Aging

To dye or not to dye my grey hair
that is the question
Should I pretend it is just
a dandelion landing on my hair
a snowflakes resting before melting
a whisper haunting me about youth no more

To care or not to care about my appearance
that is the question
Should I proudly parade
my crown of glory
a godly life inclined
but a constant battle
to shut off
the angel of light

To be or not to be myself
that is the question
Should I not be satisfied with
ageing gracefully
over the need to be the queen bee

To dye or not to dye my grey hair
that is the question
which has nothing to do with beauty
It has everything to do with
where my identity lies

 

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A Day Trip

The world became a strange place
almost over night for all of us

to some
job loss,
couldn’t pay bills,
couldn’t pay rent,
hiring freeze,
maxed out credit cards,
maxed out personal favours,
in that order

sleepless nights
worries
anxious thoughts
self hatred
in a circle
chasing each other’s tail

We drove to an apple orchard
for a day trip
picking apples from a tree
before gravity got the better of them
we felt somewhat heroic
saving the apples
from being bruised and battered

We snapped a few photos
wearing big smiles
with buckets of harvest
in the sunlit red and green orchard
a message you sent home
for their peace of mind

Somehow I knew
a day trip was no more
than an act of bravery
for the sole purpose of
changing scenery

this evening onward
for you
sleepless nights
worries
anxious thoughts
self hatred
in a circle
chasing each other’s tail

 

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Photo by Cassa Bassa at Bilpin, NSW, Australia

 

Coffee Aroma

The leftover smell of leather comes to life
In the company of fragrant coffee beans
Those wavy vapors that dance straight to my mind
She smells so overwhelming and dark

The way she sips her morning coffee
reminds me of last night
The exhilarating constraints around my neck
her each command sends me
to the edge of eruption

Her surprising relaxed composure
leaves satisfying aftertaste
Such delight I, for sure come back for more

 

selective focus photography of vintage brown and gray coffee grinder
Photo by Tom Swinnen on Pexels.com

Aluna

Luna Aluna
for centuries
we seek your beauty
like a foolish lover

Luna Aluna
you are up high
on the pedestal
in the indigo sky

Luna Aluna
tonight
you are a little shy
shed off your pearly gown
your translucent body
dips in virgin blood

Luna Aluna
we are in awe of you
on the hilltop
of this ancient town

 

Photo by Martin Adams on unsplash.com

Freedom from Brokenness

The Living Poetry visual prompt

This phone
was my last defense
to not letting you go

It has been 5 years
since we last spoke
last smiled
last touched
last kissed

This phone
stored our love
our life together

Today
I chose to live on
without you
without us
So
I break our tie
to set both of us free

wrecked iphone
Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

An Artist by Default

You said
you wanted to be a painter
from a young age
Then you gave up on that
after a few attempts
and a reality check

Now
you spit out phrases
to shut off
the squirming words
inside your sore head
You are not sure
if they are just noises
or music notes

As a reader
I see paintings
in a vast array of
pigments and colours
when reading your words

No matter how much
you think you may fail
you are an artist
by default

– dedicated to Mike Ennenbach Mike’s Manic Word Depot

Am I One of the Forgotten Now???

We are created equal and in God’s image. This sums it up. I have to reblog…

The Eclectic Writer's avatarThe Eclectic Writer

You see us under the bridge.

In dirty clothes and nasty fingernails.

The druggies have no teeth…and the poor and unlucky too.

We sit hoping….wanting…

Wanting food and water…most of the time…

And a kind word

That maybe God has not forgotten us

And if we hold on

Keep pushing forward

Reaching even small goals…

That in the end.

Someone will remember us.

And we shall enter his kingdom as princes to the King.

Not as paupers and beggars but princes.

And oh what a glorious day that will be.

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A Famous Musician’s Wife

Once upon a time
our story was an inspiration
in every piece of music you wrote
I hoped it stayed that way
You and your guitar
by the ivy clothed window
facing the morning honey beams

Life is happening nowadays
You run out of time
to hear the birds’ morning routine
and wish coffee can be drip fed
My luxury of morning coffee in bed
is downgraded to Valentine’s treat

We are no strangers
But if I have to choose
I am willing to be your old guitar
play me till your fingers bleed
and your heart is content
once again

 

person playing guitar
Photo by Jan Kopřiva on Pexels.com