug poems.
1.Pug Face
Have you ever noticed
The disturbing resemblance
Between a pug
And a Toby jug?
I think it’s a case
Of the squashed face
And buttoned nose.
Well .. anything goes,
But I’d bet on the pug
Against the Toby jug
All day and night
If there’s ever a fight.
2. Dog v Wolf
“Whoa! What is that?
It’s not real.
The stuff of nightmare.”
That’s what a wolf thinks
When it meets a pug.
“Whoa! Stupid, hairy mutt.
Hehe. Too big
To get through the cat-flap!”
That’s what a pug thinks
When it meets a wolf.
Watching my steps to avoid puddles of water
Dark gloomy stone walls, dripping with slime
Two sets of raised tracks, each 9 feet apart with too-narrow paths near the damp walls
What if two trains enter the tunnel at the same time? I could be crushed.
Looking behind me, I see misty green trees in the distance. Mystery.
Looking ahead, I am nearly blinded by the bright sunlight. Light.
What an amazing space to enter AS LONG AS no trains enter.
I could write a book on you.
Lines mark boundaries, your hair an unwoven curtain.
There are some places that not even the sun can touch you.
I could write a novella of those eyes, dark sad depths that they are.
A sonnet for your hands alone, a quatrain for your lips and
a few disjointed lines for every bend. A line each for muscles;
biceps, triceps, abdominals, pectoralis, the slope of trapezium, the tight lines
of gluteals and quadricepts. A haiku for your jawline; diamond pattern
refrain for your aquilanic features. A book for you, my love, to treasure
when I slow with age, we both our own slow velocity to our literary end.
I’ll sing to thee
In the same way you once sung to me
I will lay you down
Beneath the old willow tree
But the autoharp you once used to play
Will be put away
Will be put away
Put away
I’ll sing to thee
In the same way you once sung to me
I will tuck you in
For a long winter’s sleep
And the folk hemns you once used to sing to me
I will make them ring
I will make them ring
Make them ring
I’ll sing to thee
In the same way you once sung to me
I will let you go
Before I must walk home alone
And the sad sound this shared lullaby
Will be my goodbye
Will by my goodbye
Goodbye
by Karen Sullivan
Form: Dirge
Why do I write?
Well, on paper my st-st-stutter isn’t a problem.
Through text, I can say anything.
And if some people don’t like it,
Then it really doesn’t matter.
I don’t have to worry about their reactions,
Just mine.
I may be as proper as I see fit,
But there ain’t no rules ‘gainst me shortnin’ what I want, neither.
I can create worlds without gravity,
Or where people grow flowers instead of hair.
When I write,
I am unlimited un my imagination, strength, and intelligence.
I can be whoever I want,
And escape from the monotonous everyday.
Writing is paradise,
And I will never give it up!