24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
A crack of thunder that doesn’t cause fear
And dissipates into a rumble
That comforting sound simply meant you wwre near
And my heart’d begin to tumble
If only I could hear it one more time
That would bring me joy
Taken too early, just in your prime
Oh, how I miss you, boy
[ ]
he’s already a widowman
before even having his
first wedding
and she
is always a true bride
groomed by self-preservation
two beautiful perpetual minds
vow under sorrow
and felicity
they could write
books of any sorts
but not of a love story.
The old tree,
gnarled and rooted in history
weathered all kinds of storms and heat.
Still standing strong and proud, never in defeat.
So how many of us with this tree can resonate, being firmly grounded, dependable and resilient to emulate!
His eyes shine bright
Delicate and gentle in the moonlight
His gaze is soft like a velvet pillow
His voice deep, melodiuos and mellow
He is perfect as anyone can be
His beauty is not hard to see
Breathtaking is his smile
Its so brilliant it can be seen from miles
His laugh lights up the universe
He can bring happiness at your worst
With a heart full of gold
His beauty to remain when he is wrinkled and old
He must know the joy he brings to every person he meets
With his crinkled eyes and words so sweet
He must know that he is created to be loved and adored
He is just a star everyone gravitates towards.
A miracle that calls on affection
He is perfection
Still stifling that nagging, worrisome snicker,
yet holding back a titter more than a tad,
gulping down the loudest guffaw you ever had,
canning that wee chuckle, suppressing that squeeze?
Chill, with synonyms, one can cachinnate with ease.
Moin-moin
The thoughts of you and what you did to me
Leaves me with a bitter-sweet sensation.
Nobody knew you were in my pockets
Staining the insides
And burning my thigh.
I think your name is derived from the sound you make in the mouth.
I was just eating you moin moin moin
And about to take the fourth one
My teacher appeared.
I think primary four
And the wraps were four.
I quickly dunked you inside my shorts pocket
And so you ruined my entire day,
Moin – moin
The good old days
have vague dates but
are very definite
about how things were,
always binary
black or white
he/she
us/them
no in-between
no blending
no color TV,
no color photographs,
no sepia snapshots.
everything felt right
Everything was perfect
like just before the big bang
Deep was the winter night,
The snow as thick as wool.
Silent prowled the stargiant
Seeking beetle-jewels.
Close he wandered to the flock
Of small Mulberry Farm,
His glinting eyes as sharp as frost
And cold enough to harm.
Terrified they took to flight,
All slowed with snowy weight.
They made it halfway down the hill
But couldn’t cross the gate!
The younger sheep all scattered far,
The older ewes were trembling,
And left behind on little legs
Was Samson, yet a yearling.
Samson of the fluffy fleece!
Samson of the fables!
Samson the adventurer
Of field and farm and stable.
The giant neared them steadily,
His breath as sharp as shears,
His footsteps bleak and crackling
As every lambling fears.
Small Samson found beside the fence
A hole through to the yard
But, this hero, flee the flock?
No! He ran back and –
BAAAAAAAAA’ed
He roared so fierce, so nobly,
The sunflock rose to graze.
With day the starkin crumpled
And melted clean away.
In dawnlight rising gently,
Mulberry Farm was saved.
All voices raised in bleating clear
‘Samson! O Samson the brave!’
Look at you!
Always having a smile ready
Unable to hide your mirth
Grinning like you know a secret
Holding in your amusement
Tucking your hand over your mouth
Enjoying life to its fullest
Restraining your chuckles