In the quiet moments of introspection Hear the whispers of hope within divine promises As shadows linger and doubts arise Let soul find solace in faith’s embrace
Through the corridors of time echoes ring Prophetic voices, visions ancient and true Their words, a beacon in the darkest night Guiding hearts to the promise of light
Interwoven in this thing called life are experiences, varied Yet when stitched together, unfolds a divine orchestrating Each working together, a refining fire Shaping the soul, rekindling spirit’s desire
As the world turns in its ceaseless spin Faithfully await the appointed time, for Things will align, a choreography divine Unfolding according to the Creator’s design
Let not the fleeting shadows obscure Faith’s grand journey, a narrative enduring For in the uncertainty of delays and disappointments There’s purpose in the wait and in the failings
So, stand firm, amid the echoes of doubt and delay For the vision, though it tarries, will surely come to be In the sacred interplay of faith and time Hold divine promises sure, in the appointed time their voice will be the loudest speaking
Out from the shadow of bondage Harriet Tubman emerged a Moses of her people a conductor on the Underground Railroad
Stood up to cruelty witnessed the weight of two-pound injustice meted out her head bore the brunt the scar etched into her mind resistance a lifetime of headaches and narcolepsy endured
Marriage, a clandestine act for slaves still, she wed John Tubman took his last name with newfound strength took her mother’s first name declared herself Harriet Harriet Tubman a name echoing through the corridors of freedom
Taken to the Underground Railroad a frequent traveler through its undercover tracks escaped the chains defied the bounty on her freedom
Fluent in bird calls a symphony of liberation she waded through swampy marshes where depth eluded sight her expertise in nature a compass to liberty
Botany, geography, astronomy, herbal lore, wildlife biology encased in her survival Harriet Tubman a force of nature her legacy now guides bids others through the uncharted paths of freedom
The Harriet Tubman Mural (Michael Rosato, 2019) at the Harriet Tubman Museum & Educational Center, Cambridge Maryland
A 1-year-old girl walking towards the outstretched hand of a mural of Harriet Tubman. Photo taken by Jen Logan.
Beforeword: This year’s BHM theme recognizes and celebrates African Americans in the arts. This poem is attributed to my recent return to Barbados and a reminder of the legacy of the Bajan chattel house. These were the first homes the freed slaves could own. The survival of the design of these timeless houses of wood are a testament to the craftsmanship of Africans.
Splattered across the landscape, the Barbados Chattel House stands Symbolic shoutout to freedom, built by once enslaved hands
Freed from shackles, a new chapter began A dwelling placed claimed, a piece of the plan
Crafted by skillful African artisans of old Wooden homes, silent salute to architectural stories bold
Legacy etched in the grain of craftsmanship sublime Dreams of liberty engraved in each meticulous line
Jalousie louvers and shutters, doors without glass Configured possibilities, in a world connected to its past
Four-sided roofs, a defense steep and resolute Of galvanized metal sheets or wood, shelter absolute
For land—a lease paid in toil and sweat Termination loomed always, a constant threat
A tenantry’s journey, tethered not in earthy foundation House perched on blocks, easily moved by transportation
Tiny houses set to be moved at whim, fulfilling landlords’ desires Plantation workers, not owners, treated as no more than occupiers
Architectural blueprint, a new order their craftsmanship weaves Inspiring modern design, akin to what their history reveals
Though
Crafted by hands once bounded, legacy endures beyond the chains Freedmen’s toil in each wooden panel, a resilience traced in pains
Through the annals of history, the whispers of legacy’s persistence The Barbados Chattel house, a reminder tale of struggle and resistance
One of the most noticeable chattel houses in Barbados is located on Wildey Main Road, in St Michael. It has been designated by the Barbados National Trust. Source: Pinterest
From inventing the sanitary belt for women—liberating to the steel pan for musicians—playing to peanut as smooth as butter—spreading
Yeah … black history’s way too creatively expansive for this poem’s attempt to contain it or even fully convey it
black history IS, bombastic—it vaults the Biles o’er racist typologies
It runs Bolt-fast, dismantling discrimination o’er tracks and in fields …
Whether cotton or tobacco … whether on sidewalks, in cars or in beds …
Whether with the noose or whatever weapons they choose
Black lives being snuffed out, we shout…with the intellectual prowess of Timbuktu’s Bamba to the oratory genius of King-Marley-Gorman
We challenge isms and schisms to achieve justice, to experience one-love, to find light in the never-ending shade
black history IS, me—I am my history interdependently connected
It’s too beautiful for me not to value my worth—regardless of what others think or how they feel about me—my history says: I matter!
It’s too deeply misunderstood not to be activist
It’s too compassionate not to be treated with care, to be protected, to be loved unequivocally, no questioning
It’s too artistic in rhythm, in harmony, in melody to not sing it or dance it, orate it or play it—in all ways, though, to honor it
It’s too matriarchal not to tell her-story—from Mama Africa to children of the diaspora—separate, yet together, equal
black history IS, all-encompassing, intersectional
It’s been hurt enough to empathize with other’s stories
It’s too linked to be conceived as separate or sovereign
It’s too panoptic to not be a shared humanity
It’s a collective human story
black history IS, because we are
All Rights Reserved (1st published 2022)
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Afterword: The Septolet consists of seven lines of fourteen words with a break in between the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.
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A poetic tribute for Dr. King’s 95th birthday (January 15, 1929) in exactly 95 words and to commemorate MLK Day.
Afterword:
“Seek peace and pursue it. Peace isn’t the absence of conflict; it’s the presence of restored harmony. Seeking peace means we aren’t just peace-keepers; we are peacemakers who actively pursue being a part of restoration. We listen empathetically and strive for understanding. We see and are attentive to the brokenness around us and ask where God might be calling us to be a part of reconciliation. And we put in the work because this kingdom work is worth it.”
