24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I recall your gentleness
My hand in your mouth
My head on your belly
I recall your spark
But also your softness
Given with sleepy eyes
And a pleasant rumble
I recall your wildness
Running in the rain
Loving you and letting you go
I’m gonna be chillin
Melting under the sun
Say what?
You don’t care
ok then, let me be
I’m gonna be chillin
Flexin
Being me
under the sun
Nothing left to say
unless I say everything
like an exhibitionist for voyeurs – bleeding
Freedom = nothing to lose
they say
not true?
Nothing – trapped
Eyes closed – black
red – retina
Faces – imaginary
Face- the last thing
you see
before death, and then entropy
Perform inward
No
No phones
No Cameras
No Posts
Some Days, a Potter; Some Days a Poet
onto the wheel with a slap,
intended to dispel
voids, air pockets.
deep massage,
knead and fold,
moisten and spin,
splatter and twirl
bits under my nails
hand-shaped, molded,
smoothing the rough
cupping the weak,
urging substance
into the voids
pinching,
fettling,
editing
excess
it is short,
no stretch or give;
I either have to start again–
or let it sit to dry as is.
With thanks to Tracy and to Debbie for their inspiration
Hour Three – Unprompted, 2023.
At 14, we held an assembly:
Our first meeting,
Burned into my memory.
You
& Childhood
and me,
Sat together as friends,
In a group of Three;
Wish I could tell her,
What we’ve grown to be.
Prayers and passions,
For the past that led to our union –
Connections and Resurrections;
A clean shot at blessed Communion.
Coke Zero,
You are my hero,
here to save
this damsel
from distress, disorder, and
dozing. Praise the Lord!
(A shadorma is a six line poem with a syllable count of 3/5/3/3/7/5, respectively. As a diabetic, at my doctor’s orders, I have essentially sworn off drinking anything other than plain water or unsweetened tea, as even artificial sweeteners are a problem healthwise. However, with this being my fifth consecutive Poetry Marathon, I know full well there is absolutely ZERO CHANCE of me surviving the next 24 hours without some caffeine flooding my veins. Yeah, it’s gonna be one of THOSE kinda days!)
The muses are not amusing,
or easily amused.
In fact they are bemused.
Often used
and sometimes abused.
Yes, they confuse.
They have been accused.
But they are only a muse.
Who may refuse.
So give them their dues.
Let them infuse,
Listen to your muse.
Did I do something wrong?
They are staring with two dark holes
Don’t tell me to be strong!
behind those osteocytes lie many souls
There are many bones in our museum
Patella, femur and tibia
They’re from abandoned bodies I assume
Prisoners from Chad, Nigeria and Libya
Every bone I try to study
Whispers a story to my hearing
It’s scary out there!
The ribcage was murdered by his own buddy
The fontanelle was killed by her own mummy
Some how they got here
Just to be manhandled
A sad afterlife
After a sad life
But the students don’t care
It’s the bone’s cross to handle
Except me!
I know their story
It’s stuck in my head like a tattoo
And they seem to know me too
Must be why they visit me every night in my dreams.
I do get scared!
But they promised I won’t fail this semester’s Bone test
They’ll help me revise from coccyx to head
For now, I’ll Forget fear
let’s pass first!
In ten years, these steps I fear will be paths I have walked. I have dreams and my fears triple every one of them but someday, probably in yen years, I’ll overcome them to create new ones
In ten years, I would love a partner with the approval of my parents, I will grow more confident and these secondary school teachers will be proud to have mentored me
But today, I have assignments I need to do
I have a love letter to write and my parents must not know that I love a boy