24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Mary Tyler Moore listens to the sound of fireworks.
Normally, the exterior backdrop of her one-step living room layout
featured falling snow.
But, hey, it was almost July, and the neighbors were ready,
no they were READY, to celebrate.
“Mar, you better throw that hat. It’s gonna catch a spark,” says Rhoda on her way offstage.
FLOWER-BOX IN THE OVERTON WINDOW
there’s a faerie in that flower and it’s perfectly obvious to me
I won’t be surprised if you don’t see, it’s been thirty-three years of this crap
fertilize as we say at the zonk league roll that vanna and land it like a legend
thankfully nowadays the weird witch is a brand and not even a budget brand at that
so if someone says charlatan I can say no bootleg fam just as advertised ask the plants
crystals hanging from everything and tetris my own art above herb-brushed countertops
my accumulating mind one crow bending tools for any fellow as destiny requests of me
the pizza box is empty and was empty yesterday, ah so, such is life
you’re such a pessimist you’d only find a four-leaf clover rhapsody in blue
one flower seems more like an accident than an archetype being frank
some of this is faulty memory and some darkened stairs with the lights gone out
italian ice in a box at my feet with a secret message be spoontaneous
which gave me the sense of fumbling for my keys in a horror movie and I wasn’t a fan
a caravan of merchant treasures and ancient action figures and one perfect spiderweb
counting stairs with a hand on the wall remembering which doors have rugs for tripping on
nobody asked if vault boy would stand near godzilla and it was honestly a little rude
closing my eyes and opening them and discovering no difference
our nightmares contain monsters but the monsters’ nightmares feature corporate scheduling
since I’ll only tolerate a bad ending when I already know it word for word
so I wrote my own story as a movie script and someone signed michael bay to direct
yeah and I will watch through my fingers because I need my own hand to remind me I’m real
swinging with the kicks and locks and looping backwards in a pencil figment
like some lines are too soft
like I can’t trust myself to sketch a circle
Text Prompt
Take a common saying like “To get lost is to learn the way” or “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch” or “This too shall pass,” as the basis of writing a poem.
The Weaker Sex
You are a force of nature, darling.
Your body turns cells into organs.
Your center brings human souls into the world.
Your existence is humbling.
So, yes, his apology be as loud as his disrespect.
Imagine butterflies in a corpse.
Imagine how their yellow wings
Rust in the darkness. How their
Little legs get lost in
The tissue. I hope
They could escape
One day soon.
Cut them
Out.
A nose is a very important thing.
It helps you find the fragrance of life well lived.
Some noses are big and other noses are small.
some noses have trouble smelling anything at all.
Some noses get in the business of others because they have none of their own.
some noses can smell trouble a mile away; some noses can smell trouble, but have very little to say.
A helpful nose knows when something is wrong and can smell a crime before things can get out of hand, but it’s funny how these noses never want pay Or recognition if they are being of service to their fellow man.
A nosy neighbor can be a pest, but they can come in handy if they are not afraid to speak when the time is right and make it their business when they are needed in the fight.
Everybody’s got a Nose whether it works as designed by our maker above.
It is very much needed even if it takes up too much space.
It’s a marvelous thing to have in the center of your face.
It’s your nose and it can never be replaced.
Active humans cannot empty globe’s content enough
and how to empty life cannot be taught or schooled
some lived it as a big bang and sudden exit
for others silent control work quite better
for others double trouble wouldn’t hear
sound of trumpet herald their entry
like a whimper and a drumbeat
or a rustling shrill music
patrol
My sister and I run through the forest
Breezing through branches and scaring squirrels
We are queens of the fields
Princess of bubbling brooks
My sister and I
How I long to
Play again
Play with
Her
Copyright © 2021 Roxann Lawrence (Poetessrock)
Hold’em Callous and Close
The challenge thrown at my feet,
acceptably met in delight,
The cold occupant of my blood drenched void,
screaming in silent elation,
Twin apposing souls to deliver sweet agony,
in the form of the others plight,
Cold psyche casting its devious intent to my beloved’s murderous provocation.
The flop
The beginning of our macabre game
A round preceding the expected in escalation.
The challenge wonderous in dark anticipation,
of the sublime killing to come,
Gambling of polluted souls,
concluding in the others in roaring dominance,
Mind cast and ready for the deliverance of innocent lives,
sorely to succumb,
Or dice soon to be cast against the other passions of our true disturbance.
The Turn
The opportunity to offer the unexpected
A round fitting of horrendous continuation in stakes
The challenge magnificent in completion,
finality bound in its termination,
What cold desires shall we reign on the other,
devoid of man’s consequences.
To relish the suffering in each other,
soon be dealt in tones of goaded exaltation.
The deck stacked with nausea inducing repercussions.
The River
If Valkyrie does indeed make it this far
A round with all on the line, or one last trick to ruin.