As you venture into this new year, here’s a reminder that though others may bet against you, in the end every decision about you and your life is from God. The Bible says:
The lot is cast into the lap, but its EVERY decision is from the Lord.
Beforeword: Waiting is an inevitable part of living. However, how we wait is not prescribed, we define it. In every wait is the pause — a fertile ground for introspection, a space to nurture the seeds of understanding, to embrace the stillness as a teacher, to hone in on our resilience, to strengthen our bounce-back-ability.
2024 All Rights Reserved Designed with Canva Image by Pexels
Gifts carefully selected, wrapped, topped off with bows
Placed under trees anticipating the glee they’ll bestow
Menu of your favorites selected, guest list in tow
It will be a celebration, fingers crossed—there’ll even be snow
***
You left without a warning, there were no clues
You checked out of life, broke my heart in a million twos
Every year will be a blue Christmas without you too
No hugs or kisses lavished, forever gone the YOUnique you
***
Gifts wrapped in love, left unopened under the tree
Like the sorrows that plagued your heart, too deep, I couldn’t see
You smiled and laughed, you danced with me
All the while masking the darkest parts of thee
***
Those on the outside looking in, contemplative wonder
You seemed to have it all, what could have been the matter?
All is incomplete when it’s devoid of the Master
Empty longings run deep, gifts are but a temporary plaster
***
In the shopping, the decorating we’ve nearly forgotten too
He’s the reason for this season, like at His birth, too little ado
The meaning of life lost outside of the One who created you
It will always be a blue Christmas—Jesus—without You
Afterword: On the eve of Christmas, this tribute poem was influenced by the reality that the holidays are the hardest when you’ve lost loved ones.
2022, Republished 2023 All Rights Reserved
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In the hush of night, a starry beacon gleams A cosmic lullaby of celestial themes Not wrapped in ribbons or worldly array Yet the greatest present in the quiet hay
Beneath the fir’s branches a story unfolds A narrative timeless, in history it molds No glittering trinkets can rival the glow Of this child’s first breath in the stable’s soft throw
Beyond the carols and festive cheer’s embrace Resides the essence of a deeper boundless grace Unseen by many, yet felt in the heart The gift unadorned, a masterpiece of art
Under a Christmas tree, not displayed for show Nor wrapped in paper or tied with a bow God birthed as babe in a manger lowly lie The eternal gift each Christmas and everyday going by
So under the tree or the starlit sky The message lingers as the years slip by In the simplicity, the joy finds its way A newborn hope born on a quiet day
2021 Republished 2023. All Rights Reserved
Thank you for journeying along! First time to the site? Welcome!
In the journey of self-transformation we find The challenge of shifting the thoughts in mind For how we perceive ourselves, it’s true Defines the path of the self we’ll work to renew
To change, we must self-sacrifice—let go Of aspects of ourselves that hinder our flow A conscious choice to surrender and see A brighter self emerging, bold and free
It’s a labor of love—a reset of the mind Regulating self-speaking language we find Yet, old labels cling, they won’t easily part As we straddle the fence, two worlds in our heart
We’ve carried false labels, mistaken for names “Loser” or “dropout,” igniting self-shames “Unattractive” or “overweight,” we’d declare But only selfish determination can banish despair
For this transformation, we must fully commit Silence each voice that aims to misfit Embrace the process, surrender to see The woman or man we’re destined to be
It’s in letting go of the old we’ll find the new In self-transformation, a journey we’ll pursue With courage and strength, we’ll break every chain Becoming the self that will forever reign
Before there was before, there was God. God was. God is. God will always be.
2023 All Rights Reserved
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Before-word: With the advent and dominance of social media has been the rise in social posts or STATUS updates which we use to let our friends know what we’re doing or to say what’s on our minds. Whether a tweet or a pin and way beyond catchy one liners on time-elapsed stories, your status is and forever will be:
CHILD OF GOD!
From A to Z you are:
Accepted just as you are
Beautiful in every way
Child of God
Destined for greatness
Exquisite
Fearfully-wonderfully-made—perfect in every way
Good-good creation
Harmoniously aligned
Image of God bearer
Joyful
Kaleidoscopic
Loved to the width and depth of God’s heart
More than a conqueror — that’s who you are
Never defeated — that’s what you are
Overcomer
Purposefully ordered
Quintessential, the God-image bearer
Redeemed—no shame, no guilt, no fear
Sufficiently sufficient
Temple-of-God-abiding
Unequivocally—YOU ARE, child of God
Victorious
Worthy
eXalted-cannot-be-duplicated masterpiece
YOUnique
Zany—amusingly-unconventional, distinctively—YOU!
From A to Z
You are a child of God
Luxuriate in this truth
2023 (republished) All Rights Reserved
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In the genesis of love where conversations weave unending threads of connection— heartbeats dance in choreographed steps
Moments pass slowly, lingering in the realm of “us” an infinite tapestry creating, unfolding layers of you and me in a symphony of shared existence
Exchanges transpire in unspoken covenant you becoming me, I becoming you a seamless blending of souls a repertoire of movements in reciprocity
Connections transcend the verbal— silent conversations speak loudest emotions laid bare on a canvas of vulnerability we fall deeper into the boundlessness of love’s embrace
If these lips could talk, do you think they’d whisper to the wind, To ancient forests swaying, or trees dancing in the breeze? Would they sing a song of rivers, meandering across the land, Reflecting sunlit skies, cascading free and wild?
If these lips could talk, I wonder if they’d murmur to the flowers, Of petals soft, adorned with pearl-like dewdrops? Would they share the tales of meadows where birds flitter freely, A symphony of harmonic lullaby songs chirping?
If these lips could talk, I think they’d hum to the moonlit sky To the twinkling stars that cast their silver beams of light They’d tell of hidden wonders, in shadows and in gleam Cosmic mystery, celestial spectacle, a refrain they’d reveal
If these lips could talk, maybe they’d speak of mountains’ peaks The stoic guardians of earth, standing proudly unbothered Evoking a sense of wonder, filling the air with awe Of their lofty heights, the majestic wonder they would tell
If these lips could talk, do you think they’d praise the ocean’s might, Singing high notes of waves in rhythmic ebb and flow? Would they recount tales of sailors and seagulls taking flight, Telling the world of boundless wonder, beneath the azure sky?
