24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Exhaust pipes
leak nervous purple dreams,
the stardust that shines
through my fingers
will blind the audience.
Come at me and I will eat
your face, I say.
No words spilt, only your embrace
counts.
Don’t ever leave me, I think.
Traffic jams. My arteries are the blocked
roads through which you try to move,
slither, towards me.
The air is coarse. Doomed mountains
of despair loom in the distance.
Are you sure you want to advance?
Caffeine knows not where to go
when my country embraces entropy
My fingers still work
For now, I type
I’m fleeing, I’m flying
way up high in the mountain tops
up high in the clouds
up high where the birds go soring
where they feel proud.
I’m fleeing, I’m flying
way up high in the blue sky
never-ending up here
and always so clear.
I’m fleeing, I’m flying
alongside Jet Air.
Flying as fast as a jumbo jet
not using any gas
The landing is going to be a fun blast.
I’m fleeing, I’m flying
along with the geese.
It’s different in a triangle shape
but it’s really great.
Gliding along,
Floating with no fall.
I am hoping it won’t all stop
I am loving it all.
Iginla the great King
He was fearless and brave
know throughout the seven kingdoms
for his prowess and skill
he was never afraid to fight on the battle field
to protect the territorial integrity of his kingdom
Wise and knowledgeable
he was sought for miles
but, the great Iginla trusted too much
he trusted his second in command
a man who had proven himself faithful, time and time again
unfortunately,
you cannot tell the mind’s construction from the face
For his second in command began to nurse ambitious ideas of his own
he thought he could make a better king
and so, treacherous thoughts flooded his heart and mind
Until he made a pact with the enemies of the kingdom
and
after the order of Julius Caeser
Who was slain by Brutus his protege and others.
king Iginla was slain
One cold rainy night on his bed.
And his second in command, Ifira, the betrayer, reigned in his stead
As if the world does not exist
Bach’s cello transports me to the place where time does not exist
It is not the music though
It is the music through
Calming as the sea
Listen you would see
It is the ambience, the cadence
Adieu, Bach
You are flowers blooming,
River flowing,
You flow through my heart
My darling,
A work of art!
Between the woods and frozen lake
(The above line is taken from Robert Frost’s poem Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening,)
Between the woods and frozen lake
the wizard’s only halting place
his snow apple cart enjoys little hay
with the queen coming to stay
Twinkling stars at half midnight
brightens the misty frost
the stick waves a magical charm
he moves a dance to harm
The unknown prince over the frozen lake
shakes his sword to dispel the haze
his smile instantly spreads in the woods
ready to give back the goods
The wizard fumes in his den
there is but an apple missing
his cottage in the middle burns
and the charm of the woods returns
Hour 2
@varenyas
there are days where it feels more like swimming
drifting lazy days of graceful treading of being pulled sweetly
days of weightless surrender where I can’t remember
how heavy it really is to live
in this body
in this place
in this time
there are days where I try to make light
to make myself lighter in spite of the heat waves
waves that will grow warmer each year as surface taunts and roils
how much can you handle
as it ripples
as it rises
as it builds
there are days where my womb is swollen with lead
where I fight to pretend that it doesn’t ache like an anchor threatening
to turn the potential for creating life into an albatross
how something I cannot see
is a sentence
is a punishment
is a powder keg
there are days where it feels more like drowning
like swift strategic swells eroding layer by layer
until there is nothing left to ground me
how what stood firm and unyielding is stripped
of pounds
of safety
of rights
there are days where my vast sacred is subject to change
shimmering pools become a steel wall surrounding
while the heat is turned up and somewhere there is a voice
forbidding that the thermostat be adjusted
by a child
by a woman
by a frog
I’m waiting to be born
squatting on the Welcome Mat
of the world
i mimic my bullfrog totem animal and croak and burp and fart
but no attempt
can match his Majesty
my bullfrog jumps on my head and creates
a halo of mud and slime above and around
my eyebrows
a taste of what’s to come
he starts the chorus
and I pretend to be a coqui
the Caribbean crooner
Exiled to a Hawaiian luau
i am impatient
wanting so much to be born
I want to jump onto that sea of stars
And fall into the Big Dipper’s
domain
my body is heavy my head even heavier
Bullfrog says my parents have seen my
Huge Head
my Outlier brain
and
Return me to God
i don’t know it yet
but
No More of Me
will be born
Ever
I’m a Down’s Syndrome Child
and I wear
my Star-Helmet
with pride