24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Running.
Flowing through my hands.
Warm and comforting.
Nuzzling me as I scrub and scrape.
Plate after plate, spoon after spoon.
Turning the most mundane of chores
into an act of comfort.
Giving me some pleasure,
some stillness,
Till I am ready to finish,
turn off the tap,
and once again, start
running.
This one came to my brain really fast. It’s kinda silly and almost is t a poem at all. But hey counting it today!
Hour 20
My worst habit isn’t that bad
It’s almost silly really
I never tie my shoes before leaving for work
I get them on my feet and go
Which isn’t a problem
Until you end up in the ditch
And there no pretty way to put it
When the ditch has a couple feet of snow
And your shoes are untied
Running all over the house as a young child
without any rhyme or reason
Running aftera ball or a doll as an older child.
Running after a lover as young adult
Setting up a house running after money
house,car, education, learning, fame
As the body tatters under its own right
thoughts and worries run riot
Wondrous are these funny little (wo)men
Even in death bed as disease has ravaged
they still keep on running!
melancholia
is my master
memories
longing lost love
rudely ripped away
just as it was
beginning
such sadness
memories
drown me
can I be
forgiven
hidden regret
colors everything
around me
wistful
fleeting
glimpses
of joy
stolen happiness
leaves my past
forever gone
away
with him
our secret
i’ve paid for
with
the rest
of
my life
African myths have many stories of birds loving rest time
Loving the taste of worms and insects, and coming down for them.
Eneke the bird has learnt to do the extraordinary
“Eneke the bird says that since men have learned to shoot without missing, he has learned to fly without perching”. Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart.
Long ago in the African kingdom, the birds were commoners, easy sports for hunters
Their little ones served as snacks for bigger animals of the sky. The young and able-bodied were snacks for men. The ones that managed it into old age were left with many dead relatives, struggling to navigate life.
Now there is no room for sloppiness
The bird has learned to soar the air, knowing not to perch
The bird has learnt to remain on the move explore the sky more and leave land for men
Running
Running late
Grabbing a coffee
And my keys
I head out the door
Without my lunch
Running copies
The machine jams
All my efforts to fix it
Are in vain
No math paper for
my kids today
Running my mouth
I reveal a secret
About a fellow teacher
My cheeks grow red
As she walks past our lunch table
Running errands
Prescriptions
The post office
Dropping off donations
Looks like fast food again tonight
I want time to sit
Enjoy the seasons
Read a book
But I find myself always running
Image Courtesy of Pixabay
(When I’m this tired, I usually only have strength for a Haiku, lol!)
Running to my home,
I saw a lion hunting,
Heart still pounding, running…
Antoinette LeRoux © 2023
Duke has grown bored.
His weird parents
playing at their computers
for 20 hours plus.
He goes from one room to the other.
Inside then out,
outside, then in.
Running, jumping, sleeping
Begging for morsels
Begging for meals
Begging just to beg.
I danced with him.
He wasn’t amused.
I gave him superior rubbies,
he bit me.
He is getting older, cantankerous.
Much like his human father.
He knows this ritual happens every year,
but he lets me know,
this is unacceptable behavior.
A continuation will not be tolerated.
A cat has needs, the most important of which-
he is more important than any poem.
Running a house
running up bills
running up time
running for trains
running a temperature
running a race
running for joy
running for office
running for your life
running their lives
running my life
when does it stop?
Just running ….
Running
toward the light
at the end of the
poetry tunnel
never ending prompts
(it seems)
push me closer
to the finish line
drooping eyes
muddled brain
tired, cramped fingers
I’m not giving up
I have to reach the
finish line
until then I will keep on
running