Although I didn’t think
to wear perfume,
And there’s no sunsets
(we have but a light).
King Solomon might
dream of such a thing.
This simple joy:
My loved one
as they sleep.
It’s something that
no money can bring.
Their body as they breathe-
tides of the night.
The subtle feeling that
they are alright.
While gentle tunes
(from YouTube)
fill the room.
Tag: creative-writing
My Tomatoes
“You can’t be bitter
and expect life
to be sweet.”
Within the heart,
my red and ripened fruit,
Are hidden feelings
I knew not I had.
They sprout in secret
from a bitter root.
And what can make
this bad blood obsolete?
From pain, so unresolved,
that grew so bad?
A disappointed soul
now grows unsweet.
I lift my hands and say
“God, take it away.”
Coffee Stains
I’m like a bird,
unsettled, fluttering
With the unraveling
of my mind and heart.
I think that crying
might be a good start,
I’m diagnosing
if it’s them or me.
Maybe I’m just thinking
a little too hard.
But thinking hard?
That’s an “M.O.” for me.
To try to right myself
out of the haze,
I’ll try to write myself
out of this maze,
While rolled into a ball,
soul sputtering.
Peppermint
I guess they graduate
from plum to peach
…After all, it’s been
about twelve weeks.
Twelve weeks that have been
hard to get good sleep,
And pass the chances
that it’s all a dream.
Then upset stomachs
start to feel relieved
When comes the day
we finally can tell –
Can tell ourselves
that everything is well.
Smells like Zen
I scratch my head,
there’s nothing left to write.
I’m finally emptied
of all complaint?
Impossible!
This journaling every night.
And now my muse
will slowly disacquaint.
Yet here I am,
chasing the pen…
Or maybe I am
chasing after zen?
Now, if I dig too deep,
I could fall in.
It’s possible I find
my true self, then,
While writing in my bed,
I’m all tucked in.
the fragrance writer 