24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Moonlight and poetry
Virginia Carraway Stark
I dreamt I wrote a poem
It was stuck in a moonbeam
I couldn’t get it out
Just gazed at it in longing
Thinking
That If kisses
Were like poetry
That could get stuck in moonbeams
They would be open
Empty doorways
Filled with possibility
With nothing in between
Each letter a mote
Of starlight in your eyes
As the dream was faded
The moonbeam snatched away
I wondered where my poem
Had gone
Moonlight got
In my face
I stood before them,
Silent
My soul screaming
I desperately needed,
Wanted their attention
It was more painful
To be alone in the crowd
Then to slice open my wrists
Again
And again
Yet, there I stood
Desperately pining
For a love I’d never be allowed to know
Write a poem that contains at least three of following five phrases.
“good morning”
“be honest”
“treasure island”
“soft moonlight”
“after hours”
I am posting here 🙂
The rumbling in my stomach is the curse I possess
I glide into the black, its lapping caress
Thunderously hungry, it’s night but I’m chill
I wait. I wait. I’m the silence, the still.
I own every movement of the water surround.
Moving over my body, unaware, not a sound.
I own the darkness, the cool of the meer
The watery depths, the mud, the fear.
The ache in my belly growls deep but I wait.
For my prey to be lulled to the peaceful strait.
My eyes fix on this space; beyond, stars like jewels
The last he will see as the darkness falls.
“Professional driver, closed course, do not attempt.” You know you want this car. You know you want to ease your model-like lank into this techno-womb and feel satin controls against your skin. Of course, it’s nighttime, and cool gleam surrounds you. The machine itself creates its own benevolent shine as pavement streams past effortlessly. Have you noticed no other cars on the road? Yes, you know that’s how you want it. Finally, you’re free. Free to unleash all the power within you. You’re a success and this is your reward. The accelerator cups your shoe. You whip the wheel and make impossible turns.
Sorry. Not allowed. See, this is a closed course. Probably non-existent. CGI, no doubt. And you’re not a professional driver. We know you floss while driving, drop condiments on the floor, sweat against upholstery. By now you know the drill, right? It’s a commercial. You’re being seduced. We want you to buy the car. The capabilities of the car? Not for you. You don’t get to experience them. Come on, look at what that driver is doing. Clearly illegal.
But think how irresistible you’ll look driving this car. Abiding the law. Making payments. Total control.
to write:
to expel,
each breath,
immortal man;
to take up the mantle long forsaken–
to mourn the widow’s tears
and reword the newborn cry;
to speak for the mute,
to hear for the unwilling.
we are the craftsmen,
the slaves to the unwrit,
seers of beauty and horror
which no man stomachs.
we are the makers,
forgers of story and song.
we are the wordsmiths,
we are the prophets,
we are the poets.
