24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I stand alone.
Victim to my own thoughts,
Surrounded by darkness.
Wanting to move forward,
Step out of this vast emptiness,
I look around.
Prisoner to the situation,
Bystander to life.
Thinking about the what-if,
Wishing it were different,
I break free.
No longer a victim,
No longer a prisoner.
Shifting into the light,
Creating a new path,
I have evolved.
They are burying
their witless open secrets
in void orisons
They are seeking the
faces of supplication
merchants, in vacuums
They are plucking out
stars from the dark skies, sweating
All wide eyes on them
They are exhuming
their decayed consciences from
graves of opulence
They are sending scared
sacrifices to a heaven
that will not open
*Inspired by the image prompt
And I would start from your lips
Descend unto your throat
Your chest
And then your belly
And everything apart
And everything in between
Today my brain strains
against the reins,
set me free from these chains
to create quatrains.
What is this bane
causing such pain?
Is it my restrain
that I disdain?
I must now refrain
and somehow retrain
my befuddled brain
to release new quatrains.
Between life and death
Lies a place
Of warm sunshine
And gentle smiles
A place with no grief
Nor sadness
Nor despair
A place of serenity
Of quiet
Of perseverance
Between life and death
You are safe
From miseries of living
And regrets of dying
Safe
And sound
And secure
And dreaming
Between life and death
You can just dream
Of a warm, quite place
Before waking up
And finding yourself
Back in the cold clutches of hell.
Our kisses whisper, like lilies in moonlight
Our lips, a rhythmic dance, symphonies escaping parted mouths
Bathing us from above with the luminous silver rays
The stars our secrets they keep
It’s more than a day,
it’s a lifetime.
A commitment to have and to hold.
More than a dream,
this is real, babe.
And it’s been said fortune favors the bold.
More than a promise worth keeping,
it’s deep trust
that’s more precious than gold.
Countless treasures are found
on the journey
as we walk hand and hand
through all time.
Love is our faithful companion.
I am yours, my dearest sweet darling,
and I’ll forever be grateful
you’re mine.
Partners
Bound together by vow and ring,
Building a world together,
Day in and day out.
This is their destiny,
This is their job.
Each day, week, month, year,
Needs work, commitment,
Room to grow,
For two to come together,
Part,
Come together again,
Remaining each one
Inside the two of them,
Partners to the end.
I have never liked olives. I have willed it, so many many times, but I have simply never liked them.
From the black rings that make constellations on a supreme pizza, to the green planets orbiting a martini glass, or wine dark gems warmly nestled next to garlic pieces in a finger bowl, the galaxy swirl of tapenades.
I see exactly how their briny, salty, fatty nature can completely change a dish, can elevate a salad, can punch you in the face with flavor.
I have seen olive groves with their peaceful leaves playing in the air, and I’ve tasted olive oils that are somehow as refreshing as lemonade, but the second the fruit itself hits my mouth, it’s a no.
I have spent years trying to find a way to like olives. I’ve expended time and effort attempting to somehow manifest some comfort with them; love for them. Trying to convince myself I could swallow this.
Don’t you think if it was a choice, I’d like olives by now? Don’t you think I know it’d be easier just to like them? Don’t you think I’m aware that I’m missing out on something delicious, wonderful, beautiful?
I don’t want to spend my time obsessing over trying to like olives anymore, not when there is so much else to explore. I don’t want to spend my time obsessing over trying to connect with the gender I was assigned at birth anymore, not when there is so much more to explore. Regardless of how attached other people are to olives.
Conjoined twinning is perilous
oxygen and blood,
fo ever and ever,
hoping for shared viewpoints
heartbeats heard
hopes supported.
Society expects this bargain to be made
of loss in service to the other
who carries on as normal,
considers the rest as baggage
to be excised at the end.
Author: Jane Eckford
2nd September 2023