You are my music


You are my music…..

We found love in the lost and found.

You are the most beautiful gal in the world.

I remember your smile, I remember your laughter.

I painted your skin with my hands and I told you.

Please come true, please come willingly into my arms.

I will give you the world, I would steal the moon for you.

Please follow me and I will follow you.

You wrote poetry on my skin and you sang love songs to me.

“Love, be sweet.

Love, be kind.

Please make me believe,

you will stay forever.

Let’s find the sameness in life,

let’s find the wonderful sea,

let’s find safe place where love is our to adore.

I am your love and you are my love.

I am the sand and you are the sea.

I am waiting for you to cover me with kisses.

Please stay with me…

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Paris, London, Basel and Barcelona


Paris, London, Basel or  Barcelona….

We were wanderlust, whiskey kisses and sleeping till noon.

We loved clotheless mornings and afternoon meals.

We loved loud music and we loved the sea.

I would tell you when I watched you undress,

you leave me breathless.

You would dance for the afternoon sun bare-ass and with a smile.

We love the hotels near the sea or the rivers.

Naked we were in our words,

naked we were in our emotions.

We loved Paris, London, Basel and Barcelona.

When you came to me, straddle me and you sang to me.

“Please stay with me by the sea,

please let’s sing and dance to the rising moon.

Let’s become Gypsies and sleep near the sea, near a flowing river.

I want open sea, I want a river flowing to the powerful sea.

I want us to taste free days, taste Scottish whiskey and never be…

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I am a poet

Just a Girl Lost 2


They say

all poets

at some point

in time

possess and express

in overabundance

one or two

or three or four

of the traits listed







all poets

are very:











if it’s true


you have these traits

And you live poetry

you might be a poet

Depending upon

the interpretation,

it’s not a bad thing


I might be a poet,



I live in the same world as you

Poetry is my favorite addiction/meditation/recreation/Re-Creation

I adore exploring every beautiful place

in a poet’s universe

I am a poet,

but only in spirit

I’m not like you

You are one of the chosen few

Whose words speak to my heart’s most hidden parts

I cannot pen my adoration to the ones I adore

as elegantly as you do

So, I carry you with…

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winter faerie

Gretchen Del Rio's Art Blog

watercolor 1/2021

‘I wonder if the snow loves the trees

and the fields, that it kisses them so gently?

And then it covers them up snug,

you know with a white quilt;

and perhaps it says “Go to sleep,

darlings, til the summer comes again.’

…………….Lewis Caroll

I painted this for my daughter. It joins another earlier Christmas piece which only comes to view during the holidays. It’s like bringing out all those ornaments for the tree. Always a bit of magic felt.

I would give to you peace and light for this new year.

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The Death of a Rose

Charmed Chaos

Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay

“Tell me, is the rose naked or is that her only dress?”- Pablo Neruda, The Book of Questions

As dying fragrant petals drift to blackened terra, 
earthworms seeking fresh air, drink in their sweet perfume
and taste of life’s fading essence in dusty pink hues
as they feast like drunken butterflies on sweet rose wine

Some wandering petals take wing, flying through the air 
bobbing and floating on a cool spring breeze
tempting flocks of doves with ambrosial confetti
a dance of dying colors, before they fall~ forgotten

Back to cold earth

dVerse Poetics: A Conversation Sarah is hosting today and asks us to write a response to a poem we have read in the last year that spoke to us. I chose a poem from Pablo Neruda’s The Book of Questions (link above in quote). Here is poem III:

Tell me, is the…

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Opening – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon


Image: Michael Gaida,

“I like the unreality of your mind; the whole thing is very splendid and voluptuous and absurd.” Virginia Woolf


Opening the window wide
reality flew in like an albatross,
all flustered and no direction,
shattering all my pieces,
pretending to be something while
spectacularly embarrassing itself
with saturated deathly excuses
emptying from its smirking life,
and so completely removed,
"who's the dissociative now?"
I asked, as I closed the door on
my way out to creative futures.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

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