If these lips could talk, they’d share pearls of wisdom From nature’s endless cycles, its beauty they’d unfold Like in the embrace of wilderness where there’s solace, peace and rest A reminder of our roots, a chance to reset, believe yet again
If these lips could talk, they’d bid us cherish nature’s voice Operate in gratitude, honor each living thing by choice Amidst whispers of breeze and melodies from trees Let’s celebrate nature’s glory, as its sacred trustees
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Beforeword: Hello reader!!! So if you’ve visited the “About” page of this blog, you’d have seen my profile.
Well, I’ve now transformed the “About” page into this poem. I hope you enjoy it!!!
“A Creative Soul’s Embrace”
In creative spaces I find my solace and delight Words—a poet’s heart, a blogger’s guiding light A speaker’s voice, in stories unfold My pen, a vessel, for tales yet untold
In “Moments: A Poetic Autobiography”I share My thoughts, my verses, my joys, my care Unapologetically, a lover of the Divine My adoration of God, evident in every line
Love’s tender embrace—my muse, my song In verses, I’ll celebrate it all the day long Nature’s beauty, a treasure trove to explore In each flower, in each leaf, a story I’ll implore
A logophile, yes, words are my kin In dictionary’s depths, I always begin Epigrammatic style—concise and clear My poetic soul is forever sincere
Creativity flows, an endless tide In art and words, my heart doth glide Artsy to the core, in colors and rhyme I paint my world, one verse at a time
So here I stand, a creative soul’s embrace Of poetry, of prose, of words, interlace Whether as a poet, a blogger, a speaker, or more My love for words, I will forever explore
The Septolet is a poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break in between the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.
Where upheaval and troubles of life compound Solace and peace of mind may be found
In uncharted unexpected spaces, begin To bask in the presence of folk of kin or skin
A balm for the soul in surprising embraces Respite found in the most unexpected places
Venture beyond, receive comfort where it’s found A safe haven, a harbor, no worries abound
In heart’s oasis serenity released Calm found, inner peace achieved
Tranquility flows like soothing breezes A welcoming solace in unexpected places
Afterword: a friend shared this photo with me with a message that started with “anywhere you find peace of mind settle there”. And it resonated so deeply with me, the inspiration led me to write this poem.
The Septolet is a poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break in between the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.
The Septolet is a poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break in between the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.
… when you only see things from your point of view.
The Septolet is a poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break in between the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.
Train— Horns blaring. Brakes screeching. Last Stop!
The Last Stop? A restaurant. Gotcha!
A friend and I dined at this quaint restaurant, “The Last Stop”, aptly named as it’s located at one of the last stops on a NY city subway line.
The Septolet is a poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break in between the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.
Pove that Your power is as great as You claim In our world is so much chaos, so much heartache, so much pain With a touch of Your hand You can move what seems insurmountable Mountains of prejudice, walls of intolerance, of bitterness are breakable
Your power still reigns in the whispers of the wind, in the crashing of the sea In the miracle of life, in every star that light the night In the ordering of planets, in the control of every season Somehow it seems lost in humanity, in hardened heart, irrational reasoning
Show us Your power, Your glory, Your grace In this world, in our lives, in every heart that beat life Dear Lord, prove that Your power is as great as You claim Though You won’t impose, gently nudge us to change
In the hearts of the weak, let Your mercy permeate In the decisions of the powerful, let Your grace dictate In the lost and the broken, let Your love restore In a world hellbent on self-imploding Dear Lord, let Your guiding-light implore
A poem is more than words written on a page Peering o’er its artistry, it’s emotion’s stage A “thing made”, as the Greeks did say A creation from words in a unique way
It’s a tapestry woven with thought and care A canvas of feelings that poets share A melody of language, a dance of rhyme A glimpse into the depths of space and time
It’s a reflection of the human heart A work of passion, a form of art A window to dreams, a mirror of truth A vessel for wisdom, the fountain of youth
So, what is a poem? It’s a magical blend Of words and feelings from start to end A creation, a masterpiece, a glimpse of the divine A “thing made” that forever will shine
Afterword: “Poem” comes from the Greek poíēma which means a “thing made”. This tribute poem is inspired by my previous work: God’s Poem.
If I were a pumpkin, don’t carve me ugly Dress me up like an angel, make me look lovely With a graceful smile, and a heavenly glow Carve me with beauty, let my radiance show
A halo like a crown ‘round my stem will twine Wings of airy elegance, in moonlight they’ll shine I’ll be a pumpkin transformed, with a scepter like art With twinkling tea lights, I’ll cheer every heart
No ghoulish grimaces, no scary face on me Just a pumpkin turned angel, beauty to see With sweetness and charm, I’ll light up the night A celestial creation, for autumn’s delight
Afterword: I’m not at all a fan of halloween—too creepy and frightening for me. Saw this alternative pumpkin displayed in an office, it resonated so well it inspired this poem!!!
Roosters in their morning race Proclaim the break of day Competing to be the loudest In their crowing display
Birdies join this joyful chorus Chirping to a serene ballet Nature’s melody makers In morning’s light they sway
The wind, a gentle maestro Enters with a soothing cool embrace Filling the room with freshness Embraced in a gentle swirling grace
Grey clouds hold the sun at bay Only for just a moment long But it soon emerged, bright As night gives way to day’s song
“It’s DAWN”, all of nature sings The world awakens in a magical array With nature’s symphony and sunbeams Morning ushers in a brand new day
Afterword: I wrote this piece a few years ago. I was working/living in Northern Nigeria at the time and there was immense unrest and upheaval. Amidst all of that, the joys of nature were all the more appreciated. What a blessing to open your eyes from a night’s rest, to know you’re alive and be able to bask in the joy of nature’s wake up call. Finding GRATITUDE in each moment of LIFE!
