24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Why am I running away if I am not guilty?
Why are you running away if you are not guilty?
Why are we running away if we are not filthy?
Why are we running in perpetuity?
Why am I running away if I am not a runner?
Why are you running away if you are not a gunrunner?
Why are we running away if we are not convicts?
Why are we running in perpetuity?
Can we stop and hop
Can we stop and drop
Can we stop and chop
Can we stop running, please?
Making the journey from
my abode
to my code
Was a ritual until I bridged my fellowship
Then it turned into
A joy
A toy
A ploy
A ritual.
Rich and endowed we are
But not endowed enough to make the Rich List
The beauty of our house cannot cover
of Forbes magazine sit
Our home was CNN’s news centre
The other day, it aired my point of view.
My face and quote splashed on the TV screen.
For lunch my banker stopped over.
My surroundings are unworthy.
That is a tiny bit of truth
Darkness blanketed the house.
Silence sat in the sitting room.
Breathing heavily, a figure ran across the room.
Window shattered!
Footsteps ran across the lobby
Could not see.
It was eerie.
It was thisclose to me.
I was scared!
Bleeding! Blood dripped down my temple
It gave me the creeps
It had been a bad two weeks.
Cannot see you because you are moving
constantly in a kaleidoscope of colour.
Your last dance moves were better.
That is my verdict.
The fine dancer in you is distorted
by the kaleidoscope of colours I see
Or is it me?
The colours are all I see.
Police
have arrested
a murder
suspect
the mastermind
behind the
killings of
the president
and other
unresolved
deathly
cases;
Especially the
mysterious
disappearance of
your father.
She would not serve the cup
She would rinse it
Dry it
Hit it and serve it
That is my wife.
A control freaks
The meat is not tender enough
Not seasoned enough
Not broiled enough
That is my wife.
A perfectionist
The wedding is not perfect
The setting is not perfect
Until she gets in.
That is my wife
Image Prompt Martin Torrez
Sunflowers
Yellow faces face the sun
they
Sway in the gentle breeze.
Life lived for oil and seed;
Their gifts at summers end
Gives meaning to their life.
photo prompt by y-s
There once was a man on the trail
When at once it started to hail
Wth no place to run
And a hot cross bun
He said,” To hell with it let’s sail.”
Hope Sonnet
If I could write a poem today with hope
I’d fit in all the trees and birds and bears—
all animals, the skies and seas and air,
republicans, the middles, and the woke
would have their places too, and right beside
them all are you and I and puffer fish
and coral reefs, the nudibranch and nudist.
Ebbing, high, or slack: it takes all tides
to plump up where the moon is. Here’s the thing:
We’re screwed. We’re doomed. We’re toast. We’ve effing ruined it.
Nobody’s coming. Revelations shit.
The planet’s better off without our sting.
The best that I can do in terms of hope
is that the human race will soon be smoke.
—–
[Prompt: Write a poem about hope]