24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Looking at my forearm under the desk lamp,
I see an indention previously unnoticed.
Can I now have a fortuneteller read my arm
for signs of my destiny?
It may have been the trick of the light,
inducing me to think my vein had become
a roadmap to palm readers.
Looking again, I wonder what
I think I saw.
Will this stubborn awareness
coupled with sudden self-diagnosing
become more pronounced
as I age?
A little nap
and time runs away
Can’t hold it back
Can’t call it back
Just watch it fly away
Softened corners.
Warm layers.
Vibrations of a living fuzz creature.
Collected thoughts.
Could it be I know where I am?
The room is a blur
my thoughts are a-stir
the lizards are monsters
their cages mid-whir.
Coffee, poetry mix
doing lots of cool tricks
words jumping off pages
into canine cages.
The dogs are loose, too
this place is a zoo
my dwarf frogs grow big
like fat little pigs.
My green shamrock tree
stuck in March will it be
till December, you see
I missed holidays three.
My coffee is gone
poems, now strong
not inarticulately
pets now asleep
I write just for me.
– Sandra Johnson, 9-3-2023
As the rain ran to the ground,
Everyone ran to cover by all means
She stayed in a secluded resort,
far away from my respite.
She was a viable queen raised by a late prince.
But she didn’t license her name to my earpiece.
Here she came –
The expression on her face
To me, wasn’t as cold as ice.
To the heart with guilt, she was pierced.
As a stranger, I’ve only met her once or twice.
I’m sorry to myself.
I miscalculated the timing of her emergence.
Snatched (Poem 18
The raven’s eye looked terrified
It was in shock as the companion flew away
The flying stroke as if conveying to the onlooking bird
What I deserve
I must get
I’ve worked hard to earn it
And if someone tries to take it away from me
I’ll snatch it right away !
In response to image prompt number 18
Realized I probably should’ve been noting when I don’t us the prompt for the hour… oh well
Hour 11
Every seven years I have a new body
All my cells have changed
And yet I feel the same
I wonder how many years it takes
For my soul to change
For my spirit to find new beliefs
To think in new shades
How many years do I wait
There is no other
objective but clarity
No other. None. None
*Inspired by the text prompt
A harbor with no ice? Is true!
What fishing boats supposed to do?
And residents with dying fridge
without the cubes we wish to bridge
across the waters of our thirst
our patience true about burst
we make our way and simply pay
we buy bag ice da kine Safeway
My mother is almost certainly a corvid.
If you look at the signs, I am sure it’s in her,
Right down to the genus and species.
See, she’s:
Smart as a tack,
She can solve complex problems without ever skipping a beat,
She’s got a very long memory,
And it goes back,
As far as any eye can see.
She’s cunning,
A survivor through and through,
She wears all black,
And has talent for planning creatively.
She loves to play,
And she thrives in the rain.
Keeps her beloved, tight family,
Close to her home-base tree.