I am a flickering light -
a little candle -
a dancing flame so happy to have been set alight!
But I am fragile, Father.
A sudden gust could blow me out.
A brief shower of rain.
A spiteful touch from cold fingers.
A swell of noxious pride at my own tiny mortal beauty.
So hold me very close, Father.
Shield me with your mighty, gentle hand.
Be patient with me as only you could be.
For I am a forgetful and unfaithful little heart.
But, at least for a moment,
I can offer you my sincere desire to love you,
though I fear that I hardly have the power to love at all.
But you make all things new.
Written in Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart
2025-08-22
started before noon, finished by 12:04 PM.
The most recognizable album cover in history, the photo of the
Beatles crossing Abbey Road, taken in the summer of sixty nine,
fifteen minutes before noon on August eight to be précised.
An iconic album cover for the image resonated with the fans.
There are wall posters of this photo and it seems men, my age,
in music industry have one in their living rooms or studios.
The photograph of the most influential band in the world walking
on a zebra crossing became one of the most imitated of all time.
I am one of those who imitated it five months ago, 19 of October
at eleven fifty in the morning, when we had photos taken crossing
Abbey Road, amidst a busy road in northwest London in St. John’s Wood
in the city of Westminster, outside Abbey Road Studios, formerly EMI.
We crossed Abbey Road in single file with me leading, followed by my
daughter and my granddaughter with our fourth person, my grandson
taking the pictures so he was not included, kind of disappointing.
How I wish we were there on October 9, John Lennon and my birthday.
There is a wind blowing around me,
and something from the sea is draining my energy
It is dragging me towards the battered shore
And I have to take refuge behind the door
but a giant wave plucked me out and tossed
my slender frame about it covers me
and I am lost in the middle of the sea
the current keeps spinning me around
And all that I have is a cap and a crown
Oh Mother of the sea, rest your bosom
upon my knees and make haste to save me
I have no more strides left
And I am running out of breath
Cast your boat upon the shore and
Come and rescue me
before the waves swallow me
Oh mother of the sea
is this my final destiny?
I have not lived my life yet
And I am on the verge of death
Please don’t take me so soon
We have to meet before noon
I have set my eyes on you
Form the first day I met you
I was here and you were there
And when the energy breaks through the room
It filled the atmosphere with fresh air
and from that very day
you took my heart away
and I couldn’t look the other way
Oh mother of the sea,
Tell my sweet heart
to come and rescue me
I am lost in the middle of the sea
And my eyes are set upon thee.
A spring poem
I try to write a poem since it is the first of Mars
The spring sun was looking huge, but not for long
A black cloud bigger than the sun muscled in
Stop! You are trying to write a poem, not tell us
About the weather, but since you are at it did
the cloud shed cold rain
I can’t say, I was indoors in my bedroom looking out
a poet never arises before noon
It is twenty two o’clock in time
Where days without numbers drop
A pocket watch falls with broken hands
Lost, out of sync with reality
There where winds breath in shadows
Consumed by the sun’s last light
Taking secrets where they may go
Into insanity where reason goes
There in the middle of the round about
In the town square where lines migrate
Merge with the people at dance triangulated
Where circular conversations turn south
Taking in silence as the bells toll out
It is dimensions in decline that matters
It is shapes formed in the fabric of time
Diminished in the hours bent on being
Based on moments measured
Eleventy two degrees below zero comes
On the thermal cold words of the wise
By design, twenty two o’clock persists
Before noon, thinkers think twice, dim the lights
On anyone thinking good thoughts
It is never too late to die
It was Novemberless at winters gate
When the world changed direction
Where space filled in previous mistakes with legs
Replaced them with happiness at the table
It is twenty two o’clock in time
Where days without numbers drop
A pocket watch falls with broken hands
Lost, out of sync with reality
There where winds breath in shadows
Consumed by the sun’s last light
Taking secrets where they may go
Into insanity where reason goes
There in the middle of the round about
In the town square where lines migrate
Merge with the people at dance triangulated
Where circular conversations turn south
Taking in silence as the bells toll out
It is dimensions in decline that matters
It is shapes formed in the fabric of time
Diminished in the hours bent on being
Based on moments measured
Eleventy two degrees below zero comes
On the thermal cold words of the wise
By design, twenty two o’clock persists
Before noon, thinkers think twice, dim the lights
On anyone thinking good thoughts
It is never too late to die
It was Novemberless at winters gate
When the world changed direction
Where space filled in previous mistakes with legs
Replaced them with happiness at the table
Highlighters
I sometimes dress up my
highlighters in
lace and
give them pop quizzes on
something’s that go on
before noon.
Sunflowers like smiling balloons,
round and robust, sounds
of the stem bobbing like a string
tied not to the past but to the soons.
Lost before noon, the duct
let out one final tear. Now
she is nearer to God than me.
Like a sheepdog, I guard my Dad.
Sunflowers, weaved into a frame,
deluded in happiness while we pass.