She Alone Stands waiting Waiting in vain? Grasping the bouquet Fidgeting with hair strands Hiding tears behind the veil Can it be that he’s not coming? Wedding vows left forever unsaid? She alone stands waiting … waiting in vain?
Lady Edith left at the altar: Downton Abbey at its finest.
This was written in response to Suzanne Brace prompt for W3 Prompt #78 (thanks to David for hosting): to share an emotion in a “Declina Refrain” poem. Thanks to Suzanne for introducing me to this form.
A Dectina Refrain is a poetic form written with your syllables going: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10. Your 10th line is comprised of your first four lines all together as one stand alone line which may/may not be in quotation marks. This was influenced by Downtown Abbey.
You’re a woman of faith, said he Refusing to join the party of “woe is me” Standing at the crossroads of hyphenated identity Straddling the fine line of conjoined affinity The shortest distance connecting divergent words Yet the greatest distance between colliding worlds
Wrestling within with identities, two Pondering which is the true you Is it the half that doubts and frets Filled with sadness and regrets? Is it the other that’s thrilled with hope and wonder Scavenging life’s downs—a fortune hunter?
What comes in the hyphen is the interval Whether left or right it’s a fight for survival Too deep under there’s no indicator light No redirection to the surface, a frightening plight Release air, bubbles of self-assurance forming Follow bubbles—rise always toward surface soaring
Identity is who you are despite the circumstances Who you are is not a game of luck or chances Whether in the good times or in the bad Whether the situation makes you happy or makes you sad You are betwixt and between the hyphenated you Grab ahold of the purpose of what you’re born to do
Child-of-God/child-of-human—interconnected being One you—living duality inward refereeing You—the image of God, a god-given soul Yet you—locked in a body of skin and bone The paradoxical self—looking out through eyes Visions of living hyphenated—the you to harmonize
2023 All Rights Reserved
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In this hemisphere’s exit from summer’s sway Days are growing shorter, skies turning gray Ponder trees, listening to their whispered art To hear wisdom they impart to open hearts
They stand as teachers, ancient and wise With lessons hidden in their varied size In every leaf and branch there is a key To how our own lives really ought to be
Be rooted, like an oak so valiantly strong When storms of life come, hold on for the long With a foundation form, stay deeply bounded Finding strength, be solidly grounded
Be constant, like the fir—timelessly green Be who you are no matter if you’re seen Embrace you, running your own race In the rhyme and rhythm of nature’s space
Be pliable, as the willows weep In storms, their limbs, they gently sweep Adapt, don’t break, in life’s harsh gale Persevere, flexibility will oft prevail
Be photosynthetic, seek the light In darkest hours, shine oh so bright Turn sunlight into strength and growth From every challenge, find your oath
Be poetic, like the cherry’s bloom In every season find your room To share your beauty, life’s sweet song In verses, words, and actions strong
Trees, in autumn’s vibrancy show Their leaves like memories, they will let go A lesson profound, as seasons flow To let the past depart and from it grow
As we embrace the changing view From summer’s green to autumn’s hue Trees reveal the path we all should know To let dead things go and with life, flow
The d’Verse prompt is to use artwork from this webpage and write a poem inspired by the piece selected. I selected this piece because it resonated with the season. It’s based off a previous post of prose entitled “Be like a Tree”—now a poem of the same title!
In the shadows cast by sun’s ray fading Enters shimmering lights on fluttering wings A mystery they reveal, a secret they create In twilight’s dawning they’ll absquatulate
In daylight they rest where wildflowers bloom Come alive under crescent moon’s silvered lighting They vanish like dreams, in silence they glide Away from sunlight’s unfolding, they choose to hide
They glitter and dance into the night’s embrace Like a whisper in this place enchanted Fireflies unspoken tale like the realm of dreams In twilight’s dawning they’ll absquatulate
2023 All Rights Reserved
Joining in Sammi’s word prompt, the word is absquatulate, a poem in exactly 85 words.
It is with heavy hearts that we mourn the passing of Peace, a cherished companion of humanity for countless generations.
Peace, born in the hopes and dreams of every individual, breathed its last breath on a world that yearned for its eternal presence.
Peace was known for its gentle touch, its ability to unite nations, its power to mend broken hearts, its inability to impose. It honored choice. It provided solace in times of turmoil, offering a refuge from the storms of discord. Throughout history, Peace stood as a beacon of hope, guiding us toward a brighter future.
However, in recent years, Peace had been under duress, with conflict and division threatening its very existence. The forces of discord, prejudice, injustice, and inequality cast shadows that dimmed its light, making it increasingly elusive.
Though Peace may no longer grace our world as we once knew it, we must remember that its spirit lives on within us.
It is up to each of us to honor its memory by working tirelessly to resurrect it from the ashes of strife. We must strive to bridge divides; promote understanding, tolerance, acceptance, inclusion; honor diversity, difference, equity; and sow seeds of unity not discord.
In the memory of Peace, let us pledge to be the architects of a world where its presence is not a fleeting dream but a lasting reality. Only through our collective efforts can we ensure that Peace’s legacy endures and thrives in the hearts of future generations.
Rest in peace, Peace, for you shall forever inspire our pursuit of harmony and tranquility.
