24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
“There is nothing better in this world,
Than a good book,
For one good book,
Can keep readers hooked on for hours,
Like fish,
Caught in a fisherman’s net,
Only, here the fish are the readers,
And the net, the the enthralling book.
A good book,
Is one of knowledge, and conflict,
The perfect blend of the 2 results,
In an enthralling book.
A sparkly grey sweater is who I am most,
Comfortable in the skin I call my own,
Minimalistic colours and smart shades,
With a shine that I carry around with me.
Someone who builds a fort with her books,
And sits inside her pen scratching paper,
Music playing really loud throughout the day,
Occasionally belting out lyrics with the artist.
Someone who sometimes chooses to take up projects,
And pour the whole of my soul into it,
Despises cutting corners or compromising,
The final product having no choice but to reflect my idea.
Someone who takes up too much sometimes,
Making lists and schedules through it all,
Hoping that I’ll find in me the grit to stick to them,
Skipping on sleep and calming myself with shows.
Someone who loves to talk to people,
But still needs to have her own space,
Completely taken by the many ways of social media,
Always trying to find the balance between funny and serious.
Someone who loves animals more than anything else,
Despises judgement more than anything else.
Someone who loves the smell of books and rain,
Whose favourite muse is the ocean and its beautiful shore.
Someone who likes to study rainbows,
Grinning every time she hears thunder.
Someone who names all of her favourite things,
Someone who loves her authors and musicians,
Someone who likes her hair short,
Someone who loves to make a big deal of things.
A person who loves to ask questions,
A person who loves to understand people,
A person who can’t sit in a chair right,
A person who loves to exist loudly!
~thryaksha
If you should survive the fall
and have to explain that killing yourself is illegal and and you will have to pay the wages
of the people who tried to save you or collect your pieces
when the rest of your money was scooped away with a purpose built stick
counting how many more trips to the ATM you had left before you lose the house
the same house where the ripped paperwork is in the garbage where you left it
sitting on top of the full coffee filter
from the morning when you woke up
with freedom and possibility like never felt
going to be a day of opportunity
falling in place
the glorious sun shining down on plants and umbrellas
of those who are unappeasable
trying to control the dogs that are fucking
and chasing things they cannot catch as
it is that time of year
if you should survive the fall.
Philip V. Coombs 3-4pm
And when we get to the edge of that cliff
Would you promise to push me over and end my misery?
Would you promise to let me go?
To not shed any tears for me?
And when we are lost in the woods…
Do you promise to tie a firm knot
And let me swing from the branch of that tree
By my neck or my feet?
And when I go under water
Promise to tie an anchor to my feet
So that I have no option but to sink
To the bottom; the dark nothingness
Promise…
To tie me to the train tracks
Then walk away
Promise that you won ‘t look back
Or change your mind
Promise to let me find eternal happiness
And I swear,
I’ll only think of you in those last moments
I’ll die with you name on my lips
There lit a scarecrow on the roof
where underneath I lived my youth
what did I know of naked truth
is it my inner child inside I’m fighting?
Now, I’m not comfy in my skin
nor even like the state I’m in
just wondering where to begin
instead of lies, pretense and innuendo?
Just wish the worry go away
stop hiding in this old charade
food always wins this game I play
instead of praying, eating right and living.
Each and every night I fail to prove
food I will refuse you
bound up in lies, my food voodoo
my mind will manipulate.
Cuisine’s my sensuality
it keeps me from my liberty
and almost feels like piracy
when I sneak-slither to the kitchen sometimes.
But suddenly, I feel surprised
that now my health is compromised
my God, today I’ve realized
that food is what’s manipulating me …
manipulating …
Now every night I aim to prove
food I will refuse you
breaking the chains of food voodoo
so it can’t manipulate.
Food offers me no loving way
‘twill never love me today
won’t let it try to have its way
to refuse you,
prayer and hope will help me always.
Now every night I aim to prove
food I will refuse you
breaking the chains of food voodoo
so it can’t manipulate.
– Sandra Johnson, 6/27/21
I sniff the delicious smell
It makes me smile
I run over to the outside
I find nothing
I come back
I run to the back of the house
I find nothing
Then, I see something shining from the kitchen
The smell is getting strong
I smile,
It’s my favourite food, made by my mom,
With love.
My love,
I do not know
Where the road
will lead us
But one thing is certain:
Wherever you go
I will go.
Here I am alone again.
Chasing the moon in the wee hours
Writing poetry by parking lot lights
Romanticizing the mundane and
finding profundity in banality.
Wishing on stars-
though my star wishes
have never come true.
Tapping out these words
And wishing I were with you.
I have longed for you
For too long
Far too long
Wishing on the miracle of birth
To hold you in my arms
Kiss your hands and feet
The smell
Only of a new-born
To hear your cries
See your smile
Watch you grow
But I have now longed for you
For far too long
For it to every be