Petals pull at the heart, switching
moods between Winter and Spring.
His tears fill up palm lake, pulsing
of his broken heart. All delusions
fall off the cliff. Reality of life
without her, within.
Sunflowers’ dark brown centers,
the grief stricken eyes, tarred
and feathered. Childlike questions,
those eyes open wide…
So pretty purple urn; claustrophobic
words can’t contain the expression
of who she is-was. Ashes in eyes and
hearts of contemporary ascendants.
Sunflowers’ reflections, so alive,
slowly dying. We watch ourselves
fading. The funeral parading
before us, bypassing us.
A rhyme.
Helps control the chaos.
Time. Lime. Thyme.
My ideas normally stray.
So I tame them.
They go further, anyway.
Strolling through the downtown of my thoughts.
Disjointed like dinosaur bones that have just been discovered.
Dinosaur, roar, soar.
When I rhyme?
The ask why.
The rhythm is something I can control.
It’s a hobby, but also keeps me calm.
It keeps me calm, but also crazy.
They suggest a thought disorder?
Maybe just a quarter.
Before noon?
Making cookies soon.
My ideas are an adventure.
And like an adventure, are scary sometimes.
They had suggested a thought disorder.
I will take that into consideration.
Innovation…imagination.
I will take that into consideration…
If my mind allows me to remember.
Insomnia:self induced
I had a rough night didn't sleep much at all
So i make my coffee strong sweet and tall
Got to wake up and get on with the day
Caffeine infused and sugar laced
Tonight I'll go to bed,not stay up so late,
And meet the dawn if i get there by eight
The afternoon crash comes to me before noon
So another pot of coffee I'll brew, maybe two!
Wow! I'm productive! I get everything done! Start feeling sleepy again ‘ound about one…no more coffee,or I'll never get to bed, so I drink some diet Pepsi instead!
Made it through work,cooked dinner for all…it's 6pm and I'm ready to fall…I'll just have some dessert for energy,black coffee’d go great so i make more for me.
And here i am,wide awake once again. Not sleepy at all and its 2am. I don't understand why i cannot sleep…i stay busy all day and i feel so beat…I finally lay down to try for a few winks…and wake up to the very same thing!
I had a rough night didn't sleep much at all…so i make my coffee, strong sweet and tall.
In a Train Station
Quickly we had our breakfasts
Then we both gazed
At the station clock
The morning train is late
Everything is wet
At night, the rain poured heavy
I listened to it
Hitting the bricks on the roof.
So tasty is this coffee, you said
The smell of bread, the flame of the oven
And the two bags
You didn’t wear your trenchcoat, I asked
You didn’t reply
You doubted
Whether we could reach the airport before noon
The plane won’t wait for us, you said
What if the train never arrives
We have no time
The hands of the clock are not moving
And those waiting before us
Took their bags and disappeared
What are we waiting for?
I was lost in the cumulus clouds
Over the chimneys of country houses
Yet, the village was still sleeping
The station guard switched off the lights
And left, humming a song
Tell me
When will we leave too?
No one is here
Even you
You are not here
The rain has dried up
Your dreams became pale
And very far is the airport.
Twenty two years has gone by,
And yet we’re gathered here again to say
Goodbye.
Goodbye to our loved ones taken too soon.
Taken in that bright Tuesday morning
All before noon.
Husbands ,wives ,fathers, mothers, daughters and sons ,
Taken from us for no wrong they had done.
We gather here to honor these souls,
Taken from us and robbed the privilege
To grow old.
None of us will understand why they
Had to die,
But we know we will continue to come and gather here to say good bye.
i appreciate the real me for living her truth
for showing me hobbies I no longer want to do
giving me passions that became obsessive
introducing me to poetry, cartooning, drawing
I congratulate the real me for successfully eliminating jobs
All together I walked away from twenty-eight that were not for me
I left some before noon the first day
following my instincts out the door, before the W2’s were created
I revere myself for knowing how much I need people
how attached I am to playing with children
for bringing dogs, cats, squirrels, birds and raccoons to my yard
my heart, my life, my dreams, my ideas, my stories are full
Winter is leaving a patchwork behind
Woven lumps of snow, for spring to un-wind
Melting into flowing streams, easy to follow
Right on down to the river bend's flow
A place for my soul's revival, under tall pines, soft soil
A nice place of rest from burdening toil
I can imagine I'll be there pretty soon
Set a date with my muse sometime before noon
The river may show me something special to say
Bringing with its music, a refreshing, new day
Heidi Sands
4/10/23
Received POTD 4/12/23
I have successfully eliminated twenty-seven jobs.
Jobs I interviewed for maybe more than one time.
Jobs I wrote essays to procure.
Jobs that paid me well.
Almost too well.
I successfully eliminated some of them before noon the first day.
We haven’t even filed your W-2 paperwork yet, the boss says.
The boss is usually stunned.
Not understanding.
I spend my life successfully eliminating things I do not want
in order to find my joy.
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