24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Mom,
did you catch them all,
the monsters under my bed?
they want me to fall,
that’s what I heard.
I am not afraid
they will eat me alive,
but will you come for my aid,
when they arrive.
I can hear you cry!
Is it a monster,
or dad back from the sty?
I hope its the former.
Oh mom,
let’s run away,
or let’s take a ferry
to the blue bay
and live a life that’s merry.
You can try all you want
to cleanse me of the person
you believe me to be,
but your holy water
has no effect here.
I will never become
a watered down version
of myself.
I’d rather drowned.
to watch his woods fill up with snow
– a golden shovel based on Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
sometimes your work, your job, the place you are going to
is not more important than the time it takes to watch
the change of season, the falling flakes. Father Time – his
relentless pursuit of us over fields, lake, hill, and woods
can be reversed, stopped dead, when we take time to fill
our senses, our brains, our souls, fill ourselves up
with bird song, rosebuds, starlight. go. fill yourself up with
snow
To ask if there is some mistake
is to suggest I know
right from wrong
convex from concave
my place on a spectrum
I travel but don’t always get to define
or even see at all sometimes.
But I will answer because
that path calls out to me
subterranean and secret
as does a strident urge to
travel both by land and
by sea simultaneously.
Only philosophers and lazy people
see the choice as contradictory.
Snow crunches under my feet
with each step toward the forest path
and above me, fir branches bow,
weighted down with sparkling drifts:
the woods are lovely, dark and deep.
The moon shines down upon me
and stars twinkle in the sky above.
In the distance, an owl hoots and
then takes flight in a flutter
of powerful wings:
the woods are lovely, dark and deep.
Snowflakes twirl downward,
fluffy and magical,
settling on me, the trees, the ground and
blanketing the world in glistening white:
the woods are lovely, dark and deep.
Oh to stay here
always, forever, eternally
to live like a forest creature
alone and sustained
in the bountiful sacredness
in the hush of these woods:
so lovely, dark and deep.
Salute!
Respect
Honorary doctorate
Yes, to the Moon
Not to the loud mouthed Sun
When darkness falls
Darkness roam
Wickedness
Evilness
croockedness
They are awash
The Moon sees all these
Being a gentleman
The Moon never tell
It remain tight lipped
like a fool yet it’s playing the wiseman from the east.
Thanks heavens it’s the moon on night watch
Otherwise dirty linen will litter the streets
Hopefully the moon doesn’t take a vacation…
He Will Not See Me Stopping Here*
My love lives in a high house on a hill
surrounded by lush gardens
and trickling fountains.
He enjoys walking those paths
mid morning, late afternoon, and early evening,
digesting the day’s meals in solitude.
I watch as his large knuckled yet languid hand
brushes a flower’s petals,
pushes long fingers through his own thick hair,
or absently waves a gnat away, and
long to have that hand touch me as tenderly.
His eyes caress all that surrounds him,
drinking in the beauty of his insular stronghold.
A judge may sign a paper, but
he will not see me stopping here,
nor here, nor here,
nor here,
or here.
*Line from Robert Frost’s poem Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Hi there, my name is Janice and I am from Australia. I enjoy writing. I am excited for the 12 hour marathon, I will be joining in the second half of the marathon. All the best, let the words take control. Let your thoughts flow. x
An Apology to Robert Frost and His Little Horse (Poetry Marathon 2022 – Hour 2)
On the darkest evening of the year *
In the cold New Hampshire air
Robert Frost (no pun intended)
Was on his way somewhere
With his little horse and wagon
When he stopped to admire
The snow falling into a panoramic glow
Creating spots of light
On this darkest night
The days would be getting longer tomorrow he thought
But the cold would continue
Beyond the winter solstice
As the crunch of the snow
Turned to the slippery hardness of ice
And then he reminded himself
He had someplace to be
Someplace to go
A few days before Christmas
He still had presents to buy
And send
He had business to conduct
Before the year ended
His little horse
With whom he often shared discourse
Was confused
He knew Robert
Would often stop to smell the roses
And share an apple or two
But stop and admire the snow
Was not something the little horse
Could abide as he did not like
To slide through the ice
So he shook his bridle
To wake up Robert from his reverie
To remind him he had chores to complete
Before he could nod off to sleep.
* From Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
Life like a Haiku
contains wisdom for the fool
women deserve rights