In the tapestry of life, I hold the pen Scripting my story again and again Responsibility rests on these shoulders of mine To be brave, to be bold, to let my light shine
In chapters of courage I’ll tell my tale With ink of determination writing won’t fail For each page I turn a new story will unfold A journey of strength where my spirit takes hold
I’ll re-script the past for a lesson-based future Transforming the scars into stories I’ll nurture With every word written a new path I chart To share with the world a transparent-true heart
Let me write and re-write with purpose divine In the book of my life, acts and faith intertwine For it’s my responsibility my story to mold To be brave, to be bold, to let the truth be told
Unsteadily she trudged Earthly possessions hauled in tattered, torn bags Hand extended in alms for she’s got hungry babes to feed Beneath the load she stumbled Balancing the weight Clumsily breaking her fall Muttering in whispers she only hears Words to comfort self, assail distress To you she’s just another vagrant But she’s someone else’s mother
Someone awaits the familiarity of her footsteps echoing on the floor Someone awaits the safety only her embracing arms can restore Someone awaits the lullaby only her serene voice can sing Someone awaits the love only her heart will bring Ignored or abused Mistreated or neglected Someone awaits her For she, too, is Someone else’s mother
According to the United Nations: “In a world characterized by an unprecedented level of economic development, technological means and financial resources, that millions of persons are living in extreme poverty is a moral outrage. Poverty is not solely an economic issue, but rather a multidimensional phenomenon that encompasses a lack of both income and the basic capabilities to live in dignity.”
Afterword: traditional Senryu is 3 lines with 5 syllables in the first line, 7 syllables in the second line, and 5 syllables in the last line (5/7/5) for a total of seventeen syllables written in the present tense with no rhyme, metaphors or similes.
2023 All Rights Reserved
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Three years have passed, oh how time flies In the world of words some lows and highs With every post I shared from my heart Connections made from the very start
Through ups and downs, I’ve stayed true Crafting stories and ideas, old and new With dedication and passion shining bright Here’s to my blog’s third year—what a delight
Words will keep flowing as readership grows Looking ahead, may inspiration ink freely flows Cheers to the memories with you I’ve created Many more to come, I’m overjoyed—elated!
Beforeword: One of my musical loves is jazz because of the unique and expressive approach to playing it. To watch jazz evolve—the improvisation, the creation of melodies and solos right there before your eyes and ears. Jazz is a rich, diverse tapestry of music created through jazz players’ deep understanding of musical language. This is an ode to jazz and jazz players.
Jazz players, chromatic sounds they weave No need for rhymes, yet rhythmic notes convey With improvisation musical tapestry they conceive Spontaneous melodies, solos beyond compare
In the heart of jazz, a swingin’ groove resonates Off-beats, syncopation, where rhythm glides A call and response, in conversation embrace Musicians words played across musical terrain
Masters of their craft, techniques combined In bonding notes, vibrato, oh, pure joy Instruments come alive in their skilled hands Nuanced emotion to expand music’s refrain
Phrasing with dynamism, accents oft disguised Subtle pauses, emotions take rhapsodic flight Modes and scales beyond the common ear Harmonic richness keen listening to discern
Dynamics and expression, their tools so vast From whispers to thunder, moments evolve Collaborative spirits, playing cords off each together Listening and responding, creativity being discovered
With a vast repertoire, the old they honor Reinterpreting tunes, stories untold, retold Jazz players unique in music’s grand design Their artistry, a mesmerizing dream come alive
In the shadowed depths of solitude’s embrace Where once your muse set heart ablaze Now stands bereft, a barren, empty space In this void creativity’s but a dimming haze
Who do you write for when the muse is gone Emotions lost, inspiration withdrawn Lines upon lines, like wilted flowers, forlorn No spark of life, no spark to dawn
There’s no story worth telling, no tale to weave No melody’s embrace, no lyrics to believe No rhyme, no rhythm for soul’s reprieve In this silence profound, there’s but grieve
No chord to complement thoughts unstrung No structure to guide, no song to be sung No hook to draw listeners in, among This creative void, passion’s undone
In the stillness recall memories of muse of old Passion once ignited like mythical goddesses bold In muse absence, creativity’s waning hold Search on for inspiration in stories yet untold
Though muse departed as motivating guide In its absence creativity’s not denied New sources of inspiration found far and wide Writing from the intersection where thoughts collide
In 1939 this charming song, “I’m a Little Teapot” was published. Written by Clarence Kelley the song was used to help students master the “Waltz Clog” tap dance routine.
Reviving this post for the WDYS Daily Prompt, which took me down memory lane all the way back to kindergarten and this endearing nursery rhyme:
I’m a little teapot Short and stout Here is my handle (one hand on hip) Here is my spout (other arm out straight)
When I get all steamed up Hear me shout “Tip me over and pour me out!” (lean over toward spout)
I’m a clever teapot, Yes it’s true Here let me show you What I can do I can change my handle And my spout (switch arm positions) Just tip me over and pour me out! (lean over toward spout)
I hope your kindergarten self gets your dancing-and-singing on … mine did!!! 💃🕺🎶🎤
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A baby bird falls from its nest and is caught by its mom with her beak while dad helps by lifting his baby from below. A testament to parents reckless love—risking all for their kids with no regard for their own safety. Photo credit: Facebook
Mother Nature, the basket weaver. This beautiful intricate piece of “accidental” art of dry grass trapped in a wire fence in the aftermath of Storm Arwen on the summit of a hill above Maesteg, Bridgend, Wales. Photo credit
A beach that looks like it’s from another planet. Located in the Vatnajokull National Park, the beach is known for the volcanic yellow brook that runs parallel to the blue ocean, separated by a stretch of rich, black sand. Further up the beach, lush, green fields provide yet another gorgeous color to add to the mix.
Two weeks have passed, my blog did rest For a summer break well-needed, it was the best No posts, no words, no comments seen But now I’m back with my writing machine
I missed the interactions, y’all a blogger’s delight Sharing stories and thoughts be it day or night Summer’s warmth is fading, leaves will soon fall A writer’s inspiration anew, answer the blogging call
The crisp air of autumn, a new season’s start Brings fresh ideas to my creative heart I’ll craft my posts from sceneries about In this colorful season, a muse, no doubt
So here I am, rested, revived, renewed To share thoughts in words in gratitude As fall paints the world with hues awe-inspiring Us creatives, let’s craft words, our stories retelling
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Hope y’all had a good summer. Contributing to Fandango’s One Word Challenge—anew and Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge—fall.
