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.
Tag: words
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.
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.
