24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
edge of the world
“here there be witches and dragons,”
they said
with their rotten-breathed words-
rumpled, boney fingers digging into paper images
too faded to read.
I know their imagination is duller than their one good eye:
they can’t see the possibility of wonder
or mystery
or whatever, truly hangs there:
on the edge of the world
spilling words from amphorae
like honey
and sticking to everything all the way down.
(c) r. l. elke
You were born with a soul that longed for change
I was born to keep things the same
For so long I kept you
A bird in a cage
Lovingly cared for
Knowing someday I would have to open the door
Knowing you would see no point in coming back
I want you to know
That if you ever decide to return
There will be a place for you
Nothing changes for me
But everything changes for you
And if I am just a footnote in your glorious life
I hope you remember me fondly
If you’ve never been to the edge
I highly recommend it
Only as a place to visit though
To live there would be detrimental
to your mental health
which is to say,
your life
in its entirety.
Exclusive, stark and uninviting
mind numbing
trance inducing
harbingers of hate
each outdoing theother
spewing hate and bile
bettering their taunts
trolling goading
threatening stampeding
until
Like lemmings
marching to their doom
over the edge.
At the edge of the world
I get on my belly and ease my way forward,
peer down into a void velvet black.
My eyes adjust and I see it is not a void at all.
Slowly shapes emerge: other
flat worlds are floating by,
each with a woman
peering back at me.
Hour Four
Outlining plans
with graphite tracing
the intent-
gradients of charcoal
delineate from our
preconceived form
an insult to our potential.
Our attempts to take over
and mold over
the wire mesh construction-
half-hearted clay structure
unassuming
to the crack from the
heat of the kiln.
We observe the slanted strokes
of ink to pen
in abstract thought
and underlying meaning.
Oil streaks as the canvas weeps
fields of color upon it’s blank slate
a newborn creation yearning
to stretch it’s legs
and run like water
changing colors-
chameleon ideations
Making our reality
instead of our minds.
Terra verde and Payne’s grey lament-
coalescing hues
of personality, a prism
of sun-stricken fractals
whose reflection is diffused
upon the walls of self-
a color scheme of multi-chromatic
emotions undulating
with no adverse effect
to the masterpiece mirrored
in our choice of being-
to know without seeing…
Blindfolded painters are we
bequeathing the authority of art
to the greatest creator-
our free-will desire for control
of our imaginings,
a paltry scribble compared
to the artistic hands who has
a grander idea in mind
of our future-
a magnum opus that is life.
With authoritative strokes,
He fashions us instruction –
dual creators working in tandem
with destiny.
Our destination, a wisp of brush
a flick of pencil,
the stroke of pastel faith-
the writ of our stories
as we are the ink
With His hand on the pen.
I walk to the edge of the earth
one of many little lemmings
all in unison
But unlike lemmings
there was no controller
no one to send me off the edge
It wasn’t what I expected
I expected awesome
A great cliff
maybe a safety barrier… just in case
But all I saw was my reflection
judging me for things I’ve done
I walk home
an underwhelmed lemming
set in his ways
I’ll never change.
The earth was flat when he last looked
sitting at the kitchen table,
concentrating hard,
with wooden pieces strewn haphazardly
across a red checked tablecloth.
Europe had disintegrated into pieces
with eastern wars erupting;
troubles breaking worlds apart
flood and famine
tornadoes, hurricanes, disease,
Omnivorous firestorms displacing everyone
And all living things
running now to the very edge
of this earthly plain
to find the oceans cascading,
in great floods escaping,
down the table legs.
There’s nothing there; just emptiness
A void so deep and dark
That you could fall forever
And never make a mark
No stars to twinkle merrily
No moons to show the sun
Just a darkness made of black
With nowhere left to run
This is what I think I’d see
If the Earth were really flat
And I looked right off the edge
Just an endless sea of black
Like the deepest, darkest well
Without a wish to make
I’m so glad the Earth is round
And that’s not a chance I’d have to take.
~Mandy Kocsis©2023~
I would like to lose
myself
in a sea of wildflowers
below a deep blue sky
and a gentle sun.
I would like to lose
myself
in a glade in the woods
listening to the breeze
in the trees above.
I would like to lose
myself
in a desert canyon
with stars overhead
and a rising moon.
I would like to find
myself
far out in the ocean
surrounded by dolphins
and an infinite sense of peace.