A speak easy in Brooklyn
On a Tuesday night in fall.
Trying to forget the stress
That this day has caused me.
I take a swig, put down my glass
And glance around the room.
Suddenly, an energy shift,
I begin to seek the cause.
Goosebumps rise on my skin
As the air begins to change.
I sense someone near,
A powerful force.
A scent of red wine and sage.
Her hair a shade of lavender.
Crystal jewelry all over her body
Glimmers as she glides across the room.
She speaks with grace, a casual tone
As if everyone’s a familiar.
Her aura is brilliant and bright,
Like a full moon in the sky on a clear night.
Who is she?
Where’d she come from?
I’ve never seen her here before.
She must be from out of town.
I’m flustered, but calm.
What a sight to see.
In the presence of a mystery.
She’s a poem in the flesh.
When words can only
Take you so far
And the reader’s left wondering,
‘What’s next?’.
I look away for a moment
As I order another drink.
In need of liquid courage
To try and get her name.
But as I turn around,
Again I feel a change.
I realize the moment has passed
And my head is now adrift.
She’s gone, just like that.
How did I miss her leaving?
Disappeared in an instant
As if she were a ghost.
I think about her to this day.
She’s a lovely memory.
Occasionally still feel her presence
As if she’s never left me.
Tag: Blog
The Hurricane
She’s known as a hurricane.
Words like whipping winds.
Footsteps like crashing thunder.
Her aura, blinding lightening.
Only seeking
The destruction
Of all that’s in her path.
Keep your distance.
Take cover.
She’s a ruthless storm.
But these days,
She’s a sun shower.
Light is peeking
Through her clouds;
Picking up flower petals
In her cool breeze
On a scolding day in summer.
She’s gentle,
Though the rain still pours.
On Rain
Glorious on a gloomy day,
As rain drops fall
Hitting the window.
Something about
The dense gray sky
And puddles forming
On the concrete.
A light mist
Turning into a drizzle.
Bubbles on puddles,
Resembling soda fizzles.
Gazing at
The soggy ground,
The sky begins
To speak.
A deep
But soft growl,
The storm is not
At its peak.
A gentle rain,
A gloomy day,
Some candles,
And a blanket.
A picturesque
Scenario
With a soothing
Sense of warmth.
The chilly fall weather
In late September
Is always unpredictable.
Cozied up
In the dark.
A flash
And then a boom.
The drizzle,
Now a down pour
Hits harder
On the glass.
A sense of peace –
Nothing to do,
But to enjoy
The show.
My favorite type of day
You might say.
A beautiful day
For rain.
Sauvignon Blanc
One of those nights,
Maybe I’ll write.
But my mind feels dry
Just like this wine.
Glass one, two, three, four.
Maybe if I shut the door.
Enclose myself,
Put the glass on the shelf.
Get a few words,
Okay, this sounds good.
Thoughts pop in
And out again.
Damn.
That was almost something.
Sometimes it flows,
And I just know.
Other times,
I have to pry.
I had a good ending,
But I gotta admit,
It completely slipped my mind.
Another swig or two,
Something to do
While I wait for the inspiration to hit me.
Ten, eleven, twelve, one.
It seems as if the wine has won.
Trying to find the phrase,
These hours feel like days.
I hate to force,
But I can’t find the source
Of my art this quiet night.
Embodied
Embodied are the memories,
Experiences of those before you.
Many have passed through this door
To get away, to reflect, to find peace.
Inspiration around you,
Vibrations from the strings.
A lovely state of solitude,
In this tiny little nook.
An orchestra of sound emerges
With the full moon rise.
Striking cords around the fire
Toasting marshmallows, making s’mores.
The crickets chime in
Keeping the melody.
The frogs jump in
Adding the bass.
Music – a universal language
Between creatures and humans alike.
Something so harmonious
About a concert late at night.
The Strong One
I am the strong one.
The one who is always there for people. The one people lean on when they’re hurting, struggling, or need some kind of support. I genuinely know that this is my purpose.
Somehow, because of how my energy radiates, or because of the impact of my presence, I am always someone’s go-to; the one to vent to, the one to go to for advice, the one who has the answers.
The one that is expected to be strong in tough situations – even if that situation is tough for me, too. But because there’s one side of me always supporting others, I can’t necessarily support myself. Do you know what I mean? While the other half of me feels like collapsing, the strong side prioritizes outsiders before itself.
I focus so much on relieving the pain from others. I push my own pain, my own sadness, my own heartbreak down and suppress it, so that it doesn’t interfere with me helping someone else. I deal with it on my own, as I always have –
Because someone has to be the strong one… right?
