Waiting for the microwave to finish,
lunch will end soon,
watching the time tick the day away,
dinner will start soon,
wishing for something to start,
hoping for something to end.
You began, then you end,
I begin, then I will end;
we will all begin and end.
With a lick of the spoon,
your toes curl.
The taste on your tongue,
your senses heighten.
The warmth down south,
the feeling builds.
With the last spoonful of Creme Brulee,
you climax and fall off the chair.
our minds with
on the screen.
Fed up, we only
Watching a show
goats going on
A cool breeze moves through me, touches my skin, and moves me to feel the chill of the air.
I must stop for a few moments; work has become omnipresent, and nature calls me to feel.
Scents linger from outside and inside; I sniff the air in wonder and admiration for prosperity.
A dog keeps barking down the hill; I hear the illegal rooster telling everyone how annoying the chickens can be.
the world looks
beautiful & bright.
The city lights,
to make cash, be famous.
a youth with beauty &
virginal naivety on your side.
you learn to fly through
many attempts and mistakes.
“This is the cafe of feelings.”
“We buy feelings.”
“I have feelings.”
“Are you sure? Come with me…”.
“Lining up, they wait and watch the people order in front until it’s their turn.”
“I want a few dollops of sadness, happiness, and anger.”
“I’ll have the same. This’ll be fun”.
Dressed in simple cotton robes, six gathered around the point of examination.
They hesitated. All were too afraid to touch such a foreign-looking living thing.
Braver than the others, one touched a branch a thumb. All followed, touching the last two trees.
Once, we stood with hope in our hearts, as we had a country of our own.
No longer treated as second class citizens by a collective hell, we thrived.
As the invasion takes hold, we think back to that rainbow and our country.
There’s only grey now, as history turns again.
You invited me to take a voyage on the notes you love.
We journeyed together, listening to the way songs changed over time; we embraced our favourites and kept an open mind.
Now, I remember you by a series of your favourite songs, which I sometimes play alone.
“The stories she told! I don’t see ‘er so well now, yet she’s in my heart still telling stories.”
“She must have been an interesting woman.”
“My Lasse, she was no woman unless women are made of water and shells. No, she’s the sea! The sea is the best storyteller.”