24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Crow,crow,crow,It’s blacky black.
Dark,dark,dark,It’s blacky black.
Black is so, dark, is so hard, is so good,
Not is so ugly and Worsley scared.
If it was scary,I never used.
If it was ugly, I never mind.
Black is so sweet,is so cute,is so lovely,
It is a lovely colour.
Mower
rattle of ceiling fan on high speed
hammering of stakes metal to metal
squeak of my chair
click of mouse
snap tap of keys
birds in trees
chip chip
craw craw
audience roar of distant waves
there they are the clacking of palm fronds tapping in the breeze
me sucking my teeth
a plane moving past bowling from north to south
a thunk from our wrap-around neighbor’s property
back to dragging a heavy flat with jangling chains
across the bare dirt next-door
grinding of tires on gravel
backhoe deep metal clank
another mower stereo mowers
the sound of gooseneck light shuddering as I jiggle my leg on the floor
does the light make a sound?
the garage downstairs worrying
the sound of me waiting for the mail carrier to pick up
Sally’s birthday card and lower the flag of the mailbox
beating the odds to Georgia by Wednesday
With gumboots spread wide, I crane my bare head
to the periwinkle sky, tie dyed and bled
a skyscraper needle’s head, I then spy
pierces a cloud up high, sighs
bringing rain’s beating pings
like beetle’s wings
on thin
skin.
– Sandra Johnson, 6/26/21
Hr 1 Prompt 11
Way up above on this skyscraper
Got these clouds in my sights
Ready to spread my wings and fly
Dancin’ to the beat
Catchin’ that rhythm
Soon as the needle hits my vinyl
In death she remains perfect, untouched Like the dreams we never tried, never ruined with our breath. She will always hold the goddess seat A memory of adoration that cures as it ages And you lovers of the living will have to make the best of all your faults.
Why is my crown so garish,
With spikes and thorns and so,
My face rotting and disintegrating,
My eyes the colour of blood.
Why am I dressed in capes,
And long gowns kissing the floor,
The grey faded and old,
A rusty scythe in my clutches.
Just a girl in jeans,
My sweatshirt with ridiculous text,
Eyes the colour of coffee,
A crown that keeps falling off my head.
Why do you love Life so much,
And hate me so much,
After all, I’m her twin,
But my job is taking lives…
~thryaksha
Hamlet’s Revenge
Is it a wisp of fire
Burning deep in my heart
Fluttering to be free,
Or the whisper
That murmurs in the wind
Tempting to bind
Within the walls of fire?
Hour 8
@varenyas
You’re uninvited.
Don’t stop here.
I am not afraid.
This isn’t fear.
I just can’t spare
the time to dance.
In love with life,
that’s my romance.
So go away.
Don’t come for me.
At least for now
just let me be.
She strides down with certainty:
head held high,
hair whipped back
by the hot winds.
No one bothers
to halt her advance.
You usually have to haul
the screaming and reluctant.
If she wishes to descend,
so be it.
She marches on the palace.
She moves with serpentine grace
and a devilish gaze.
You would know.
Mortal souls do not cross
the threshold of this place.
She does so unhindered,
as fanged and taloned guards
cower in her wake.
You lurk at a distance.
She enters the throne
room with faithful steps.
You can hear the king laugh,
and imagine
her black eyes mirthful,
tortured and enchanting.
You cannot imagine
those abyssal eyes
betraying any kind
of honesty or light.
The world will shudder
when they emerge,
arm in arm, perfect teeth
bared for the fatal bite.
A most terrible king,
and a vengeful commander.
The darkness, firecast,
grows like spreading wings
in the shadows
of these angels fallen.
