“Kooks” The Sunday Whirl #174

Within his heart lies a demimonde spirit awaiting release.
Never in the right place, his soul is an asylum
which needs to be reborn.

When he flies high
surely there is a grand hard landing.
Where abomination’s art flies from canvases
leaving dark rites of rituals spreading
through the room.

One can never bare their soul completely:
So, she lights the gray away with candles
saying prayers for transgressions,
pledging allegiance to the sparkling oranges
growing on shelves in cylindrical swirls
of the bitter and sweet.

Hoping for the day when she can be herself
for those she loves.

“The Poet’s Song” The Sunday Whirl #172

Only love and pain
have dust remaining on this mystery.
It’s a young woman’s song;
prepubescent and concentrated.

The poet delivers
an intimate universal feeling,
I understand it
when I look at the
greenery of the mountainside,
and happiness wraps itself around me.

There’s bliss within the sounding sun;
flamboyant, flared, falling,
pointing toward an appetite for living.
Though at times jumbled
and tired, I continue with love
for being alive,
at last I can fly.

“A Cherished Life” The Sunday Whirl #170

There’s always a light surrounding me,
a shimmer of life which I receive
with passion and pleasure.
A magic that resides in living
through this beautiful hum.

While passing a stranger on
a narrow walkway. We smile
saying hello, thriving within different
special spaces. Each our own
yet somehow we are one.

I’m thankful for every breath I’m given,
for the sunrise I’m gifted with.
Words spoken to me
by family and friends — reassuring,
this is mine and I cherish it.

“A Beautiful Light” The Sunday Whirl #169

If you touch another person’s hand
and your heart explodes eclipsing
into a million stars. Take heed:
they’re part of you

They are the sun upon you when
first waking and the rain that cools
and quenches your face and throat.

If you look in a friend’s eyes
and feel their pain. Take heed:
they need your love, give them honesty
and hold them tight

They are the wind on your skin while
walking alone down the street,
and the enveloping dreams of night.

In the shadowy hallways of life
exists a beautiful light meant to be honoured.
Hold on to this, like today’s kiss on the cheek.

A Glow and A Dream #167 The Sunday Whirl

I approach doorways in dreams,
but they never open, because keys
crumble in my hand.

I’m a grain so misunderstood,
in single lines on a hard surface,
where my love levels out confusion’s sand
and I scratch at the sad unknown.

When glints recover me and
I attach myself to the now
as you would want me to.
I am a sketch between the gaps,
in a transforming phase, so I
may be present for me and those I love.

“Rainbows and Stars” The Sunday Whirl #166

Drawing rainbows, the tarot’s dreadful tune
plays its cards, counting coloured dreams
brought forth through times of sorrow.
There are unicorns and steep stairs
to the other side of tomorrow.

I am seduced by these stars,
levitating above me, as if
wanting to kiss me on the cheek.
Oh creator’s night, may I dance beneath you?

Overlooking this city I have come to love.
I twirl and bow; thinking of you,
your smile and heart that once was so close to mine.
Counting toward my penny-tone morning
´til my plague is lifted.

“I Taste Every Raindrop” The Sunday Whirl #165

Daytime brings porcelain,
out of my back pocket
comes fortune.

You tell me:
Read a good book,
drink a nice coffee,
eat the cake slowly.
Life is now.

“Blue and Silver Fish Jumping Across the River” The Sunday Whirl #164

I am flattered by friendly hellos and simple words
about the weather, while I listen to bells that aren’t
as broken as my smile, I am searching for me,
but it’s like asking for directions at an abandoned gas station.
My empty heart moves along.

When darkness comes; I’m surrounded
by blue and silver fish swimming in single files.
You show me bees and butterflies
that once lived amongst the sunflowers in our garden,
while my muffled voice speaks a silent
language — can you hear me?
Between the sheets I feel for a safe
place to sleep as I count the number of
days that have passed by — can you see me?

I cry,
I breathe,
I try to fit into my skinned existence.
Can I ever say goodbye to you?

“She Prays for Him” The Sunday Whirl #163

He can’t live with the way she prays,
believing the words are lies
fluid, clear and countless
like lean kitchenware caught
in tight spaces. He suffocates.
Standing sturdy,
in the morning she drinks tea.
The scent of rosemary and spice
filling the room with her solace,
reading parables or writing quotes to carry
her through the day.
When the asphalt paving is too hot,
and the sun attacks the terrain’s love of living.
She awaits afternoon rain.
While hoping those prayers
will reach him wherever he is;
roaming across prairies,
climbing mountains,
or resting in an adobe hut.

“Misguided Sympathy” OpenLinkNight

With false sympathy,
you drip on my mind like a plague.
Your bitterness shows through
with unhidden hindrance,
disguised as honey,
it is sticky and unyielding.
I wipe away the filth
you tried to touch me with.
Such sweetness exists in your fantasies.
Not mine.