roses are sweet
though I can never tell
the point where
essence is lost
table top manners
and looking glass gold
frail as these fingers
to hold
repent me
no longer –
were nothing but skin
succumb to your waiting
again
mystic translation
of who I became –
bartering breath
for sorrow
fate of the faithless
to bow
long stilled
the passion
of summers made sweet –
whispers forgotten
another someday –
muttering madness
secrets to lies
will takes the hunger
away
. . .
Come Enjoy Cindy’s Audio!!!
Spoken Poetry for The New Year
Source: Ignite Our Light For The New Year: Spoken Poetry | Unique Times
Come And Enjoy The Audio Too!!
Dedicated to Jane and Niles.
On days that should be remembered for
their cold rain, because of you all I see
is the sun breaking through.
You wrap me in a wool coat
and we wander through years of experience-
heartache, loss, hearty elms
and wilted vines.
Our friendship knotted with the binding
thread work of love.
We are the roses on the vines
Always pausing as another
flower is cut from our lives.
Knowing in the end none
of us is spared.
We walk on hand in hand.
The light of day disperses.
The light of our friendship
never shutters, never wavers.
The tint of the years fades details.
Age will eventually tint the nuances
but time can’t touch our souls.
Our heart won’t forget.
Thank you for always being
the one constant sky
I have prayed for.
-Tosha Michelle
Listen to You ve Got a Friend2 by Tosha…
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Uniqueness is Perfection
It is not perfection that makes us special
It‘s uniqueness and character
It is not smooth faces that tells the story
The gray and the wrinkles are our glory
It’s the wrinkles of time that show who we are
Years of strain and years of pain
Bring out the character in everyone
Allows us to remember all the fun
Botox and silicone can stretch us tight
Filling up wrinkles and sags
It stretches us tight and we look a fright
When the make-up comes off each night
After years of work, play, and fun
The thing that makes us special
Is not perfection or a smooth complexion
Our uniqueness makes us the exception.
So why worry over what time has wrought
Thinking we can make it better
We create a mask with our aim for perfection
Hiding our uniqueness and losing our perception
That aging person in…
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I’m tired of dragging my hurts round like a stick along jail cell bars. And my tune always broken, and the warden always asking for some change. Let me lie down on a cot, or in the middle of …
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018
Come And Enjoy Bree’s – The Clock!!!
The numberson the clockchange again
I watched them tick over
reminding me that another minute has passed
and I’m still awake
I observe my staccato thoughts
wondering
how to quiet this frantic mind
My brain talks with my anxiety about possible futures –
they’re allwhat ifsandmaybes
of things that haven’t happened
andI can’t control
The numbers on the clock change again
the one constant force in life
the slow, steady movement of time
A steady tick, something to depend on
that thoughts can’t stop or change
I can at least find a strange comfort in this truth
It’s enough for now –
the torturous clock becomes my friend
Growth, Gratitude and Appreciation
Like a river….
I knew the first time I saw you. I wanted you. You were wild, untamed, loud and I wanted to fall into your storm. I went to you, rested my head into your lap and I whispered. Dear Juliet, dear Juliet. Let’s travel bravely into the night, let us find the wild Pacific tonight, let us gather our suicide boards, let us, dance with the Winter storm of January.
Your hazel eyes shined brightly, and you told me. You believe you can tempt me dark poet. Your sweetest words are like the sweetest maple syrup, and I believe you are the devil with the blue eyes. I am, like a river Johnnie. Running to the sea and away from people who want to own everything. I looked up at your wild eyes and I told her. Dear Juliet, my beautiful Juliet. Johnnie doesn’t own nothing but an…
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Love is like a hammer…
I left Michigan in 1991 and I sat in the jazz club at 12 pm, trying to write a poem. The Jazz man was playing the songs, so good. He asked me. Johnnie, you need a song. I told him. I want the saddest and most honest song you can sing. I put twenty dollars in his tip cup. He thought a minute and he told me. I got your song my friend. The saddest song I know. The song is called. Love is like a hammer. He begins to sing and I started bleeding to the paper. “Love is like a hammer My dear love, beautiful Eve told me. If you leave me today. Please don’t come back no-one. If California loved, you are so damn much. I hope she can make you happy. I returned in 1994 and the door locks were changed…
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The Reluctant Poet 