Thoughts meandering through my mind take rest in ink’s solace
At home in this space interactions caroled
A shared bond bloggers make
Ideas alight, free to freely roam
Whether with affirming words, “star-likes”, or emojis
In this realm of thoughts, bloggers connect
Minds unite in digital symphony of affections
A virtual haven where thoughts with thoughts collide
Words, our common thread, escape to create
Art. Interactions on interactions boom!
It’s been eons since WP gave me any updates then this “boom” message dropped in my inbox. So honoring this moment with a THANK YOU poem to all who stop by here.
This blog is a place for the thoughts meandering through my mind to find a place to rest outside my head.
If 1 or 2 or 300 others interact with my written thoughts—great!! If 0 that is also great ‘cause my thoughts have found a landing space and that is my ultimate goal.
The interactions are a bonus and I love ❤️ love and appreciate when fellow bloggers drop in on my blog and say a word or 2 or 300 😊 or like or emoji their way through.
SUMMER comes with such splendor all of creation shows its praise flowers bloom fruits ripen birds sing all things experiencing rebirth all things made anew
’till AUTUMN’s golden red sunshiny yellow crispy brown leaves letting go falling peacefully lying in a final resting place
‘till WINTER’s milky white delicate snow flakes cascading falling covering all in fluffy softness
life is much like nature’s seasons constantly assuredly changing we too must face life’s passing seasons of SPRING-like rebirth AUTUMN-like falling SUMMER-like passion WINTER-like coldness
we too must face the seasons the seasons of the soul
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After-word: Nature is a formidable teacher. One lesson I’ve learnt from the changing of seasons is this: we must embrace new beginnings. Like the contrasting seasons, we too are faced with periods that resemble SPRING-like rebirth, AUTUMN-like falling, SUMMER-like passion and WINTER-like coldness. To grow, we too must face the seasons of the soul and embrace the changes each unfold.
Bankrupted heaven for Love left no regard for His own safety
Safety ignored, for Love risked all proving again
Again and again, ‘cause it’s the Love that never gives up
Up or down, Love chases after, even at the risk of being rejected
Rejected 70-times-7, yet still Love forgives the hundred-and-fiftieth time
Time knows no bounds in Love’s calculation. It’s ridiculously crazy, really
Really crazy—enough to leave the ninety-and-nine to go find the one
One lost. Redeemed to make the hundred complete
Complete in Love of “YOU never I” displayed
Displayed selflessly on a cross where Love
Love was crucified, Love bled, Love died
Died on the off chance to win our hearts
Hearts won back by a Love reckless
Reckless Love
Afterword: To say God’s love is reckless is not that God is dangerously careless but that HE loves in such a way that is unconcerned with the consequences to Himself. His love for us is ridiculously crazy!
Inspired by Cory Asbury’s song of the same title, “Reckless Love”:
Amidst the chaos of life’s relentless race Looking beyond mere appearances to trace Beyond what eyes perceive in fleeting glance To fathom the depths in life’s intricate dance
Externals, mere masks like emotions in flight Shifting and swaying like shadows of night But a doubtless heart, steadfast and true Forever in search to bring love’s essence through
Unchanging it stands like a lighthouse aglow Guiding through storms of tides’ ebb and flow With eyes transfixed, piercing through the haze Sees to the core of love’s light, like rays
Into-me-see deeply, where vulnerability resides Embrace a sacred connection that silently guides Into-me-see the heart of intimacy, true surrender Souls intertwined in love’s embrace, forever
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She’s lights flashing She’s noise reverberating She’s drama unfolding She’s concrete buildings She’s yellow cabs hailing She’s never sleeping She’s New York
NEW YORK 🌃
She’s 5th Avenue Models and agents Fashionistas and designers She’s Broadway Musicians and poets Actors and directors She’s Park Avenue Cathedrals and parks High rises and skyscrapers She’s New York
NEW YORK 🌃
She’s contrasting She’s empowering She’s dream-making She’s mesmerizing She’s fascinating She’s captivating She’s New York
NEW YORK 🌃
She’s a symphony of lights, of dreams, of schemes Where skyscrapers drape the skyline gleams From Times Square’s dazzle to Central Park’s green Brooklyn’s charm to the Bronx’s Boogie Down beat A mosaic of neighborhoods, diverse and sweet Wall Street’s hustle and Harlem’s soul Statue of Liberty with an Empire state of mind Museums, theaters, where arts abound A pulsating heart where passions ignite, worlds converge She’s New York
She’s a mere 146 miles long and about 51 miles wide An island washed by the Caribbean Sea, a standout beauty tide-to-tide
She’s the jewel of the Caribbean, a little piece of paradise Let it be known, her impact on the world far outweighs her tiny size
First the Spanish then the English sought to colonize Her children—resistance fighters—battled for African heritage kept alive
Defiant—likkle but tallawah—refusing to be renamed She bears her indigenous name—Xaymaca—Jamaica, land reclaimed
Among first of the Caribbean isles to dismiss the colonial power Today she stands strong and proud, 61 years freedom tower
From freedom fighter, Nanny of the Maroons to pan-Africanist Marcus Garvey Her people fought always for independence as their inherent right to be
From food to music to athletics and innovations Best rest assured, if it’s irie, it’s got some Jamaican connections
The first tropical country at Winter Olympics with the Cool Runnings bobsled team She’s even the first English-speaking Caribbean country qualifier with her male and female soccer teams
In the world of track and field—this is where she simply “JAminates” Athletic superstars from Merlene Ottey to Usain Bolt—Olympics she dominates
She produces the world’s best coffee for drinking and even for singing Koffee, the only woman and youngest person Grammyawarded—what a Raptureshe is being
She razzle-dazzles taste buds with food, boonoonoonoos good And, finger-licking meat jerked spicy-hot on wood
Her rich musical heritage from mento to dancehall She hails chart toppers from Bob Marley to Millie Small
She will not be outdone in serving rum or giving praises Guinness World Record holder—most bars per square mile right along with the most churches
In the sphere of innovation, there’s much to emphasize She’s influenced nation building in those ten times her “likkle” size
In the Western Hemisphere, she built the first iron bridge and railroad And the AT&T telephone system, from her technology they borrowed
Her flag bears no common color with those in the American flag She speaks a rhythmic dialect, tribute to African heritage she brags
