24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Today I have no energy
No more room to fight
I’m filled with so much darkness
There’s little room for light
I want to say to riot
Fill the streets with fire
Give each and every Justice choice
To die or to retire
I want to say to protest
Till the forefathers are haunted
To scream for revolution
But I’m too goddamn exhausted
It’s in our nature
to search for people
quite like us
Isn’t it?
quite naturally
or subconsciously
We seek them out actively
finding our comfort zones
Though with an expanding world
We’ve expanded our circles
Finding similarities
Finding differences
Adapting, adjusting
but still,
But we tend to gather in flocks
like birds of a feather!
So, this means that in all gatherings,
there’s going to be a majority
and a minority
How the majority deals
with the minority
is the story
of every gathering
of every cluster
of this whole world
we call ‘Humanity’!
a gathering of poets
around a drum,
the room filled with inspiration,
we gather to share our words. the long haul of
covid slowly behind us, some still donning masks,
we hear the rustle of paper, the shuffle of feet,
and a chorus of snapping fingers when the
lines are done. Nodding heads and contemplative
murmurs at the turn of a phrase, the twist of a
rhyme, and the toe-tapping beat of the metre. How
we missed this sustenance over the past two years,
the heartbeat of metaphors, the pop-off-the page
imagery that brings us right into the poet’s mind,
and how a simple word, can pull a broken world back
together.
(This poem was inspired by both the picture and the word prompt.)
I’m a loner, more comfortable in my own space
than with others.
I’d rather stay home with a book or movie than
go out at night with a group.
The pandemic reinforced
my introvert ways
made me want to stay home
even more. It was safer.
But recently I realized
I also long for contact and shared experiences.
And sometimes it is good to gather.
Sometimes human laughter and storytelling
is healing.
Sometimes a hug or a smile
is energizing.
So moving forward I plan to mix
alone time with
gathering time
and weave a comfortable cloth
from the two extremes
that works just for me.
“No one reads hardback anymore,” he said,
sunflower glasses perched on a perfect nose.
“Beats knitting,” I replied, his beach bag brimming
with yarn and cheddar cheese crackers.
“Clearing my mother’s space,”
sadness. A splash of mud.
“Just finishing.”
Wine glasses.
A mile of thick threads
crash
at last;
the pull of pavement
buckling pull of lust.
Nail broken on oak headboards,
my satchel by the door.
No one reads hardback anymore.
No. Never.
Whether I was a child or the sage adult I grew to be, summer always brought summer camp with hikes, dances, competitions, long evenings of songs and secrets daily bus rides with bumps and jolts and everyone piling on then scrambling off ball games with hot dogs, a trusted mitt nearby for that foul ball, waves among the crowd Bustling and jostling against others were part of life. Now I cherish calm rituals with a few loved ones, even as we slowly emerge from behind our masks. I have changed, content with my smaller yet deeper world still connected with others when I see them with softer eyes. Summer is beautiful, but it has transformed for me.
Now this time
The verse is done
With it’s pride
As a new venture.
The popular canvas
To sketch it’s heart
With lovely hub
For a new art.
There are so many colours
There are so many words
By using all
A new ray of portrait is visualised.
But the filthy open secret about life is that it goes on.
An impartial, material universe that still has a sense of irony
so strong that it might let the eternal recurrence of this life
ooze into the next.
As above, so below,
and a sneer from whatever gods shuffle through the stardust.
water from fountain
served in paper cup — like ice
tumbling over rocks