24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Cannot see you because you are moving
constantly in a kaleidoscope of colour.
Your last dance moves were better.
That is my verdict.
The fine dancer in you is distorted
by the kaleidoscope of colours I see
Or is it me?
The colours are all I see.
Police
have arrested
a murder
suspect
the mastermind
behind the
killings of
the president
and other
unresolved
deathly
cases;
Especially the
mysterious
disappearance of
your father.
She would not serve the cup
She would rinse it
Dry it
Hit it and serve it
That is my wife.
A control freaks
The meat is not tender enough
Not seasoned enough
Not broiled enough
That is my wife.
A perfectionist
The wedding is not perfect
The setting is not perfect
Until she gets in.
That is my wife
Image Prompt Martin Torrez
Sunflowers
Yellow faces face the sun
they
Sway in the gentle breeze.
Life lived for oil and seed;
Their gifts at summers end
Gives meaning to their life.
photo prompt by y-s
There once was a man on the trail
When at once it started to hail
Wth no place to run
And a hot cross bun
He said,” To hell with it let’s sail.”
Hope Sonnet
If I could write a poem today with hope
I’d fit in all the trees and birds and bears—
all animals, the skies and seas and air,
republicans, the middles, and the woke
would have their places too, and right beside
them all are you and I and puffer fish
and coral reefs, the nudibranch and nudist.
Ebbing, high, or slack: it takes all tides
to plump up where the moon is. Here’s the thing:
We’re screwed. We’re doomed. We’re toast. We’ve effing ruined it.
Nobody’s coming. Revelations shit.
The planet’s better off without our sting.
The best that I can do in terms of hope
is that the human race will soon be smoke.
—–
[Prompt: Write a poem about hope]
Another World
In another world, not this one
a politician apologizes, listens,
does better next time.
The drilling stops
in another world, not this one
we’ll soon burn to the ground.
Women’s vaginas dissolve
any undesired penis
in another world, not this one.
In another world, not this one
men see war is ridiculous
before they’re old enough to fight.
Children are always citizens
in another world, not this one;
their food and medicine are free.
Tokitae comes home, has a long
conversation with the family
in another world, not this one.
[Prompt: Write a poem about a world that is not this one]
Perfect Silence
Look up in perfect silence
at the trees adrift
all night: their sails raised
to catch the earth’s warm breath.
Tilt back your tired head:
Look up in perfect silence
at the spreading stars,
the brighter Venus, Mars.
When loon calls, awaken
and hasten to the lake.
Look up in perfect silence
at the farther shore.
Pause while the others party
and step into the dark
with Walt; he’s with you now
looking up in perfect silence.
—–
[Prompt: photo by Scott Umstattd / “Silence”]
For the marathon I went with the image prompt for hour3. But I knew I would come back to the text prompt when I had the time. Now time is at a premium in my life, specially on a Monday morning but I’ve managed to nudge this into being among meetings and cases and what-nots! All thoughts will be deeply appreciated!
All that is gold does not glitter,
Most thinks that glitter are fake
Once, I tasted the sunshine on your skin.
I heard the purples in your smoldering eyes
Ian Anderson played in Brabourne Stadium,
Your eyes refused to let me in,
But your body had another string to pluck
And your mouth opened wide for me.
The fact that I survived was your masterpiece
I was the chudail you could not control
With that red jacket and curls flying in the wind.
Those stormy nights of irreverence.
“Atma ke koshto dite nei,”
So we unburdened our souls of guilt.
Daylight swore into the darkest nights
While you swooped into skies hunting prey.
Ipsy was waiting, always on the sideline
Hands immersed in the bloodied moon
That was the one mistaken thought
that you would come to regret.
Corrosive days and alcohol-coloured dusks
Bleed them into one so that they last forever!
Quien eres realmente mi querido?
Reality is never real, purrs the cat.
All that was gold never did glitter
Lost forever in that sun-kissed skin.
Running
running my hand slow
through a tidepool
I catch my fingertip
in an anemone
whose sticky tentacles
taste my skin
the way a snake sticks
out its tongue
or a cat hangs its mouth
open for a minute
or a sommelier
draws the grape
and breath into her
palate with expertise.
holding a moment.
while beside us
along hard gray rock
a tide keeps running
—–
[Prompt: Write a poem that starts and ends with the word “running”]