24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
My first phone call of the day is to him
My first lauding of the day is to him
My first thought of the day is of him
My first dance of the day is for him
My first dialogue of the day is with him
My first babble of the day is with him
All these fixes onto the wheels of my day
He takes the driver’s seat and steps on the gas
*Inspired by the text prompt
I’m confused
Which one is you:
The wide-eyed bird
Perched on wire
Like a soldier
Guarding his territory?
The bird taking off
In terror
Turning his back on
Possibility and commitment?
Which one is me:
The petrified bird
Clinging to certainty
The steady and solid
The unchanged?
The bird in flight
Venturing away
Gleefully
Seeking the uncharted
The infinite?
Not part of the sea yet,
she flows until her soulmate embraces her.
She dances through the path,
blessing everyone in her way,
nourishing those who are good,
punishing those who try to change her.
The man may grow advance techs,
thinking of themselves as perfect,
one thing they must never forget,
its the nature which demands respect.
No matter how many species come and go,
the river never stops to flow,
If you want to feel her glow,
then keep your walk slow.
Dip your feet in the river,
thank her for all , she is a giver,
She blesses when you love her,
do not disturb the river.
“This is how she found us/the past draped about us like a cloak”
Selkie Weaning Young (Redux)
~by Diana Khoi Nguyen
she did not know
her past was our future
she ran through us
we all fall down
passion interrupted
faces of shame and fear
confused face rushing away
to something of timed importance
she sat in a daze
changed
realizing her new past
and old future
altered
she had been blind
to the love she gave
so lovingly to us
but no more
gemstones of memories
tumble through my mind; each turn
new patterns of truth
MMIW: Pocahontas
Here’s another sad tale
of an Indigenous girl
stolen from her land
and forced into marriage.
Many of you know of her
from Disney’s movie:
Pocahontas.
It displayed her as a proper age
and was in love with John Smith.
I too was taken away by this fantasy
that was fed to us.
I relearned her story in High School,
where in History Class another Native girl
did a report on Pocahontas.
But the school project was not the entire truth.
In contrary to Disney,
Pocahontas was only 11.
A young girl, barely a young woman.
She lived in fear of the settlers and soldiers,
because rape was a popular sport.
When John saw the young girl
with long black hair
running around with her friends.
He wanted her.
So, he took her at the age of 15.
She was forced into marriage,
was raped by men.
All the while she saw her own husband murdered.
A broken soul, beaten and scorned,
was forced into another marriage
and was given an English name, Rebecca.
Like Sacagawea, she also died in her 20’s.
Only to have her story romanticized and condensed.
Where do they go,
the lines born to parchment
then aborted?
whose fetal metaphors,
each stillborn line,
lost before its time,
unbirthed before
the writer signed
and claimed it for his own?
Ended up with a prose type poem.
Hour 16
The problem with being in love with a group of poets is I’m monogamous. And most live hours away across state lines. And even if they were close I would be to shy to say much more than hi. So how could they fall in love with me back? And maybe I’m not in love love but one of those other forms of love the Greeks talked about. Back when Zeus’s love life was first told. Maybe I just love them like family. Or maybe it’s friends. Or maybe those are the same. But I know I love my circle of poets.
Image Courtesy of Pixabay
Each morning, as the sun stretches its golden fingers across the horizon, a ritual unfolds in my life, a dance of love and devotion. With a bowl in hand, I step into the quiet kitchen, where the soft light of dawn spills through the curtains.
The homemade feast, a medley of flavors and scents, is carefully portioned onto her plate. Her tail, a metronome of joy, wags with eager delight as she prances around, a ballet of excitement. Her eyes, deep pools of gratitude, meet mine, and in that moment, a bond unbreakable is reaffirmed.
With each bite, she tastes not just the food but the love that fills it. Her gentle slurps and satisfied sighs compose a melody that serenades my heart. In these quiet moments, as we share this morning ritual, I find solace and contentment.
Morning light dawns,
Tail wags, eyes speak gratitude,
Love’s daily ritual.
Antoinette LeRoux © 2023