24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I passed the flower seller’s
White van
Parked on the side of a
Six-lane road
Like it always is
On the weekend.
But today
Instead of sheltering in the shade
Of her blue awning,
She danced around the nearest light pole.
“Now that ought to move some orchids,”
I thought.
After some twenty of them
had been disposed of
during the waning moon
with costumes and masks and enchantments
he now wished he had not sacrificed his sons
laughing
they would never throw themselves down weeping
to die of grief
we have to rise
just as vegetation dies only to reappear in the springtime
what’s wrong with the way I kiss? Asked the winter wind
everything
i replied even as I thanked Boreas
in the deep of my heart
for the sweet relief from the smoke and flames
then it was
during the waxing moon
when costumes are removed
masks unmasked
enchantment is revealed
and winter is come
Be careful, Rapunzel
I ask this of thee;
Let not down your guard
For your own safety.
With so many missing
I shall go Mama Bear;
If someone ever hurts you
Their death I declare!
You may think I’m bossy
Some day you’ll understand;
When you are a parent
You’ll hold your child’s hand.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel
Yes, you may play outside;
I will sit on the porch, though,
Keeping watch with my eyes.
Dear Emily- Poem #7 for Poetry Half Marathon
Dear Emily-
Thank you for your words today
written centuries ago.
Their wisdom has more meaning
Than ever you would know.
Wise words you provide
Take flight from my page,
Resting in imagination they strive
To leave remembrances-
Alive!
Hope, Freedom, Pain and Release
You address these all.
With metaphors that will not cease
And similes that sing sweet song
Leaving readers now at their peace.
If you happen to find me,
I’ll be crocheted in a blanket of red, white, and yellow,
Woven in a basket of wicker,
Amidst a pile of elephant figurines,
That’s where you may find me.
Scavenging through the things of the past,
Looking for the things that made shit last,
Made it surpass all the aftermath of eviction notices.
A soul under siege,
Sold to a storage locker,
Floating the seven seas in bits and pieces,
Wearing the world on her faces in wrinkles and creases.
Suffering can be a beautiful things,
What strength circumstance brings,
Beauty: a thing called courage: a renaissance,
Basking in the museum of memories,
Reminiscing trinkets and treasures sold to the highest bidder,
Home is where the heart finds it fit to survive such loss:
At all of the greatest costs.
Home: a no man’s land to me,
Where roots have no foundation,
And the foundation is made up of broken dreams.
You may find me, you may lose me all the same,
The price of home: an expensive, unattainable gain.
They exist in a world once removed from reality where pain only last a moment and death is for the bad guys. But here in reality we need more heroes super or not because with an abundance of villains our imaginations are all we’ve got.
In the early morning
Before the dawn
The stillness surrounds until
The sun slowly rises over the hill
Then the shrill noise
Heralding the beginning
of a new day
One lonely Lorikeet
Flies directly to the bird feeder
In haste and heightened expectation
Then the Serenade begins!
The call to arms
Slowly one by one they appear
Then suddenly the patio and surrounding garden
Is amass of the colours
Green, Blue and Red
Masses and masses of
Lorikeets have arrived
And with it a loud crescendo of noise
The trees are loaded with
The birds, branches bending from
The lorikeet circus act being performed!
The squabbles and arguments
Being held by some
Quickly dissipated by the status quo
The first lieutenants taking charge
Of their subordinates
Then suddenly as they arrived
They are once again on the move
As the bird feeder has run dry
For as long as the bird feeder is a bounty
The Serenade of the Lorikeets will ensue
Tomorrow and even the next day after that.
I watch you struggle silently
And offer Love in hand.
I cannot walk the road for you
I CAN be your friend.
Offering a hand to hold,
An ear to listen,
And a heart that knows
There is grace…
Even in this.
Soft is The Hand
That holds my hand
And soft the love that flows.
Plans have changed and I am on a different route
the hotel made a mistake
but there are others
it will change my thoughts
maybe my writing
so I will be back in an hour
checked in
stretched on my yoga may
ready to write…
Dear One,
I see you reaching
For so very many things
So many dreams
Some will come true
Others will not
Some will allude you like a thief in the night
There will be cold dark days of hell
Nights of endless wonder
And many many many days of pain
You will be surprised by who you love
Who will stand by you and who will not
And the ones that will break you
You will have days of rejoicing
But it is the pain that will make you
Get up from the cold floor
Take a step and then a few more
Keep reaching as high as you can
Until your arms ache and your back breaks
And your legs quiver and quake
You will never lose more than you can
You will never achieve if you don’t get up again
You will never know love if you don’t open your heart
You cannot finish
If you are ashamed to start
So start dear one, start today
Climb every ladder and sing every song
Write every poem and love
Let your self love and be loved
Lets see how much further we can go….