24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
There are many ways to get hime
You can go on Nakoma Road, Old Sauk Road, Old Middleton, or Gammon Road.
There may even be other ways, satisfying, interesting, dramatic, or dull ways;
Yes, home; there is only one 805 Blue Ridge Parkway.
One kitchen, one living room, one yard.
This is the place I call home.
A Symbol of My Choosing
Vibrant colors and scattered pieces,
Bursting with the potential of a whole.
Though it has been denounced as a symbol of hate
I will reclaim it for myself.
I’m not missing pieces or a puzzle to solve,
Nor am I in search of a cure for who I am.
Instead, the jigsaw reminds us that we’re all unique
And that in the grand picture of His love
We all have a place where we fit in.
Looking like love whether asleep or awake
I love my little angel face. She’s time everlasting
the winds lay at her feet.
Angels guard her doorstep. The sun
lightens her path. The moon is her friend
they talk every night.
I love my little angel face
she makes my burdens alight.
Life moves and dances about her
Like a night at the ballet.
What a joy to have in my life
my little angel face.
Mere words are difficult
trying to explain what’s in my
heart. The love I feel will take
much more to express what’s
what with me and my little angel face.
I could write, and write, and write
from now on but I can’t ever really
explain what love and joy I feel
for my little angel face… Only
time can reveal. No matter what
my angel face is my must. I have to have
my baby girl; my granddaughter; my little angel face.
I hope that someone gets the gist
of what I’m trying to express.
I love my little angel face
and she’s the family crest.
The Poor Little Souls
The school’s foundation was your graves.
No prayers were given,
Charlise motto was your eulogy.
“Kill the Indian, kill the school.”
No one knew your names.
Your faces faded long ago.
Only the real Higher Beings
cherished your shadowed memories.
The news came as a shock
like the nation never heard of a genocide before.
Can Canada really do such a thing?
“More than 200 children bodies found….”
215 lost smiles.
215 future leaders gone.
No laughs to echo the school’s horrid past.
No child was safe from discrimination,
as they were buried like jane and john does.
My heat aches as I recall this discovery.
For I can not say RIP
to those poor souls.
Sometimes I am
called ma’am,
sometimes I am
called miss,
sometimes they
follow me with eyes,
other times they
follow me with words,
sometimes I look
tenacious and strong,
sometimes I look
modest and fragile,
sometimes all I want
is wild sex,
sometimes I want
kisses and hugs
from the man I love.
Sometimes I want
juicy beef or sweat cake.
Sometimes I want you
with me or without me.
Sometimes I need attention,
sometimes I need distance,
sometimes I am too much,
sometimes I am too little.
Where is my heart
scattered over the territory
left outside of me
resting, agitated, awaiting decree
I shall attempt to define
each piece
before I reach a conclusion
of totality’s transfusion
I could take steps
from my feet of pain
to embrace a life that stands
bearing my tight, cold hands
Assuming agony is hot
then my chilled emotions
could anchor one’s fear
changing lacerations to scarless cheer
Recognizing my own tears
as I rise to the surface
safe from drowning sorrow
… There is faith to borrow
Will yesterday’s wine
give me courage
or is the intoxicant a guise
to my own demise
Before my put-together heart
can be heard elsewhere
commemorating my trail
pathing my passion to avail
Must I enter another world
hateless…
a home for gentler words
crickets and window-sill birds
I am on my side centipede
For the sobs have drilled to the core already
Cracked and vibratoed
I have fallen into the aftershocks
The little trembles
When the ache is deepest
Has dripped its way through my throat
Rested on my chest
Tripping over my lips as it leaves again
A tear comes
Slow and salt
Paralells gravity a while
Trickles to nose
Makes a turn
And rolls over the cheekbone
My hand makes a request
May I lift it asks
Wipe this away
So we can all stand
Pretend better
But sometimes
We just need to soak.
The tear moves slower now
Jaw-ward bound
And I think
Who am I to stop this journey
Water is meant to move
And I am meant to still
To feel
To breathe in and out
And only that
These rules are ages old
From the last thaw
When the glaciers moved
Carved and dripped
Their way through the hardness of the world
I have heard struggle described in diamonds
That we will all shine under pressure
But pressure is not the same as pain
And a diamond pales
In the sediments of a valley
I exhale
Let the hollows of me guide the tear a little faster
Then it drops over auricle’s cliffs
making corries of my smallest bones
Currents rushing to the ear drum
And they sound like truths
And they sound like comfort
And there is more to follow tear says
When it is all done
I let my lands slide
Tilt my axis to the mirror
And see the paths still
With their freckle deposits
You are a landscape
The soaked cheeks remind me
This is how life grows.
Text Prompt:
Write a poem from the point of view of yourself, ten years ago.
Image Prompt:
-And this is how you’ll always find us
after Diana Khoi Nguyen
The day was dark and futile
My heart a wrecking ball
John resting in the loo
Overlooked and looking
for a second point of view
This is how she found us
the past draped about us like a cloak
Maria with her eagle eyes,
her boa floating by like smoke
No doubt about her energy
we were the guilty two
And she, a nose for trouble
especially that which she could use.
She was no goddess, surely
more a ghost of days gone by
An actress of the ages
of a world not yours or mine
And in our catatonic fugue
She used us as a host
Taking both the shadows
And the past hid in our cloaks
We were the first of many
Victims of her ego
And this is how you’ll always find us
If first of course you find us
Before you too feel the knife
Of that immortal vixen
And taste the futility
Of a past entwined with hers
The dawn of the last intrepid
Breath you’ve yet took
The morning that she took us
And our home became her rook