24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
This human suit of flesh and blood no longer serves it purpose.
The crippling fear turning sighs into a howl; with skin too tight,
eyeball crawling out from its socket.
I wonder if you ever saw me in scorching daylight?
Troll-like features, glued together in an order without logic.
Dots and specks of flaming red breaking the symmetry
of feverish yellow hue.
About the Esplanade,
The country’s premier arts centre,
Opinions are divided.
For seen from above,
It does resemble a giant housefly at rest,
With huge eyes open.
Curiously though,
At ground level,
With steel slats all over the glass roof,
A seeming afterthought,
Against the blazing tropical sun,
It looks more like a durian.
The popular nickname is certainly apt,
For this “King of Fruits”,
Succulent though its flesh may be,
Akin to a chemical WMD,
Its notoriously pungent aroma,
Aptly describes some of what it passes off as culture.
Your little head snuggles into my arm,
One last time,
And I can’t help but smile,
Even though I know
This gasp of breath
Coming from your tiny lungs
Is your final cry.
And then I really am alone.
This morning I was someone else
A long days journey into self
Words pulled from forgotten places
Reading posts from new familiar faces
Walking a prompt, rewiring an avenue
Pulling hats off of rabbits, changing my venue
An endless journey finally drawing to end
Pushing ideas around making new friends
A days worth of poems
A lifetime of wordings
A half hours napping
New truths unfolding
Way too much coffee
Not enough sleep
Way too much thinking
Which words do I keep
Its a mythical journey
Something grand has transpired
I’m achy and flakey and overly tired
Time’s almost over
My bed will await
I’ll sleep a few hours
And be on my way
Glad to be finished
Didn’t give in to defeat
Wrote me some poems
But glad to complete
He woke me up with a kiss on my forehead and the scent of pancakes and bacon coming from the kitchen. He whispered goodmorning as he caressed my hand. I sat up in the dark room lit by the television and the possibilities he wanted to nourish me before he ravaged me and I was a willing participant. He slowly poured syrup on the pancakes sliding the bacon to the side cause he knows how I like my meals served. A full stomach and full heart he whispers to me goodmorning sweet lady as he kissed away the remnants of syrup on my lips and asked me did I enjoy my 3am pancakes? I responded with gratitude as I always do climbed back into bed and whispered to him are you ready for your 4am interlude?????
She thinks herself uncreative.
Like she has no original bone in her body.
She thinks herself as not being able to think outside the box.
She fears not being able to break away from the mediocrity.
But, there’s spark in these wee lad.
There’s an eagerness to learn and grow from each idea.
There lies within her a drive to do more.
There lies within her a talent and curiosity that will bring her far in life.
Kayla, keep your chin up.
Even when it feels like not much, you’ve got this.
they could call me schizophrenic
for the ways i am keeping myself
alive
i stopped being human at
two in the morning
my voice grew hoarse from
talking myself awake
instead of counting sheep
i send them to the slaughter
instead of night sweats
i wake up soaked in memories,
i was left to boil
in a pre-rusted pan
though after i settle
i am blamed for the rust
__ar.
I found everything when
I found your foot imprint
I found my destination,
whole point of existence
The hidden pain manifested,
I became aware of my heart
Now what can I say,
what I GAINED from you
Still in my senses
But what to say
I remember some
Of it
Forgot some..
The intensity of agonies
What to say
I remember some
Of it
Forgot some
Night is silent
And moon is intoxicating
Wind is singing silent songs
Earth is singing with it
And heaven is listening …
Night is cold
With a warm embrace, strangely
Cosmos is scented
And swaying with all
Love is ardent in garden
Of my heart..