coffee-beans
Poetry

Morning Roast

Sweet vanilla lingers on the pillow
As she rises to open the curtains
It seems another day arrives to live.

She paints her skin with sweet vanilla
Whistling the melody of the morning
To the rustle of the Japanese maple .

He recalls the taste of sweet vanilla
An ice cream shared in courtship
On its long walk around an autumned lake.

Sweet vanilla abides his arousal
He wants to linger a little longer
Awash in roasted beans.

They swallow sweet vanilla
Like beauty to light their adventure
Of love to live today just now arriving.

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old-shed-door-with-metal-stakes-leaning-next-to-it
Poetry

Journal Entry – 2/28 – Skin Suits and Fourth Walls and Lost Socks

Inside my closet, skin suits hang…
no… stop reading… not what you think
No cops, no morbid novels, just metaphor
today, the absurd tool I use to help me
Explain something I otherwise have a tough
Time explaining. And these lines?

A stall tactic.

You must have asked a question I needed to
Avoid. Sorry, was wrapping some brain cells
Underneath the ones you are used to hearing
Slide across these pages
Around that otherwise morbid thought…
Skin suits,

Hanging in my closet. Already, obvious symbolism,
But, I am not going to take them out, just
Going to look at them a bit and marvel a bit
At how many I have tried on over the years.

Looking for a list poem now? I don’t want to
Disappoint, but since I am tired of not
Disappointing you, no list.

None of them fit
very well, anyways.

Much like my yoyo from 32 to 34 to 36 to 38 to 40
to 38 to 36 to 34 to 36 to 38 to 36 to … that
Causes the wardrobe to slowly throb or keeps filling
The donation bags left between the screen door
and Frame these skin suits have lacked necessary
Elasticity.

None of them fit
Right, anyways.

I look down at my current skin suit
Naked (whoa… metaphor, here, silly, don’t avert
your eyes, I need you to keep reading)
and Wonder if it really fits.

Into the donation bag, I stuff the contents of my closet
Then drop the bag on my stoop
Standing naked for my neighbors, for the world
To see! and…

hopefully, ignore,

This feels sort of embarrassing,
Standing naked on my stoop like this, but
If you get the gist, I am going to close the door now
And go back behind the fourth wall
Into my fourth dimension
And look for my
Lost socks.

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06999a2c09307973741b3c2ae5de90e6
Poetry

Words, Words

Words, Words
Once rolled down my driveway on Big Wheels
Knocked on my door, the gang
Looking for a friend to come out and play.
Me, the New Kid on the cul-de-sac, a shy one
Needing a nudge to get out the door and up a tree.

Words, words
Now I look out the window and they roll past
Knocking on the house next door, whose new boy
Easy in his skin, smiles a bigger smile, laughs jollier,
Doesn’t need a nudge to get up that tree.
No, words aren’t like that.

Words, Words
More like the balloon full of air
Attached to a rough cut cardboard fuselage and
Bamboo axles slipped through clipped straws to make
A Newton Scooter. Offering with a light breeze:
“Get turning wheels! Go!”

Words, Words
“See,” they say through the dew that slips
The morning along, “sometimes when I am quiet
I say the most important thing. Sometimes I just
Want you to listen. You cannot name the bird,
But you still hear her sing no less musically.”

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Poetry, Writing Prompts

Happiness is… at least 500 words of it.

Happiness is writing. Happiness is poetry. Happiness is assembling words that fit my mental puzzle together. Happiness is that picture making sense. Happiness is sharing it with you. Happiness is it making sense to you. Happiness is it mattering to you.

Happiness is uncovering new ways of writing because of this challenge. Happiness is liking this challenge because it encouraged me to rhyme. Happiness is liking this challenge because it got me to dredge up weak attempts at haiku and make one of them good enough to sound like I have been doing it a long time. Happiness is a thesaurus. Happiness is a dictionary. Happiness is a rhyming website.

Happiness is uncovering parts of my imagination I didn’t know existed. Happiness is imagining Santa going through a Tom-Cruise-movie moment in his life. Happiness is finding different ways to imagine time travel. Happiness is imagining a story about an Adam and an Eve that includes a post-apocalyptic dystopian world. Happiness is figuring out what happens next in that story.

