24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Over the Edge
There be dragons
Fire breathing
Fast flying beasties
Playing catch with the plants
Riding the Milky way like a roller-coaster
Vaporising space monkeys
Scattering ash like snow upon our land
Flaming the sun as it tries to hide
Icing the moon
In hues of blue against crimson
Beware
Don’t get too close
All the mysteries of the unknown
Can be found … over the edge
Memories sixty years long trucked away.
Collections stuffed in boxes
Meaningful mementos moved
One chair remains
From the naked eye,
I see the World as flat.
Even when I hike to
the edge of a cliff, there is another
platform of rock below-
a safety net-
a line I do not cross!
But, from this flat line where I stand to
the horizon line, Life is neither flat nor dull!
Life is alive with:
vivid colours, textures, hues and sounds.
Life explodes in richness and shape!
Life takes on various shapes and forms.
Sounds of life: tones, harmonies and frequencies
bend in appreciation.
Moving, flowing-growing with Life!
Travelling the world in waves Life is
in constant motion.
Giving even further Life
through breath and growth.
The World Might be flat
But, Life is not!
Write a poem about something ending. It could be a relationship, a stage in life, or the apocalypse. The details are up to you.
And so this is how it ends
The discomfort, the fake smiles, the awkward conversation
Or lack of
The words aren’t there anymore
They don’t flow
They don’t come easily
Each one is measured
Deliberated over
To make sure nothing offends
So this is how it ends
Strangers who once entertained each other
Shared meals
Shared secrets
Fears
Life
Strangers who once were a lifeline
In times of trouble
Grief
And fun, let’s not forget the fun
This is how it ends
With the distance far greater
Than the few inches that separate us
The glazed-over eyes
The pretend call that had to be taken
The not even offered hug
Or fake promise of let’s get together soon
Or worse still
It was so good to see you
It ends
They walk away
Without looking back
Without a tear
Or regret
Just relief
It’s over
It ends
Who’s to Blame?
Things did not go as planned.
Do we blame the personal assistant
Who arranged the business dinner at 1804 C Street?
Or the Uber driver
Who assumed it was C Street NW not NE?
Or the executive who didn’t specify
If he wanted Indian food or French cuisine?
Or the lawyer who insisted
He knew where and when and what they should eat?
Or the delivery man who double-parked his van that blocked C Street
And backed up traffic for half an hour?
Or the nanny
Who couldn’t pick up the children from school?
Or the principal
Who issued a detention to one of the children for name-calling?
Or the weatherman
Who forecast 5” of snow and it happened?
Or the minister
Who had encouraged families to slow down?
Blame is a game that nobody-wins.
Cindy Herndon
Dear Crab;
Hey. I want to talk
to you for just a moment
about this- Persona you got
going on.
You started being crabby
because of what you went through
that’s ok-
I get it. I understand
But I want to caution you
some people don’t see it that
way and think you’re being childish
It hurts to hear that, I know
I want you to know that
it’s ok to let your guard down
It’s ok to be warm and fuzzy
I know you’re scared to
I am asking you to lay down your
shell. You do not need it anymore
You’re not the same person you were
when you were 17-
hell you’re not the same person you were
last year
and that’s ok. Life is a tricky thing
It’s all about finding yourself where you
were
are and
want to be
You’re going to be ok
and I can’t wait to see
the beautiful crab without her shell
Nature is a canvas, it blossoms
A Photographic eye captures its fragrance
The lenses catch its colors and brightness
Every moment recorded in Golden light.
Wherever Nature petals blooms in between flowers
Silently they murmur lots of stories
which were hidden in Nature dreams
Vision takes a role and flights with lens
The photographic eye clicks in hand
Concentration and patience, draws new scenes
You can shoot images with creative eye, a vivid dream
Lenses capture new senses, with beautiful essences
It reveals reality with lens if you are good enough.
Hour-6 Prompt-image
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
That is why, my dear, I am not insane but merely a genius.
No two of my canvases will resemble each other,
As I am a talented man of well-rounded abilities
Painting music, composing poems, and singing in color.
I carefully collect each shade of crimson and ultramarine and ochre
To recreate portraits of skin and blood and trees and air, pumping through a web
Of eternal creativity begging to be released by only my hand; the hand that feeds.
I build my own instruments of leather and wood, breathing in the soft wind of legacy
In my palms, in the notes of this page, in the music to be sung forever.
I have created a life of art for my infinite audience and
I have committed no crimes.
Allowing the world to kill me off has become my sin;
Through the fog, you will never find anyone else
As crazy as me.
Image Courtesy of Pixabay
Upon the flat Earth,
Gaze o’er the edge’s unknown,
Endless mysteries,
Uncharted realms lie below,
Infinite abyss aglow.
Antoinette LeRoux © 2023
1 Cracks in the cup crawl through my brain
setting off sparks
electrical overloads
I never can get this glued back together enough
to stop the sparks
2 Cups hold all of the universe
cradled galaxies
moons in orbit bumping the rim
stars spill over
3 wrapping my hands around the warm cup
gentle scent of honey and chamomile
my tongue is burnt
by the amber liquid
humming to myself in my cozy corner
4 I can see the sculptor’s hands
when I touch the cup
fingerprints remain
from long lines held steady
as the vessel took shape
5 I walked into the Cannon Brew Pub
with the need for whiskey
Tyson Anthony held up the bottle
my personal cup in hand
I raised my thumb
he poured
my cup now filled with the required drink
by the time I sat at the bar
6 Cups hold nothing
not even air to breathe with
not even space to live in
not even sound
everything leaks out
spills out
trips out
and slips away
7 Except
cups do hold my love
when nothing else will
8 The cups are lined up on the window
that has never seen a defenestration
Probably for best as
we are on the ground floor
Does yeeting cups out a window though
count as a defenestration?
9 I have cups and therefore I am sick
I have cups with which to have tea
I often only have tea when sick
If I didn’t have cups
maybe I wouldn’t get sick
as there would be no need for tea
Can you tell I’m sick right now?
10 Autistics have hyperfixations
They make them happy
They are their special subjects
Upon finding another with the same special subject
it is less like a competition
and more like the last geek on earth finding the only other last geek
Who knew anyone else would have a hyperfixation around cups???
11 The blue cup of memory
slides along the counter to me
My dad’s coffee cup
is full of hot coffee
that I poured from the pot
and balanced all the way down
the hallway
without spilling a drop
for the first time
at age 9
12 Shards of porcelain litter the floor
I smile
years of stained porcelain
now useless
scattered on the linoleum
looks so very pretty
13 I grabbed the blue coffee cups
I was going to wrap them in newspaper
but I threw them to the ground
listened to their cracking and splitting
each blast more satisfying than the last
14 Kiel watched like he often does
sipping on a glass of whiskey and coke
He looks like he should be sitting at the Cannon
laughing with Tyson across the bar
like he often used to do
Now he’s just staring at the constellations of porcelain shards on the floor
15 “You know it’s not right now,” he says
I nod
“But it will be soon. And I don’t want them.”
“I doubt he will care about coffee cups when he’s gone
but mother will, and we must think of her.”
I drop my head
This satisfying collection of coffee cup shards
will only live in my head
16 Tiny shards twinkle in the dust pan
catching the light
then losing it again
slide into the trash
17 The shards of the cups of
the memories of the house of
the wizard of the woods of
the enchantress of the books of
the story never told of
the past that still holds of
the curse that follows us all
18 Schissa
19 The vibrations from the people in the house
make the little cups click together
Their tiny reverberations
sing of emptiness
20 Stars spill out of the cracks
in the coffee cup
as it sings of lost days
when it wished to be held