In only 61 years her legacy she stamped everywhere ‘Cause no matter where you roam, the black-green-and-gold will be there
For high privilege and responsibility of independence reigned For nationhood, on this her 61st year, we give thanks for freedom gained
Happy 61st Independence to me likkle-big country—JAH-mek-yah 🇯🇲 Jamaica
2023 All rights reserved Music: Bob Marley and the Wailers
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In a world that shouts “self-sufficient” and “alone” An independent woman’s true colors become known She’s not defined by possessions or a partner’s embrace Rather by being secure, grounded, she’s an emblem of grace
Her heart remains open, not locked off in fear For she knows not all men’s motives are insincere With confidence within, she stands tall She knows whose she is, her identity won’t fall
Grounded in faith, she walks a path of light Living with integrity, choosing what’s right She doesn’t bend to fit the crowd’s trend Her trust is grounded in God, that will never end
A real woman she is, no pretense, no masks she wears Transparent and true, big-hearted love she shares Her joy and purpose emanate from within Not reliant on others for whole-life living to begin
To all the misunderstood independent women, we say, Embrace love, let stereotypes die right away For being independent is not about being boss Not at the expense of the true you being lost
So stand up and standout, unabashed and free Love and lean on a man, if that’s your decree For an independent woman is strong enough to just be To receive love, to give love, and still be a mystery
Busy bee on pink rose fluttering A dance of nature composing Buzz in the air, petals caressing Nectar’s sweet finesse harvesting Amidst blooms, nature’s task unending A symphony of the cycle of life unfolding
Caught this bee in action as I was admiring this new bloom on the rose bush. Photos taken by me 😊
Contributing to Sammi’s Weekend Writing Promptwhere the given word is flutter, and no more than 34 words.
Yearning to be touched Hunger for intimacy Satisfied in your embrace
Gently, lovingly Connected in this moment In love’s surrender, say YES!
Afterword: Today’s R&B-poetry collaboration is inspired by Floetry. Floetry is the true epítome of R&B and poetry colliding as this duo-group started on the performance poetry stage.
A sedōkaisapair of katautas of the 5,7,7 syllabic arrangement. A katauta, a Japanese poetic form that consists of 17 or 19 syllables arranged in three lines of either 5, 7, and 5 or 5, 7, and 7 syllables. The form was used for poems addressed to a lover. A single katauta was considered incomplete or a half-poem.
Daddy God He’s yes and amen Promises He will keep A sure-enough-gonna-God He’s faithful to me
Afterword: this tribute piece to God concludes this week’s thematic focus on the poetic form—Shadorma!!!! Shadorma is a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively.
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Beforeword:A week of poems about single words that each encapsulates the vast beauty of nature and the awesomeness of natural sights would not be complete without AURORA which also means DAWN. Yeah, I meant to do that!!!!! Enjoy …
Aurora’s essence, a celestial embrace of Dawn, a name as ageless as time In early morn, your light arise Kaleidoscopic dyes you splash across skies
Breathtaking sight radiant hues of Dawn, the breaking of day to unveil light A mingling of colors across darkened blue The world awakens—refreshed, renewed
Your presence heralds morning’s birth of Dawn, with each sunrise hearts find hope In your radiant glow, we trace our way Guided by your warmth day after day
As the sun displays it’s rays, Aurora ushers in Dawn, a colorful breaking of the night sky In your name, a forever promise we hold Of endless wonders waiting to be unfold
Aurora—the Sleeping Beauty in fairy tales told Aurora—the Roman goddess of the dawn denote A symbol of hope, dreams in tales, enshrined Deity and beauty, aurora-dawn, forever entwined
Afterword: I hope you enjoyed this week of one-word wonders. Single word expressions that fully capture the beauty of nature and perfectly communicate the awesomeness of natural sights. Like the smell of the earth after rain’s first drops; the peace and tranquility of wind caressing trees; or being captivated by the moon, or darkness or the ocean.
Snow’s serene descent just ended I ventured to my cherished park Eager to witness nature’s art untamed Before others disrupt this fallen-white artistic display
There were no footprints marring the pristine white Nor had the wind disturbed the delicate flakes Still draping branches, in the stillness I reveled Embracing the beauty of the season’s first snow-falling
Branches laden with the fluffiest flakes Like clouds descended on branches, crouched The scene awakens childlike wonderment in my soul A tropical heart finding joy in nature’s contrasting cold clime
Walking in hushed steps, a careful dance of wonder Respecting the grace of this transient chance I’ve encountered To witness the ammil, this snowy treasure A memory now forever etched in time
Oh, the joy that comes from such pure adventure Nature’s brush strokes of serenity and splendor Creating a haven of tranquility a winter land retreat Snow glitter dusting everything, I’m in wonder
I carry in my heart’s core the memory of that day Forevermore a recall of nature’s creative display For in my favorite park, beneath the snow’s cover I found solace, I found beauty, I found ammil’s timeless treasure
Photos I took while on my walk in my favorite park, Winter 1/16/2022 (original post can be seen here)
Jamaica, indigenously named “land of wood and water” Where nature’s beauty gleams and glows Bathed in Caribbean Sea’s warm embrace A paradise where tranquility flows
Lush vegetation adorns the land Caressed by gentle breezes’ touch Amidst the trees, I’d often lay or play Onto childhood’s summer days I clutch
Under the canopy’s verdant embrace Gazing through leaves to the azure sky Lost in daydreams my mind would stray Lulled by psithurism’s soothing sigh
Whispers of wind in towering trees o’er me A symphony of nature’s melodic rhyme The rustling leaves, oh sweet lullaby Calming my spirit, transcending time
Listen—hear psithurism’s gentle murmurings Whispered secrets of life’s hidden lore A serenade in my heart forever captured Indelibly etched in memories’ core
Jamaica, my enchanting island home Where psithurism weaves its gentle spell I long to return to your soothing embrace Where nature’s symphony will forever dwell
Have you ever experienced the delight and tranquility that comes from listening to the raindrops gently tapping against your window? If so, my friend, you might be a pluviophile—a person who finds immense pleasure in the rain and its soothing presence.
