24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The shinny walls, cream and covered in an aesthetically pleasing art collection.
Floors, wooden in need of sweep, fruit bowl overflowing, in shafes of orange and yellow, red.
The couch made up for a visitor, washing hanging from the curtains rods. Fan rotating on medium.
Birds nests seaurchains shells and dusk seetle on the cluttered surfaces of woode shelves.
Book cases stacked neatly with a familys life time of treasures, all unopened.
Orange leaping up at me,
green drooping down.
Red, black, and white all around, blending into each other perfectly.
Cacophony in my left ear,
melody in my right.
Somehow, perfectly in sync.
Lingering taste of spice,
soothing salivation,
from the dinner I cooked a few hours ago.
Fresh floral scent.
Is it me, or someone else?
I’m too tired to know, but I appreciate it.
Cold air making its way through my coat, counteracted by
Blankets warming my legs, and
poetry warming my soul.
All these, working together, to shape space and time for me.
Heightening my senses, grounding my mind.
Palm Reader
Your hands in mine,
I read the future
that your fingers will grow to fit
These lines tell stories
of tricycle races, all-nighters for D’s, first elections,
heartbreak, sleep-filled days and eclipses
Live this scavenger hunt
of tests and treasures
The map is in your hands
Grab it and run
“Tall Tales”
burning light
from crystal skulls
the Poetess, picks up
her quill
words, trickle
from muses
cards chosen
through messages
clarities revealed
compliments given
her eyes well
talent they claim
beautifully interesting
In My Room
I have the whole world here
Next to a magic window
that looks in on places near and far
The ancestors look down from the wall
On an array of chemical concoctions
waiting to be ingested
A minor forest sends out tendrils
Under an example Edison’s invention
And everywhere, dead trees
Pressed and printed and placed on shelves
Escape hatches out of my universe.
Image Courtesy of Pixabay
Amidst a place where silence reigns,
A tale unfolds in whispered strains,
A realm of splendor, so they say,
But truth, perhaps, may slip away.
The sky above, a painted scheme,
A canvas vast, or so it seems,
Yet in its hues, a subtle jest,
A fiction woven in the west.
The trees, they stand in still repose,
In shades of green, their story goes,
But secrets hidden ‘neath their bark,
A myth, a riddle in the dark.
The river’s flow, a gentle stream,
Its waters gleam, or so they deem,
A liquid ribbon, winding by,
Yet truth’s reflection, one can’t deny.
Creatures here, they claim to dwell,
In this enchanting, mystic spell,
With fur and feather, scale and fin,
A tapestry where truths begin.
To capture this, in words, they try,
Yet falsehoods in their tales may lie,
For nature’s beauty, veiled and shrewd,
Holds truths and lies, both well-imbued.
So, with a hint of truth and lore,
The storytellers weave, and more,
A world obscured, in mystery,
Where lies entwine with truth’s decree.
Antoinette LeRoux © 2023
A big long thing you sit on is located to my right
A couch? A sofa? A chesterfield? A bed?
A bed….if only, then I would say goodnight!
To my left is another item, where my dog curls up and sleeps.
Oh wait, it’s a concept called a chair, I think? I’m thinking heaps.
Across from me there is a stand and on top a moving picture frame
A VCR? A CD player? Xbox? Maybe a television is its claim to fame.
We have a few tables that are set around the room.
On top of them are pet rocks and DnD books, imagination in bloom.
This room it is a comfy place where I spend lots of time.
I think this lack of sleeps caught up and made me lose my mind.
There are things everywhere
thrown about
Next to baseboards
on wooden floors
on living room couches
i place my clean clothes
after folding
I am a mid-life sandwich
You can see me coming.
A weighed-down superhuman,
worn out at the edges.
I’d like to call myself a pensioner,
with freedoms whilst still healthy,
to live more riotously,
to explore
but duty pulls me.
My wide portfolio profession of different roles.
My unshakeable responsibility.
It’s not funny.