24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Text Prompt
Use one of these quotes as a jumping off point.
“I am begging: Let me be lonely but not invisible.” – Natalie Diaz
“I stopped thinking about extreme grief as the sole vehicle for great art when the grief started to take people with it.” – Hanif Abdurraqib
“Books were safer than other people anyway.” – Neil Gaiman
Image Prompt
The bugs would appear
on the basketball court when
the night lights came on at dusk
Bats arrived next
diving after the fat bugs
We tricked the blind-as-a-bat
bats by tossing pebbles
up toward the lights
A bat would swoop
snatch the pebble
then unfulfilled
drop it
on our heads
I marveled at their mouse-like squeaks
pitching radar high into the feast
No one knew what I was talking about
I could hear the high register of bats
and was surprised to learn others couldn’t
I’m freaky like that
Who needs a kitchen timer?
I smell it when it’s done!
The crack of fresh sourdough
as it pops to full life,
bulging the air with fresh bread.
The perfect pie, and just browned aroma
calling for oven mitts.
Medium rare steak, perfect chicken,
all from the feel of a fat palm.
Firmly soft, not squishy.
The just tacky feel of perfect biscuits
as they crumble into a magic dough.
Oh, more than just measuring spoons
and thermometers is the love of food.
[Getting harder to write. Very tired. Struggled with this one. It shows!]
When I arrive
the trail through the woods
has been paved –
bringing confidence
to those
with an unsteady or assisted gait, no doubt
Yet manufacturing
a tidy
that belies the fallen twig,
the squabbling birds
The unforgiving thwack
underfoot
Too hard for a long hike
The edges –
falling off abruptly
defining and delimiting
This path –
how far could it go?
The deep woods are not veined
with asphalt.
Before, coming here
was a return
boundaries fading
a place that was easy
Now, I resent the encroachment
even as I question my own trespass
My quitting this place
this loss
perhaps an unintended protection?
What is taken/what endures
This, the walk.
To my son,
I hope that you are happy
And that you are always able to know what that is
Stay out of trouble if you can
But go into it if you must
Know that I don’t care who you love
As long as they love you and take care of you
There will be times when life sucks
And sometimes it will suck so very much
Call me, call the family, call your friends…
So many people love you
At least one person will pick up the phone
Never be afraid of what you are
And learn how to master your skills
Eat the food, drink the wine, kiss the one you want (with permission)
And try to live your very best life
POEM 16
My search for an apple, an orange and Peach colored roses still intact, proved futile, stealing an hour. I did find a perfect tangerine though, still attached to a piece of
vine, the Leaves still vivid green and waxy with life. I found an over ripe pear, sweet pale yellow that will have to suffice. I’ll sit them there next to the Golden Mimosa
in that little Square glass jar. I love the little warped wooden plate I found. It looks so much Like an artist’s palette, absent of the thumb hole.
I thought of painting but worried, so I pondered using water colors or maybe grease paints, just to waste more time.
Capturing that frizzy Mimosa will surely strain my talent. Those golden puffs of fragrance would not be an easy task, but this searching has ruled my day and thwarted
my craft. This image is surely welcome to smell and to sight, sitting, waiting, mocking me, daring me to start.
Staring at the empty screen
can’t think of what to write
It’s here in my head
in my heart yet-
I can’t put it into words
I have so much I want to say
Know what I want to say
but everytime I try-
it doesn’t make sense
I’m a writer-
everyone seems to think
that it’s easy
that all you have to do
is open up your laptop
your journal
touch pen to paper
and it magically appears
it doesn’t always work that way
words can be such a cruel mistress
they can string you along
make you think they sound good
and just like that–
They turn on you.
screw up your train of thought
make you second guess your intentions
sound stupid no matter how you
arrange them on the page
The morning,
Lazy hopeful morning,
Those who wins the morning,
are the ones who live in the morning…
The morning,
Lazy hopeful morning,
Those who stays with morning,
are the ones who appreciate the morning…
The morning,
Lazy hopeful morning,
I wish to see all the coming mornings,
am I eligible to see this much of mornings….
Truth
Would that I could sense the world
with the plethora of scent that must exist
for our golden retriever, Rosie.
For her, no scent is bad, all hold interest,
all are a part of the story of her world.
I would sense the presence of those I love by their scent:
sandalwood, baked bread, and nutmeg
would be my bear of a husband, and
his squared off view of the world;
citrus, sage, lavender, and thyme
would be my lovely girl,
poet after my heart;
cucumber, vanilla, a dash of garlic and salt
would be my older son,
autistic, brilliant, and warm in odd ways;
oak, honey, smoke, and yeast
would be my younger son,
crafter, brewer, and lover of all that grows.
Would that I could see them all through scent
instead of my eyes,
how much more beautiful, more true, this world would be.