24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I’m tired and by far completely
Drained of all the things that make me
But my pen
Bleeds and
Bleeds and
Bleeds
Until I can feel
Alive again
Lub Dub Lub Dub Lub Dub
Taking on the characteristics of a
Heart
Pounding life
Supplying the necessary oxygen everywhere
Lub Dub Lub Dub
But it’s just a pen
Bleeding
For me
Lub Dub
Giving life
When I can’t find a way
Lub——
~.%
Hour 22 – 3:00 AM
Who’s mine am I in?
Or, Who’s mind am I in?
These words look like coal.
Pressurized diamonds create images of old.
Jewels upon jewels, I’m scolded for all the gold.
Any two day pass created a new arrival.
Enterprise, and monopolies is how we compromise for survival.
To many robots playing the part.
How can we evolve, if we don’t know where to start.
– J.C. ©
I closed my eyes four hours ago.
My words withered into hardened berries clinging to a November vine.
My body ached like the leafless lone oak standing in a harvested Wisconsin field.
My muse was mute.
But the hum of my heart promised
deep sleep
blessed rest
night night
sleep tight.
So I picked up that gauntlet,
only to dream
a thousand sweeter poems.
On that hot, humid night,
He walked slowly to the inn.
Halfway across the street,
He paused.
The faintest nauseating whiff
Of week-old cloying sweat,
Tinged with palpable fear.
He smiled.
And then, the slightest whisper,
Of steel being drawn
By a trembling, uncertain hand.
He grinned.
The taste of excitement
Coursed through him,
With the prospect of another duel.
He laughed.
Anticipating the side attack,
He quickly spun.
Battle-scarred sword in hand,
He thrust.
The fusillade of arrows soared down,
Spearing him instantly.
Collapsing in agony,
He died.
Made it to hour 21
3 more to go
I’ve got this now
slept about three hours
in bits and pieces thru the night
My brain is misfiring
coherent thoughts not forming
The sun is rising
my family still in bed
two and a half hours more to write.
Got it!
Squirming against the current
Jaded in my soul
I cower in a corner
Afraid of what I know
Grief, apathy, and anger
Has split my soul apart
Broken pieces, small crumbles
Dangerous pointed shards
Get up you lazy coward
Pick those pieces off the floor
Put yourself together
But the pieces are too small
I cower in a corner
Afraid of all I’ve seen
Pieces of hope are scattered
My life a broken dream
“Spirits begone, the Anthesteria is over!”
Acroplis soaked in blood.
Let the games begin.
A poor and loathesome begger
Through devious channels
Put his filthy long-fingers
Onto the head
Of a young girls golden curls
“You are my child,” he muttered
Blindly, his rheumy eyes cauled over
“You were birthed in the ancient
Fires.”
She didn’t cry
Even when his rotten, toothless
Mouth
Moved enough to her ear
So that she could feel his whiskers
And his hot breath
“Can you keep a secret?” He asked
His voice trembled with his demand
She nodded and only a mute whimper
Showed that she was more afraid
Than he
“Can you keep a promise?” He looked her
Full in the face
His brown, bloodshot eyes
Scanning her large blue ones
Both sets were filled with tears
Finally she made her lips
Move and murmured, “yes”.
He reached into a satchel
That could have been made
Of most anything
And put into her tiny,
Plump hands
Two golden clasps
She felt that something had happened
The clasp vibrated in her hands
The begger turned and left her
All ferocity now
Gone from him
And he shambled
With broken shoulders
And never even
Glanced back
The girl opened up her fingers
Her face lit up with gold
She murmured, ‘yes’
And put the clasps in the
Bottom of her jacket pocket
And skipped down the street
Where her friends were
Already at play
Five years old, “Who do you want to be?”
A pilot and a diver and a sailor on the sea.
Ten years old, “Who do you want to be?”
A teacher and an artist and a kind mother to three.
Fifteen years old, “Who do you want to be?”
A doctor and a lawyer with a bachelors degree.
Twenty years old, “Who do you want to be?”
A person who remembers what it’s like to be happy.