Happiness is reflecting back on why I started to write. Happiness is reflecting on why I continued to write. Happiness is reflecting on why I wrote about what I wrote about. Happiness is reflecting on moments that made a difference in my writing life. Happiness is reflecting on the people who gave me those moments. Happiness is finding my voice in the first poem I wrote. Happiness is hearing a voice that sounds familiar to my voice today. Happiness is understanding that familiar does not mean the same. Happiness is hearing that familiar voice through the years. Happiness is having the voice I have today.

Happiness is this community of writers I have found here in WordPress. Happiness is appreciating the Internet as a place for the quiet girl in the back of the room to have a place to speak. Happiness is getting to hear her. Happiness is hearing the boy talk about how he is recovering. Happiness is seeing a woman reach out to others in need. Happiness is seeing forums where people gather to share their poetry. Happiness is the healing that arrives in my in-box every day.

Happiness is how real this virtual world feels and absorbs my words. Happiness is recognizing that there are kindred spirits in every country, of every religion, of each generation, and in every time zone. Happiness is collaborating between the gecko and the mouse.

Happiness is making my way back to that road I didn’t travel. Happiness is finding other people on that road. Happiness is seeing that the road goes all around the world. Happiness is knowing this is still the beginning of the road. Happiness is the excitement of continuing down it and trampling on its overgrown grass.

Happiness is silly. Happiness is sappy. Happiness is the bird building a nest under the tiles on my roof. Happiness is this challenge ending at exactly 500 words. Happiness is finding my heart in my poetry and my writing.

https://itsphblog.wordpress.com/ibmc/ibmc-10-the-happiness-challenge/

A few places and people that I am already grateful for the happiness they have brought to me. This is far from a complete list, but merely a starting point of the people who were milling about on the road less travelled as if waiting for me to finally show up! I look forward to getting to know many more of you milling about. Happiness is…

https://alifelesslivedblog.wordpress.com/

https://braveandrecklessblog.com/

https://ramjetpoetry.wordpress.com/

https://justruminating.blog/

https://beautybeyondbones.com/

https://thereluctantpoetweb.wordpress.com/

https://journeythroughawomansheart.wordpress.com/

https://poetgirlem.wordpress.com/

Welcome

https://poetscornerblog.wordpress.com/

https://suddendenouement.com/

https://secretfirstdraft.com/

https://whisperandtheroar.com/

https://paxetdolor.wordpress.com/

and of course:

https://itsphblog.wordpress.com/

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coffee-beans
Poetry

Collected Thoughts – Unorganized

Bean jumps over a fence
Cow jumps over the sheep
Moon jumps over the song
Rose dances with tulip
One whisper spills forth onto the page
A secret dissipates among the masses
Truth eludes the ears
Water freezes, flows
A disc spins and pictures fly off into the dust pile
Gathering on a soda can lonely and empty
Thoughts randomize the chaos into one morsel of sense
Keep the mind free keep the mind free
Democracy builds upon the fires lit by a few
Many miss the mark but arrows still fly and split
Wood into a fire to worm your woman’s feet
And I itch and I scratch until the bone bleeds
Like a cancer flowing through an aging body
That twists and carves a canyon
For the moon to smile upon and spill dim
Sunlight like the cup the child absently tosses
Not knowing water will mold the carpet
Unlike the parents mold the son
And the sun melts the ice frozen flowing
A popsicle smiles on oranged baby cheeks
Cooled on a blistered summers day

Image courtesy: Padurariu Alexandru at http://worthyofelegance.com

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img_3623
Poetry

Slip

I step on the crystal pool
Solid,
The earth spins too fast.
Cracked shell,
The pool
Melts
My head
Waters the dirt.

My eyes wander
Into the open wound,
A dream
Love surrenders,
Love, The Champion,
Love the child
Swept into the heart,
Throbbing.

Here,
Strokes of genius are taught.

A man is cast out to sea,
Bait for life
Arms desperate for grace,
Movement downward
Into the abyss.

From this vantage,
Limits
Slip
Into imagination
The horizon
Burns
The edge of eternity.

Water erodes
Vast caverns
In my flesh
I will dive
Probe their riches,
Out of imagination
I heal the dream.

Image credit: Stephen Sweeney at https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Frozen_pool_of_water_on_Killoch_Burn_-_geograph.org.uk_-_1650020.jpg

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