24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Ah the little things will kill you
And they say that’s due to hope
Hoping for improvement
Over a loveless gloat
Hope is heavy
And makes you light
Hope is solid
And made of light
Not liquid nor a gas
Hope is not something you can pass
Like a test by thirsty friend
Hope is sweetness
Condensed like milk
Until she knows she’s your one
What is it, what is it?
I know that I know this.
It’s like, that word that means
But it’s not that word.
Or maybe it’s more like
But again, not that word either.
What is it, what is it?
It’s there at the tip of my tongue.
I suppose I’ll think of it later.
Equal wages and opportunities
One or no religion
Gender equality
All sexual orientations accepted
Accessible and uniformed housing for all
Respect for all professions
Seems like the perfect world
Seems like an unachievable dream
Ours isn’t like that
It has its flaws
It has its imperfections
And yet it’s somehow
Perfectly imperfect
In response to text prompt number 23
Permanent and shifting,
Perpetually transfiguring in the dimn of night,
Contrite in the radiance of day.
My dormant gloom occupy’s the Shadow
Judges from its sanctity.
Its there I will indulge relief,
Reverence and absolution await the awakening.
People are real and complex and composed of
out of context quotes, half-remembered daydreams,
and coffee-stained yesterdays – there is a beauty
in such fascinating feelings and experiences;
but we can’t all boil down to rhyme or reason
so easily – we don’t all fit the same molds –
and honestly where would the fun in that be?
So next time you pick up a collection of poetry
or go to a museum or peruse a community garden
I hope you’ll admire the differences and the personalities-
I hope you’ll take note of all the butterflies
and hummingbirds and silver linings guiding
you wherever it is you need to go.
Time and age and choice can change people
but you do have a say in how they affect you.
-M. Rene’
Poem 25: BONUS:
There’s a fluffy purple owl
named Moonlight and she was
born during the space between
the witching hour and our secret
phone calls- well before the
artist’s hour but you can tell
there’s creativity in those feathers –
that inspiration truly takes flight
and when the final moments
of forever finally arrive – she will be
the sole reminder that even then
there is still beauty and hope.
-M. Rene’
This has been a blast and there’s even an extra poem for you because one of my fellow writers with a ginormous weekend goal gave me a purple owl stuffed animal named moonlight and we had to celebrate that. thank you for the support. I have poemed and won. now for sleep.
Crack of dawn has come.
Sunshine peeping through the trees.
‘Tis the end, for now.
Coming Home (haiku)
round the bend could be
anything, or nothing at all,
the cash draw – empty.
A World Away
The soldiers rally on, working to defeat the intruders.
After a late night invasion, the attack is doubled.
The forces surround the invaders, like skin covering a sphere
The captured are conquered, divided, dismembered
They are sent out to do the bidding of King Acid.
In the world in my stomach, battles fire up, then cool.
A Cherita poem
Brush my teeth as water warms.
A towel and a cloth.
My body ready
for its crystalline energy.
Shampoo, then condition.
A foaming gel of roses
meets my skin,
washing every inch in luxury.
Towel off, then moisturize
the face, the arms, the legs
the feet, especially.
Feet so ignored in the past.
Brush in the mousse
with hair still wet,
and wash my hands
of its stickiness.
Conceal the dark
around my eyes.
Chanel, my preferred
five minutes of cosmetics.
Then brush and blow
my hair just so.
Get dressed!
I’m ready to go.