Blossoming Daily
Clouds are forming,
Dark as night,
A rumble in the distance.
Two or three drops hit my cheeks
Feeling cold as ice.
A break well-needed.
These scorching days
Really take a toll.
Everything’s become so dry,
So brittle from the swelter.
It’s time for lush,
All to be abundant,
And everything overgrown.
The water floods their veins
As blood flows through ours.
It truly is a sight to see –
Everything coming to life.
An intimate moment between beings.
The way their leaves turn
And how they lift up – awakening.
They welcome the storm,
As should we
Within our daily lives.
It’s funny though,
We usually see a storm as inconvenient.
They embrace the storm with open arms,
As it makes them prosper
And eventually they bloom.
So who’s to say that
The storms we face are trivial worthless troubles?
These things get in our way to only help us rise
And raise us to our higher selves
So that we, too, can awaken.
So next time you’re facing hardships,
Remember one last thing.
You’re experiencing this for a reason,
Although it’s unclear right now.
You will look back on this with pride.
You are Blossoming Daily
And the storm is here to help you thrive.
Our Touch
What is it
To Touch a soul?
To feel a connection,
Something so bold?
Connection to one another,
Or connection to a thing.
Touch isn’t always physical,
Touch can make your soul sing.
Anyone can Touch another.
Could be a stranger or a friend,
Or even an object or a place,
Or things we may not comprehend.
That feeling when your inner self
Feels full of love and light –
You radiate a gorgeous glow,
And everything feels right.
Emotions truly run so deep
When experiencing life.
But what becomes of that graceful Touch,
When we’re experiencing strife?
Touch could be something
So graceful & sweet,
But on the other hand,
Can be so deceitful & weak.
A Touch of love,
A Touch of hate,
No Touch at all,
Makes one insane.
Some prefer to feel any way,
As long as it’s not lonely,
Sometimes things turn to gray
When all you want is someone to stay.
One can Touch the lives of many,
Or many lives can Touch one being,
It all depends your way of seeing others,
And recognizing a true purpose of living.
That’s why we must be conscious
Of how we interact
With every being in the world
So our universe can stay intact.
There’s so much more to life,
Than money, work, or school.
We must Touch each other mindfully
And use this as a tool
To see that we are in this together.
To embrace and uplift each other.
There’s nothing more important in this world,
Than to be united with one another.
*Featured in Clementine Magazine Issue 02: Touch
Egyptian Cotton
Sun is shining into the room through the sheer curtains
Telling her to rise & shine, but it’s not time.
She turns over, squeezing her eyes tight.
The sun is hitting her skin just right –
She’s glowing.
Her hair,
The color of fresh coffee,
Is messy, draped around her face.
Her arms wrapped in silk,
Egyptian cotton,
Gently hugging her body.
She mirrors a goddess –
Hypnos, The Tired Beauty.
A breeze rolls in through the open window –
Her toes curl as she wraps herself tighter in the golden sheets.
You kiss her forehead, gazing at the face of the woman you call yours.
So peaceful.
She feels like home.
When she’s beside you, she radiates love
Even in her sleep.
The sun is shining into the room through the sheer curtains
Telling you to rise & shine, but it’s not time.
She turns over and squeezes you tight.
“Few more minutes”, she whispers, “before we start our day”,
“But my day has already begun”, you say, “in the most beautiful way.”
Thoughts
Sometimes words pop into my head
Effortlessly and it begins to thread
And weave into something I wasn’t expecting.
Something like a poem or story I’m telling.
Then all of a sudden I’m super distracted
By the words flowing so smoothly. I feel I contracted
Some type of illness that lets my words flow,
My mind goes free and my pen just goes.
It’s funny sometimes because I notice
When I have things to do I tend to focus
On the ease of words and rhymes flowing.
Most of the time I don’t even know where this is going.
So I just let my pen in hand do the talking.
These thoughts don’t move fast, it feels like they’re walking
And taking their time picking my brain
Of the right words to say and to be able to explain
That when I allow my pen to keep moving,
I feel this energy, it’s something soothing.
Like I’m doing what I’m meant to do, which explains the ease.
It’s my superpower, it feels like I’m freed.
It’s amazing how things just work the way they do.
When you let go and you feel an energy fly through you.
Like a river my thoughts are put onto paper;
Free flowing, unstoppable, one with my nature.
It’s a beautiful feeling, I truly am blessed
To have the ability of not putting some thoughts to rest.
