Image found at quora.com
At my home,
Cozy night,
droplets of rain
dancing along the
window sills.
Snuggled up
next to the man
I love the most,
he’s my true home.
Inhaling the
scent of him,
treasuring the
smallest of moments.
He is my home,
my center,
my light,
the love of my life.
Image found on thecakeshopsa.com
Leaves falling
in a shivering rush
sound like rain.
Swirls of oranges and reds
in a flurry like a sunrise
as the trees begin to lose
summer’s shawl.
Soon there will be
a crisp chill in the air
and crystalline snow
will blanket the ground.
My canary is a sweet boy, mild and yellow,
His beautiful songs remind me of spring.
The melodies are so soft and mellow,
And his bossiness is why I named him King.
He chirps and flutters about his cage,
Every morning he welcomes the day.
He calms me any time I might feel rage,
And delights me when he comically plays.
He is quite curious about all around him,
And he nods his head this way and that.
He does not like that is bird bath is slim,
He would much rather splash water at a cat.
Oh how I love my little melodious birdie,
Even though it means his endless captivity.
Image found on susanmaria.com
Ornamentally ornate,
Embellishment of the elaborate rhetoric.
Florid style of grace and colors,
Mystic orphism.
And orphan drug,
Treating a rare disease.
Oromo, Cushitic language,
Complex and exotic in its use.
Ecclesiastical orphrey,
Rich with colorful embroidery.
Ornamentation of graceful words,
Brilliant plumage,
Excessively decorated.
Image found on shutterstock.com
Fingertips tremble on frosted glass,
It’s warm inside, yet she is frozen.
Breath fogs her view,
She breathes in the scent of the merriment.
Laughing, talking, drinking, how have you been?
She is the outsider looking in.
She is of a feather,
But a flock apart from the rest.
The large tavern window is an impenetrable barrier,
A single hot tear rolls down her cold cheek.
Yearning spilling from her eyes,
Begging to belong.
Jealous of their happiness.
She is the same as others,
Yet invisible.
She shivers in the winter evening,
Alone.
Reluctantly, turning away from the window.
Shoulders drooped, she shuffles off into the night.
Wrapping her arms about herself
For warmth, craving comfort.
Her uneven breath leaves a trail behind her.
A mere ghost in the darkness.
Unnoticed; solitary.
She is of a feather,
But a flock apart from the rest.
Image found on twanight.org
The stars are barely visible.
I go through the motions
Of starting a new day.
I wave and smile,
Shivering in the still dark morning.
Every house has a paper
On their doorstep.
Others wear thick, warm, woolen sweaters.
Silence permeates the air
As tension would.
Hand in hand,
This thing has no end,
No name.
Dawn awakens the sleepy earth,
I am standing in awe.
No real thoughts in my head,
No expectation, no desire.
Image found at diamondlighthouse.com
It was the turn of the youngest prince,
To open a box of shells,
Inlaid with jewels aplenty.
He did lose hope,
But was utterly confounded.
He cracked the filbert,
And it presented him with a cherry stone.
Two princes in want of a crown,
One king not wanting to part with his power.
Taking leave of their father,
Two princes set out to prove their obedience.
Where their journeys may take them
Is uncertain.
Whoever returns first,
Obtains the crown.
The second prince was
As sure of obtaining the crown,
As his brother had done.
Opening an elegant box inlaid with jewels,
He perceived his piece of cambric.
He was now confounded,
Muttering his displeasure
At the white cat.
The cat returned his displeasure
With a scratch.
Cold, cement steps with an
Equally cold railing attached.
Long breaths as I climb the them
Slowly, carefully in
My winter boots.
Open the door,
Smells of grandma’s Italian sauce.
Old Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra songs
Play in the background.
It is warm, small, yet inviting.
The scent of light perfume
As my grandma hugs me tightly.
A feeling of being safe,
It’s the safest spot in the world.
Singing along with the music,
Loud voices chatter about
The latest family gossip.
There is a clock that chimes each hour,
Like a diligent soldier standing guard.
Football game in the other room.
Men are shouting at the ref’s call.
Everyone sits down to eat.
Food is love.
Food is family.
Lots of love and warmth,
Security, safety.
Some of the only consistency
In my life.
Happiness to be
near my beautiful grandmother.
Comfort.
Boisterous and loud talking, laughing,
Having fun with each other.
I don’t want to leave.
Remnants of my childhood
Linger there.
My happiest days
As a child were spent there.
Pain of the loss
of days gone by.
Photo by William D. Wright
He’s the best thing I have ever done,
My son, my light, my life, my choice.
When he was born my light almost went out,
But I knew I wasn’t going anywhere; not without him.
When I look at him, I still see a three year old,
Innocent, naïve, still the smell of baby about him.
He is what has saved my life many times,
I know not what my existence would be if he weren’t born.
His voice is like the dawn of a new day,
Filled with hope, unconditional love and comfort.
I know I have shaped a beautiful legacy,
When I look into those beautiful brown eyes; much like mine.
Image found on idealistrevolution.org
Beyond all
of the noise of life,
The wish to be alone.
I give looks to my loved ones,
Like the “Grumpy Cat.”
I want my space; go away.
I don’t want to hear
Mindless babble about
How you spent your day.
My fleece blankets,
Soft like the fluffiest of bunnies.
They become my sanctuary,
Peace and rest.
It’s my space,
You will move things.
Get the fuck out
And leave me be.
Aloneness is what I crave,
What I need.
Recharge, regroup, refresh, rebuild.
No words, just mindless yammering
Of the TV that I really don’t want to listen to.
Snuggling deeper with my favorite monkey,
I’m have no cares in the world.
Beyond all of this,
The wish to be alone.
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A Leonine Voice 