inspiration

He teased me with purple

As I was walking through the garden 

looking for flowers, I saw him.

He was crouched down in front of plant.

 

I said, excuse me, Sir,

Do you have any poppy flowers?

As he stood up to greet me and turned around, 

he was holding a giant turnip.

 

He teased me with it,

hiding his face behind

as he answered my question.

 

Apparently, he used to have a poppy plant.

 

But there was rumor,

the authorities had gotten word of it,

and he had to destroy it.

 

He just couldn't have

that kind of trouble

around his garden,

disturbing his peace.

 

I laughed and listened as he told me detailed stories about the plant.

How he extracted opium from it once in a while and used it for medicine.

And about the fights he would get into with a neighbor

who would sometimes sneak over the fence

slice into the pod and steal the resin.

 

I told him the reason I was looking for one,

was that I wanted to paint its beautiful form

and I needed a model.

 

He then proceeded to tell me

about other flowers he was growing in his garden.

Perhaps you could paint one of them instead, he said.

 

As he guided me toward the blooming beds,

he told me about his scientific methods of farming.

Seems, he was a Biodynamic farmer.

 

Positioning's of the stars, moon and sun, guided him in the tending of his garden.

He told me about the seasons, and the daylight and night light.

And of how each aspect affected the plants.

 

I learned about the decay after harvest season,

about the death of winter,

and about the best time to plant seeds.

 

He talked about the heavy rains of spring,

and the flowers blooming

and the bees pollenating

and about the mating season.

 

It was getting late, and I had to get back home.

He invited me to come to his garden anytime to paint.

And then I proceeded to go on my way,

fully intending to come back one day.

 

 

 

 

 

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Sentimental Summertime

What would it take

what would it take to make you mine 

can i have a second 

a second of your time

or maybe just a dance 

a dance for two under the stars

i want to vacation in the warmth 

the warmth inside your arms

On the rooftops in Seattle 

or lake michigans cold shores 

i don't care where we go 

as long as baby, i'm yours. 

That makes me feel humbly appreciative

The sweetest note just came to me.

From a friend who muses off of me.

He said he was proud after watching me.

As I read an ode to our friend Kenny.

Following with a fairy tale,

to the little girl in the corner booth.

He said it filled his heart with love.

Watching me as I gave my love.

He called me a fantastic woman, 

It brought a tear into my eye.

The honor that he just gave me, 

was a little bit hard for me to receive.

I don't know why its hard to hear praise.

Self doubt always seems to get in the way.

Nevertheless it made me feel good.

As I'm happy to touch a soul or two.

The little girl, I had inspired.

She wrote her own story with a couple of letters.

Then she read what she wrote to me.

It was quite an elaborate fairy tale story.

Only she could read the words.

Adults had tried but couldn't decipher,

For they lived within her 4 yr old mind.

Couldn't read or write but she could see the lines.

Its a joy to see a soul inspired to be creative at any age.

I'm grateful for these interactions, they are a beautiful exchange.




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MOTIVATION

I may be under this small roof today
I don't care, I am on a translational wheel
I believe would propel me to a greater height

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Orange Little Ball

An orange little ball,
Tattered and torn to bits,
No longer does it fly straight,
Its course lost, its path in fits,

 

An orange little ball,
Sad within its cracks and in its creases,
Faded bumps, its lost its grip,
It now falls to pieces,

 

Orange little ball,
Come to death smiling,
Never live just to die,
Happiness lives in and amidst the crying,

 

Orange little ball,
Wipe the tears away,
There is peace to be found,
In and amongst the fray.

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I Want to Be the Girl That Flies

I want to be the girl that flies

With crystal wings

Across blue skies

Untouchable

From down below

Always knowing

Where to go

I want to be the girl that lands 

And this girl is greeted

With outstretched hands

I want my friends to keep me safe

From that scary lonely terrible place

I want to be the girl that dances

She’s not afraid of taking chances

She’s been burned

But she’s not shy

I want to be the girl that flies 

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Long Live

Folder: 
Lovespeak

People may not understand

What's going on between us

Or why we both take a stand

They don't know what's on our hearts

 

We have our own worlds

Dreams made true by words

Happy endings and all that

Sometimes, our stories get sad

 

They might accuse us

Of losing our minds

They cannot blame us

We are our own child

 

Long live! We will be remembered!

Live free! We will live forever!

Long live! We belong together!

Free will! We are so much brighter!

 

Words may not come easy

But we will find them our way

They will find them classic

'Cause they'll soon get them our way

 

Long live! They will remember our lines!

They will remember our words!

Long live! We will be part of their lives!

They will see our own worlds!

 
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Written almost a year after I looked into your eyes for the first time

I don't remember what I saw

I don't remember the first time we spoke

Most would say that the moment a foundation is set

(because you only meet a person for the first time once)

you're supposed to remember

 

But I'm going to take a turn for opposites and choose tails instead of heads.

 

The little things matter.

 

Here's what I do remember:

 

The first time I confessed to you 

something about me because you had just done the same.

201 closing shift, I think it may have rained.

 

The first time you told me you didn't succumb to networking norms because it has no purpose.

Disappointment, yes.

Reminder of what friendships used to be before requests, much more yes.

 

Our lingering moments in the shelves,

digressions of the nonsensical shards of pain life had rained on us.

 

Notice how it always seems to rain.

That's how we'll know we're okay.

Our beings survive every time.

 

The first time we talked about going in

Man. Women.

Not a moment too soon, no hesitation.

We knew.

 

Every time I made you laugh,

the first time I snorted,

the way Big Brother must have seen us in the shelves

and thought our brains were distorted.

 

Little do they know...

 

But we're more sane than any living part of nature

Our senses are accute

Our eyes on radar

Our hearts, deeply wounded

Covered in patches that need occasional changing

Because people like us see the world for what it really is

 

A mission.

 

Gather your followers.

Get rid of the strays.

Keep the few and live.

Live.

Breathe.

You're still here.

Grounded.

 

The first time we told our stories.

The way you listened and I knew you knew because even when I didn't know you, I knew you, but now not yet then.

 

Talk.

 

We rediscovered the beauty of speech.

I say I admire because in my mind you conspire with my emotions.

The voice of honesty.

The voice of reason.

Daily prescriptions.

Personal stash of self-help books

free of charge.

 

A bond is what is sent to you when you've overcome your battles

But the battle never ends because you live it in your head

So, before we know what's happening,

before we can understand,

we're assigned to each other

Glued, unremovable, roots to a tree

Before you can even stop and question

You have yourself another chance

 

But if I'm being honest,

I didn't see then what I see today.

A year ago I didn't know what I was trying to get to

A year ago I didn't realize how much more healing my deeply burdened soul needed

A year ago I was questioning every possibility

from here to world's end

 

I admire because you're unreachable to many,

but you let me grab on.

 

A year ago you let me stay

And I've never felt more okay.

 

 

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What About This?

What about this?
And what about that?

 

Thinking of a piteous father
Who has no bread to feed

 

A mother & a daughter

Living in their unattainable dreams

 

Look at this naive child
Silently crying for a single penny

 

Looking in his mothers’ eyes
Who’s also deprived & affright

 

Why don’t they deserve?
And why we do?

 

Why we are flirting with big cars?
And they are struggling just for food

 

Try to see these tears
Try to feel this pain

 

It’s just a matter of time

that makes you affluent or frail

 

All these ‘so-called’ amenities

Are not more than a piece of filthy trash

 

What about this?

And what about that?

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

It's my very first poem...      :)

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