24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The church bell smothers the chirping each morning, dangling sounds hang: droplets in the air
Fleeting waves of tranquility hit the badgered soul, transmitting a frequency beyond the holy reach
The quiver in the throat, the silence of the eyes fade into eternity
As one more day dies on this pale blue dot,
Reminiscing the mornings the dinosaurs never had.
I feel the pull, hear the siren call
Of books that push me into free fall,
No sense of fear, or time or place
In ocean abyss or the depths of space.
I meet mercenaries, tyrants, a bloody pirate
Delve into a psychotic mind and yet
Retain my own identity.
Its the people, society,
That cause strain
Pressurise my poor brain,
So that all day long I toil on
To conform to some vague old norm:
Of living in pigeon-lofts in a city
Of losing all freedom, the elasticity
Of a flexible, enquiring mind.
I work all day pounding laptop keys
Like a galley slave on grecian seas.
Its only in books that I live at ease
Vicariously experiencing whatever I please.
Hr. 5 Prompt 22, 2016
Sitting here writing
Making my mark
You can laugh
I did, it’s late
Should be sleeping
But here I sit
Writing poems all night
I must be nuts
Pencil to paper
Mind thinking
My honey’s upset
Night is for sleeping
Content warning: sex
Having sex with a Psychopath
was not like the movies
I had always imagined
licking the tip of fear, dancing
in handcuffs until one of us
slits a throat. I had always imagined
blood
and an edge,
a severed head and
a phone ringing in panic
I had all that! But the blood was mine,
the head was yours
and the edge was
that which you pushed me from.
Everything rings in your empty.
Having sex with a Psychopath
Was not like the movies,
there was no dangerous romance,
no twin flame inevitable ignition,
There was just your horrible ghost
draining me of my innocence
I should’ve stayed a bystander
“I stopped thinking about extreme grief as the sole vehicle for great art when the grief started to take people with it.” – Hanif Abdurraqib
I once located my creativity
In the epicenter of a profound
And unnamed pain
Of course, others assigned labels
As they are desperately want to do
To throw one off the scent of
A significant realization
They called it:
Being a worry-wart
Puberty
Depression
Anxiety
Stress
ADHD
Poverty
I believed the only way to make an impact
Is to lose myself in the act
Of art only
While turning my heart
Inside out
When I have sat at the feet of elders
And observed mature creators
They do not continue to heave
That which does not serve
Grief and pain are crises
Worthy of being held
Through to wellness
In the name of surviving
wizened and vine-ripened
I aspire to leave the baggage behind
And get on with the process
Of whistling wind
And living into
The art
That chooses me
As its apt vessel
I remember,
a massive and lethargic woman,
I left her alone.
Today,
I like her,
I think she’s lovely.
Tomorrow,
I will be far away,
I will miss looking at her.
So Now,
I wouldn’t ask for much,
I just want her.
(Source : remix from the chapter 6, of book ‘the great gatsby’)
The wind rustling and fluttering and singing
Roaring and howling and sleeping
Cooling, mesmerizing, eternal
Granting life, spirit, a kernel
Sprouting life and beauty
Breezing past
You
Left me behind
I listened in sighs and murmurs
But could not find
That echo of your laugh
Or the tune of your smile
The rhythm of your heart
I couldn’t hear in mine
Like wind kissing and caressing
You breezed past
(for hour 17)
Balancing
A kind woman in my MeWe homesteading group said,
“I don’t have to pull all the weeds, just the weed in front of me.”
Her words in reverse on a black computer monitor resonated deeply within me,
vibrating my bones with a harmonizing frequency that made me cry.
Was this anxiety releasing?
Depression?
It was as if she knew me,
knew I would be reading the messages,
knew my Blessings Jar begun January 2020 atop the fridge is currently stressing me out.
Of all the responsibilities mounting
adding to the growing list of to-dos
it’s a radically joyful thought to remember
I don’t have to accomplish all the tasks, just the task in front of me.
One line item at a time.
Until I get to the fantasy: clone myself
and then teach my clone to fold and put away the laundry
after getting the washer re-balanced.
And isn’t balance what it’s all about?
Duality was oft known
In a state that may change—
For the light—thou have shown
With words and motion— we re-arrange
For what was written
Mirrored reversed
A soul—to awaken
Where spirits conversed
For there is only one God that’s true
One by each word— crucified
By understanding who chose to pursue
The light that you— supplied
Blessed are they—who come to know
Truth that has been hidden under self—deceit
Blessed, indeed—when there’s time to swallow
Whose prophecies are fulfilled and whose become obsolete