24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
An Incomplete & Out of Order List of Songs That Have A Hold On Me
– Just A Kiss by Lady A
– The Shake by Neal McCoy
– Teenage Dream by Katy Perry
– Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Off Her Clothes by Panic! At The Disco
– Fireflies by Owl City
– Why Don’t You Kiss Her by Jesse McCartney
– Fantasy Baseball at the End of the World by John K Samson
It all starts
in 20 minutes;
watching the clock
my breath, electric,
waiting for the spark,
the signal.
What will I write?
What will I discover
of myself,
heart-felt,
jagged,
soul-rending,
flat-lined,
whispering–
or screaming like a banshee.
I’ll know soon enough,
the clock taps cadence;
I march in step
for 24 miles
the finish draws near;
only one third an hour
to spill the words out,
over the dam
into the flow,
the great river
of thought,
ideas,
concepts,
misconceptions.
exhaustion tracks beside me,
sprinting ahead at times,
leaving me dusted,
road-worn,,
alone with my pillow.
But I’m making a comeback;
Barely time remains,
Sprint for 20 minutes more.
–until next year.
Prompt Twenty-Two – Visual Prompt – Silencio
Contrast
The Hush hits you when you walk in through the door
after a month in India. Or Thailand. Or Spain.
It cradles the racing, travel weary, jet lagged pain.
You can hear the neighbour’s grass being cut.
Two doors down. Through double glazed windows.
You can even hear your own heart beat
And the buzz in your ears.
But what of the buzz you left behind?
Cackling kids, constant doorbells, honking cars.
Constant chitter chatter and yelps of laughter
Merging with the yelps of stray dogs.
You cant hear the birds there, so they caw louder
To be heard. Everyone needs to be heard.
And here, its Silencio.
Birds are SO PICKY!!!!
How could they be so fickle in creating their nests?
I’ve seen them hem and haw and throw out individual hairs,
Seemingly saying
“Well, obviously that doesn’t go there!”
I just don’t get it,
Not one little bit,
But do me a favor, and please grab this chair,
I don’t like it right here,
and this pillow’s overstuffed,
and the lights are too bright,
and could you help me move the printer,
because that location is not right.
I need the bed closer to the wall,
I think that would look best…
Oh, my…
Maybe I get being picky about nests.
Mariner with sight,
Trawls the net for lighthouse waste,
Draws up the broken.
No salvage to come,
From the barnacled zombie,
Stories told on deck.
Deceptive calm waves,
Hide Rachnoc’s wrath, penance due,
Penance to be paid.
Tentacles shudder,
In cthulhu’s great, deep lair,
Rachnoc readies, rises.
Arms flay out, grasping,
Mother and son, drowning slow,
Collects sinful wood.
You came here alone,
He has blood on his dead hands,
Vengeance, life for life.
Ex fell on his knife,
Fugitive escaping guilt,
He came here alone.
Tentacles tighten,
Around the helm, over deck,
He came here alone.
Sun
greets me prematurely
as I stubbornly lie awake
just a few minutes more
I wish I could watch the day
from the sidelines
and not participate
In the mornings I
am far too tired
A warm summer day
Air dancing across my skin
Comforting, peaceful
We make time for the people and things we value
we leave space for growth and potential and even
opportunity based on the things we want in life.
Anyone who can keep you softly laughing – no matter
what the day throws at you is worth the effort it
takes to keep them around. You don’t have to learn
this one too late – enough people have already lived
and shared their stories to prevent it. Trust me,
I believe in you and the magic of genuine joy.
-M. Rene’
Hour Twenty-One (Digitally Found Poetry)
One look and you’re mine
a cluster of one
building chemistry
with dark intentions-
lucid dreaming
a spiritual spy
watching to see if
words alleviate the affliction.
One must never give up
and trust God’s timing-
know one’s value
and continue to fight
the tooth and nail
and learn to fly-
to spread one’s feathered tapestries
around the wind
and soar to the heavens.
Let loose the spirit from the cage
restricting the aptitude to move forward
with razor sharp intuition and sagacity.
Time is at a loss for words
with the prolapse of constipated
emotion spilling out from the
engorged marrow of self-preservation.
Snapshots of love encased within
a shadowbox of commemoration
collecting dust in the quiet spaces
in the snowstorms of winter’s chill.
Deceit returns from it’s journey to
the endless river of empty ambition
void of substance, depth, and
the thrill of life that love gifts.
How can it be
that the phoenix arises
within the cinder from the crossfire
of a war waged against
growth-a shameful mire
extricating the remnants
of self from the miles of green
lining the countryside
as it is burned into carbon.
The delicate sound of thunder
erupts behind the eyes
saturating the particles
that remain of the struggle
to which the result is resiliency.
The real meaning of the cross
is that we bear the labor
and exert oneself to overcome
with an elegant poetic dignity-
for it is within the struggles of
temptation and hardship that
we become grateful for the puissance-
and gladly emulate the one
whose aptitude in depth
and graceful service
sacrificed His mortality
for the sake of those of us
who choose to dwell with the living.
Throw a fistful of glitter in the air
wait, don’t, THE PLASTICS. I swear
everything will be ruined by this affair
The micros work their way in
even with my reusable straw and
all consumption a mortal sin
it’s hard not to despair
Don’t be the noun, do the verb
pretending this is a pattern i can curb
would simply leave me disturbed
I’ll do more when I can because I care
the standards i hold myself to
higher than i hold anyone else in my purview
now THAT’s not sustainable, start anew
throw a fistful of glitter in the air