24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
La Cuidad
stone, mortar, steel, and glass
stalwart and stately, the city beckons
scintillating with light and people.
the glory of mankind.
complex construction, supporting heights
unbound, roof-top gardens and fields of windows
reflecting clouds, sky, and other buildings
looking in upon itself.
no difference between day or night
or self and other
the anonymous everyone.
A demon called out to me
years ago
I felt its nails trace down my back
tauntingly
my brain shakes now
its overresponding
to something
approaching
as I lay awake, I feel
my health starting to unravel
but I ignore it
with the slightest tug
I strip away concern
for this deep pain
I harbor inside
One night I felt something trying to pull me out
of this body
and I panicked
kicked my legs and fought
only to see nothing
Next time, I will probably give it permission
to see what it will devour of me
All I know about joy is that it comes in the morning
I’ve felt overwhelmed with happiness as soon as night surrendered to day
All I can say about joy is that it comes after mourning
I’ve always experienced it this way
I choose joy over envy
I choose to nurture my grass green
I cannot focus on how close I keep my enemies
I aim to be grateful in all things
Some days I struggle to connect with and articulate how I feel
Trauma response stuffs emotions deeper than I can reach
Other days I am an open book of psycho babble , terminology and dreams
One day my words will have the power to manifest true joy through my will
Life has a vision for every lesson it has to teach
Every day I take a moment to bask at the beauty of creation and how the joy joy joy in nature screams screams screams at me
Miles and miles away from home,
Pretty lights on the street
There is so much more I need to know.
From the its intricate corner to its jeep.
It can be also scary,
All you see are unfamiliar strangers,
No more silence, life’s in a hurry.
Watch out! Be careful for some dangers.
Manila: The city of dreams as they say,
Yes! We all came from all walks of life.
Dreams as a wheel to drive our way,
And meet all odds just to bring us here.
The side of the road is not safe for play,
But there are some other places to hide,
The hidden part of its place
Are where I found grace.
.
.
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Writer: M.E. Flores
Hour19, Text Prompt19
Mimosa blossoms
shine like orbs of tiny suns
raining pink feathers
On a night full of stars,
I drink wine stirred by the flowers.
I raise my glass offering a glass to moon,
and noticed my shadow holding the same.
The gentle sensationn of seclusion
down the throat,
softening the syllables of every word uttered.
Seeking the slices of the moon,
on a table covered with upholstery planets
Every monsoon you flood over
And the traffic is bad around the year
Public transport as half baked as ever
But I will still remember you forever
You are my birthplace after all
You gave me the people I care about
And places I could go around
Calling my own
The food you have is the best
Even if the shopping district is a test
Of perseverance and courage
The crowd still feels oddly specific of you
It’s unique– the equations and stories
Your poems and songs are stunning as well
History resides in half your buildings
And harmony and brotherhood in your lanes.
Lucknow– my home, my city
Maybe I won’t be there anymore
But you will always be special to me
You will always be my home.
Lagos, like the mythical elephant
ugly and attractive
a moment it is flooded
the next it is a silk
smooth
dazzling
fragile
strong and enterprising
accommodating and regale
If a capital city is needed
you check the boxes
exotic tastes
eyes for beauty
energy and virility
how can you not be named the capital city
oh, dear me, you were once named
That is where you inherited your mien
midnight
purple aurora rushing through my skin
glucose drip
And Now, Begin again Once More
At Dawn, be first out–
nimble, light and fast alone.
Dawn is the drop off.
Now we’re given our orders,
our orders to procreate.
We sat and waited.
Before sun up the earth smelled
easy, alive and like home.
Grunts were all prepped one last time
I knew they would not come home.
Nests among the ranks
all thrown together, shabby,
gaudy, purposeful….
all stuck together, drabby,
I’m willing to die, of course.
Next of kin, we hope
only to see them survive
next in line, is key
cause we’re fighting for the cause.
Everyone’s on the same team.
Mayflies assemble.
Orders straight from the front lines
Read aloud it’s time to pack,
everyone’s in the same stream.
Hour nineteen, 3 am
And Now, Begin again Once More
(form Acrostic/ Somonka variation)
Charlie the Mayfly.
v.j.calone