24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Words fail me when I look around me
Am I dead? am I in heaven?
I am on the snowy banks of a lofty mountain range
Clad but in a flimsy robe weaved of dreams
Yer feel I not the biting cold
but a comforting warmth rises from my innards
A shower of joy descends from my head
permeating every pore of my body
filling them with the ambrosia of Hope.
AND THAT IS REAL!
Hour 18
Holding on to what’s left of me
It’s not that easy
Slipping memory
Changing personality
I move from place to place
Expecting to find solace
Always seeking a new face
I can hold in my embrace
Echoes of my past in my ears ringing
Assign too much meaning
Find my world spinning
Demons winning
Light shines from the unexpected
Feeling blessed, protected
Negative trajectory redirected
Positively affected
Dealing with my choices
I know how it gets worse
when the only way out is down
I know when it gets worse
sometime around now
I know why it gets worse
that’s the worst part
He is stuck with me
Always telling, showing me
That spirit in me
*Inspired by the text prompt
PAINTING
A dash of red, a stroke of blue
Is my painting wonderful to view?
No painting can be done in a rush
Unless it is done by a magic brush.
For an artist all his paintings are priceless
But for a layman it may be worthless
Judge the painting through your inner eye
Believe me, it would never lie.
Paint on a canvas
Paint on a board
You are the artist
And the brush is your sword!
Paint for your happiness
Paint for your soul
Stay away from demotivators,
‘Who want to push you into a black hole’.
BY SHREYA SURAJ
Purple cotton candy clouds
Over a city of written dreams
Drifting, gliding, floating
Covering everything in a hazy glow
Not unlike sleep laden eyes
And mind conjuring up vivid pictures
Of fairies, dwarves and goblins
Dryads, elves, gremlins
Mingling in a landscape of serene chaos
Magic and dreams form worlds
More worlds… and words
Of wisdom, love and hope.
I wanted to find something
More than mere words
And give it to you
So this is the place I offer to you.
It is midnight now – the witching hour
I am drinking honeyed whiskey and writing
in something other then obsidian ink –
so clearly whatever is haunting me now
is not you is not cinnamon or orange juice.
I am not sobbing about the cities we did
not get to visit or the poems you chose not
to read so process of elimination –
this is NOT about you. It will be the
storm’s prime time soon – with more
flooding and too much unnoticed magic
.Shortly after that it will be the
artists hour and even the things that
have never made sense to anyone
gardless of their mental state or
abilities will be crystal and powerful.
People will gather and revel and you –
you will realize just how much there was
to miss. You will understand the haunting
of a lingering poem and the way the
computer eats thoughts from us all.
And time will continue to fly by
because I have conditioned myself
to this and for all the right reasons –
no one would ever notice the cracks.
-M. Rene’
This machine keeps me company
I often walk up to it
I find the drip drip drip musical
The fluffy brown rises
Jiggling, filling my cup
Unconsciously finching, taking a sip
It is bitter sweet and I have a burnt tongue
‘Ther’ are bigger things to consider
But ‘ther’ are smaller ones too
And I am in the midst of all
Am I feeling any different?
The intricate fantasies shock me
I see and feel in slow mo
I am unlucky to recognize this
Maybe I am overthinking
My coffee is finished
The brown drops have left a smile
On the bottom of a writer’s cup
I am lucky enough to notice this.
©️ Divya Venkateswaran
The sun-kissed my cheeks.
Imaginations filled my heart,
the first day of college,
was a mighty experience,
a kaleidoscope of lessons,
I’ve learned about Chemicals:
it is everything on earth.