What is love when it’s one sided?
what is love when it’s one-sided?
What is love if you’re not appreciated?
what is love when you feel like the journey is just yours?
What is this kind of love on rainy days?
In the heat? On bad days?
What is love when it’s one-sided?
Saturday ritual
Wake early,
body ready like a colt
brain fogged like an old horse
drink fresh water
Shower, skin cool,
basic stretches, look out for knees,
coffee, painkillers, boiled egg, blueberries.
Lace up the lilac trainers
with tangerine soles,
Attach barcode at wrist.
Car keys or rail pass
dependent on the destination.
Join hoards of other strangers gathering
at the start line
for nine,
or half past in Scotland.
Hour 20 – Giving Up
Giving Up
– A golden shovel based on To Be Known, a song by Carsie Blanton
Isn’t it interesting how
as you grow you
let go of all you had:
your home, your beliefs, a
clearinghouse of the child’s
ideas and ways. a-way
with the garden of
your past, a dreaming
memory. then, don’t
you know, you
turn around and miss
those very things. it
is gone. you now
must live without what you’ve
given up. sucks to be grown.
Hour 20: Chai
On a rainy day, or a Friday afternoon, or a Sunday morning after a long Saturday night,
I make my way to my kitchen.
I take out the special saucepan and the special cups,
reserved for this very special drink.
As the water begins to sizzle in the pan,
I take out the spices of my childhood.
Grind the cardamom, grate the ginger,
Losing myself in this rhythm, as if in a trance.
The water bubbles, the ginger cracks.
And it’s time for the most special ingredient of all.
Chai, black ground tea leaves.
Their strong smell overpowering my senses, their color turning the water a homely red.
I add some milk, the pan is now tan.
And now, I wait, watching the transformation of this concoction,
till it slowly darkens to that beautiful golden brown,
frothing, beckoning to me to get it off the stove.
I pour it out, with the same childlike fascination, each time.
Chai – this marvel of water, acid, and heat.
And as I take my first sip, enjoying the chai of my labor,
There is nothing else that matters in that moment.
Unassorted Chaos
It is the first thing in a long time
keeping my head buoyant above water
I’m pleased to be able to share it with you
(Hour 20)
Hour 19 prompt
DO I NEED YOU?
I wrote your value on my hand,
But the soap washed it away.
I wrote your value on paper.
But the wind blew it away.
I protected you in my bank,
But my busy schedule kept you away.
I toiled day and night,
Just to save you for the future.
You are just a piece of paper,
Yet you are invaluable.
Who are you?
Why do people forget their morals and ethics for you?
Why can’t we live without you?
What is so special about you?
Why are you so famous?
Why do people call you with so many names?
Nobody can answer these questions.
You are nothing to nature,
Yet you are everything to us, human beings
You are the crux of our life,
Your name is MONEY!
POEM BY
SHREYA SURAJ
Under Constraint
It goes without saying
that on Sundays we dress,
paying attention
to what would be best
for focus on God—
not on what others wear;
not their hats,
nor their shoes,
or the style of their hair.
Clothed in the armor of God-
And the garments of praise
perhaps bowing in silence,
or shouting, hands raised.
Not a matter of clothing,
but the best we might bring,
as we gather to bow
before Savior and King.
Yet each saintly lady
who squirms in her pew,
when the speaker speaks long,
as they often do—
Isn’t thinking of kickoff—
as he winds up his speech—
or the roast in the oven
not sand at the beach,
not even how hot
it’s gonna be in the car—
she’s itchin’ for ditchin’ that
push-up,
underwire,
Sunday-best
bra!
Companion, Hour Twenty
Companion
Life during our early retirement
more often than not is busier than work,
and so we create means and methods
to be together, innocuous routines
that bring us near to one another again.
I make our coffee at the keurig in our room
and in the meantime he makes the bed.
When the coffee is properly creamed and sugared
I carry it outside to our patio retreat
while he fills feeders for hungry bird and squirrel hordes.
Plans for our day, hopes for our future,
all are hashed out at that morning table.
We walk the dog, and the grandson, too,
to his bus stop, and wait for his ride to arrive.
When he’s on his way, we and the dog trundle on home again.
Silly, but sweet, the lengths we will go to be near one another once more.
#Prompt 20 – 2023
Morning Shower
Opens the door
Eyes still closed dreading the day
I’m getting too old for this
Take the cat out the sink
Brush teeth
Take the cat out of the sink again
Wipe up the splatters of water from wayward paws
Undress
Take the cat out of the shower
Turn it on to heat up
Take cat out of the shower banish it behind a closed door
No deterrent
Door too easy to unlatch
Take cat out of the shower
Close glass door quickly to prevent an invasion
Concede defeat
Take a shower with the cat
Rinse shampoo out of my hair
And cat’s fur
Despite my best efforts … cat always beats me through the door
Makes a b-line for the bed and disappears under the duvet
Retrieves cat
Turns back covers to dry out during the day
Take cat off work clothes
Finds some more
Dry one
Brush my hair
Hunt the floor for bands and clips
Grab cat before it launches itself out the window
Makes a mental note to invest in a new locks
To trap cat
Out of my way
So I can get ready in peace
Promptly forget
Thus continuing to jump on same merry-go-round
Every flippin morning