24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
like the day’s dirty dishes at midnight
wandering about the countertiop
hairy and langourous toward either
a smudged and sour drunk or some
conspiracy of benign Palmolive bubbles
which leave you screaming
For the love of god! I’m on fire!
We might say we have a sense of timing,
Used in rhythm, but rarely rhyming.
Sense of value and self-worth,
Sense of humor, joy, and mirth.
Sense of direction (unless we get lost),
Sense of style, because we’re boss
Come to our senses, and talk sense too,
Sense of purpose for what we do;
Some things don’t make sense, so we find,
There is common sense, and sense of mind,
Sense of belonging, sense of fair play,
Horse sense, sixth sense; we could go all day.
A sensational word; its potential immense,
Without losing our senses, at least, in that sense.
Who are you?
I am past
a long event of actions,
I am different from any imagination.
I am past,
Suffering and learning,
I am different from any imagination,
It’s not all I am.
Suffering and learning,
Is a long event of action.
It’s not all I am,
So who are you ?
(Source : A remix phantom from part 8 of book ‘the palace of illusions’)
Where I am walking
is just as unappetizing
as where I am
I will leave by my own hand
The sun burns the feet
The breeze is full of confessions
I will leave by my own hand
I will not be defined by the
SOS in the sand
The sun burns my hand
Why did I follow myself here?
Was it to chronicle?
I will leave by my own hand.
Philip V. Coombs 12-1pm
In autumn
when leaves blanket
my yard
I hope
unlike most others
for rain
before I rake
The added
mess of raking
wet leaves is much
preferred
for it hastens their
decay and
olfactory air
Intoxicating
I inhale my youth
forest floor of
Hanson’s woods
where she
and I would
walk and
where we once sat
on a log
surrounded by dead
leaves and
their
moldering aroma
punctuating
everything that was
of me and
her smile has faded
but scents of
the earth
that forest
remind me
of a time when all
was right, and so
was she and
so were we and
now the
smell of decay
keeps
her alive
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2021
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
Let’s ride where the hills meet the moon.
Let’s ride where the hills meet the moon.
We have smoke and blankets for the night.
We have smoke and blankets for the night.
I’ll ride to where the moon meets the hills
And we’ll blanket the night in smoke.
I partner with the Devil in many costumes.
I partner with the Devil in many costumes.
Our fathers’ ghosts rise to spread our stories.
Our fathers’ ghosts rise to spread our stories.
Our fathers’ ghosts partner with the Devil
To spread our stories in many costumes. Rise.
Let’s forget what the machine age made.
Let’s forget what the machine age made.
Together we’ll forge the invisible West.
Together we’ll forge the invisible West.
In the invisible West, let’s forge together.
We’ll forget what the machine age made.
In the invisible West, we’ll ride to where the
moon meets the hills; I’ll blanket the night
with The Devil in many costumes. Our fathers’
ghosts, in smoke, will spread our stories,
partner; the machine age will forget
we forged together what we made.
This poem is rough but it is late and I am tired. So time for a nap.
Poem to Circle
How I have gotten through days before you
I don’t remember
Now I have you in my pocket
In my heart
You all there waiting to love me
And anyone else
You bring joy to my gloomy days
Light flashing in dark
And I somehow never have the right words
I wonder what you think of me
Writing out all these lines
Deep in the night
I am not crazy, though to write you have to be
And I am not masochistic
Although to write… well…
Turn my eyes in on my chest
Trying to dredge up something
That sounds at least good
The right word is on the tip of my tongue
But it’s gone in half a heartbeat
And good luck finding that again
Writer’s block is a terror to the system
And only release can ease the pressure
But is not always achieved
But is has to be
Otherwise you really will go mad
And then where will all my words be?
What a strange feeling?
After talking to you for mere few minutes…
My heart was set out for a roller coaster ride,
Your voice created goose bumps which were difficult to hide…
The words of yours even after the “bye”,
Kept roaming in my ears, making me feel really very high…
For that was a moment when you just said “hi”,
The time just stood still, letting nothing to pass by…
Even after the call, your presence was felt around,
To surely feel a thing, yours is the most melodious sound…
Though our call was just for a few minutes,
I wished could have spoken to you more without any time limits…
What does she do when it’s gone
Everything she wanted
Hoped for
Dreamed of
One day gone all of it
A pawn in the world’s chaos
Struggling here
Dying there
This world died long ago
Humanity gone
Compassion where
But who was she to judge
She was waiting for the right things to happen
“In the meantime, she would just live”
P.S. I Love You, Cecelia Ahern