Come on, Let’s Travel!

poetry post board

Image, Shutterstock

flowers new zealand

 

Come on, let’s travel!


Take me to the Milford valley,

in New Zealand, where Russell Lupins

bloom effortlessly. Whisk me away

to this purple brigade.


Come on, let’s travel!


Come on, let’s travel!


Manhattan’s skyline’s sure to cry,

leisure neath this orbit outline. The

darkening dusk of twilight keeps

viewers, up, sleepy eyed.


Come, let’s travel!


In spring, Japan’s cherry

blossoms are blooming. This pink

canopy is so inviting; will it not

mesmerize the eyes?


Come, let’s travel!


Come on,

you haven’t packed yet?

Let’s go…let’s go now!

Let’s travel!


Nay, I’m afraid

I’m stuck right where I am.

But I want to travel

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Creative Ink – form poetry

roses haiku

 

Creative Ink


When I write a poem I write my heart’s inspiration.

A dance within the artwork of poetic verse.

Creatively, ideas flow forth.

Put to paper.


To offer care.

Empathy in a time of grief.

Joyous hope in a time of tranquility, peace.

Solidifying the both when boundaries seem undone.


Unified ideas

Paint that peels…

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You can’t paint a house with glee…

where there is division and adversity.


You can’t paint a room with hope…

where there is emptiness and despair.


You can’t paint a walkway with peace…

where there is need and lackluster seed.


You can’t paint a home with love…

where there is angels weeping above.

December Gift Sachet’s

green cropped bird

 

sachets in dec

 

 

It’s about this time of year that I crave the scent of evergreen.

An insatiable fragrance able to permeate through ones home.

So, in December, I visit a nearby nursery to purchase boughs.

Thus, I’ll fill clippings, of these, in handmade sachets of mine.

Douglas fur, spruce and pine are assortments that do just fine.

Soul-mate Rape

oh my shutterstock rose

Year’s End, ’17.

My heart has been raped.

Shattered by the lacklustre love you offered.

Your insincerity, you fastidiously hid behind a false mask.

Your private closet, it is cumbersome and full.

Full of self-inflicted wounds while lust, narcissism thrives inside.

Stripped naked and bruised, outwardly and from within, I carry these scars alone.

Further shearing I knew as love and affection I do desire.

Only, within the

realm of realism

not falsehood, in a soul-mate.