In Jamaica’s embrace, my heart recalls Cherished memories, as raindrops fall The first few droplets, on scorching terrain Unleashing petrichor’s earthy-fragrant reign
Hot ground beseeched, quenched by nature’s grace Vapor ascending in a calming embrace That earthy scent kissed by rain’s soft touch A tender whisper, I’ve missed so much
Pitter-patter ricocheting off zinc rooftop Nature’s symphony, a comforting backdrop Childhood’s realm, a world of pure delight Where simplicity and joy took whimsical flight
All worries melt away in this nostalgic space Recalling petrichor weaving her mystical embrace Ahh, exhaling gratitude, a heartfelt sigh For memories cherished, never to deny
Petrichor, a gift from nature’s grand design Where rain and earth unite—oh so divine In Jamaica’s land, those moments held dear Petrichor’s essence forever near
Afterword: In conceptualizing this piece it took me way back into childhood memories—it was a nostalgic joyful creative walk back in time. Hope you enjoyed reading it.
Kim, hostess at dVerse, invites us to choose one of the basic four elements and write a poem. My choice — water (rain) — in this republished piece.
Depths of love Behind gentle curve Unveiling Revealing In the shadow of your smile My heart finds release
Afterword: Shadorma is a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively.
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Afterword: this week’s d’Verse challenge is to choose one word from the list provided to create a poem. I chose petrichor (a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather) and wrote a haiku that anthropomorphized the word (give it human qualities).
There was once a poet—yeah, me Writing limericks from comedic things that be Trivial topics at best The blog did the rest A week of happy limericks for bloggers to see
Afterword: And so concludes the featured poetic form—the limerick. Hope you chuckled a time or two reading these over the last week 😊🤣😊
There was once a dog with a will so strong Determined to prove the teacher wrong The homework he ate Like bone on a plate Leaving Johnny to explain all day long
Teacher: Johnny no fibbing. Johnny: It’s true, the dog did really eat my homework!
There was once a man who grew birds on his head And you thought dandruff was your biggest dread!? Try dealing with poop Whether stand or you stoop Like the man who grew birds on his head
There once was a lovable dog, but quite dopey His cat sister said, “you’ll get through, your coat is soapy!” His head got stuck He’s a sitting duck Now he’s not only dopey, but mopey 😔
PS: I hope you’ve been laughing your way through these limerick poems this week 😜🤪😂🤣
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There once was a horse that lived on a farm Like old McDonald he had quite the charm He painted his lips Puckered up for a kiss But Miss McDonald raised quite the alarm
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Afterword: A limerick is a five-line poem that consists of a single stanza, an AABBA rhyme scheme, and whose subject is a short, pithy tale or description. Most limericks are comedic, some are downright crude, and nearly all are trivial in nature.
There was a man who had a fear That he’d be turned into a chair A man made of wood In a corner he stood Till his wife interrupted, “wake up dear!”
Afterword: I took this photo in the change room of a store in Johannesburg, SA in April. I knew it would spark some measure of creativity — and here it is, a limerick. A limerick is a five-line poem that consists of a single stanza, an AABBA rhyme scheme, and whose subject is a short, pithy tale or description. Most limericks are comedic, some are downright crude, and nearly all are trivial in nature.
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The butterfly is beautiful only because the caterpillar was brave enough to accept painful change.
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A refugee’s journey marked by turmoil and despair Hope away from home, though there must be fear With open hearts, with hands extended wide Build supportive community, stand side by side
Let there not be walls to impede quest for new start Inclusion the motto to guide each heart Champions of justice defenders, support not fight For refugees seeking safety this will be a guiding light
In the face of adversity champion their cause United voices resounding can influence laws Advocate for their stories loudly proclaim Lasting solutions the aim, extinguish prejudice flame
World Refugee Day—a reminder profound That compassion and empathy know no bounds It’s possible in this vast world for refugees to find A haven of safety, warmth and peace of mind
Together we can make a difference, this is true Champion rights, that’s what we’re meant to do Better to build bridges than feed the divide For on this day and every day our humanity abide
Afterword: Each year on 20 June, the United Nations calls on the world to commemorate the strength and courage of people who have been forced to flee their home country to escape conflict or persecution. The 2023 theme of World Refugee Day is “hope away from home.”
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Liberation—the act of setting someone free from slavery, imprisonment, bondage—supersedes the physical. The liberated must have release—freedom from limits in thoughts or behavior. Liberation encompasses the physical, emotional, psychological self to be truly free.
It’s like the prophet-artist Bob Marley sang in “Redemption Song”—“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery. None but ourselves can free our minds”.
In liberation exists threads of courage and dreams. It is a space where boundaries of all types dissolve, and enables the spirit to soar on wings of freedom.
This is what Texas native Opal Lee dreamed of. At 96 years old [in 2023] she fought her entire adult life for this day to be recognized as a federal holiday. June 19, 1865 commemorates Union soldiers arrival in Galveston, Texas, to enforce the Emancipation Proclamation, signed earlier by President Abraham Lincoln, which freed enslaved people.
Renewal in spring Like nature liberated Dreams unbound, take flight
A haibun is a Japanese literary form that combines prose and haiku.
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Before-word: How often do we think about breathing? Maybe never, right? Because it’s such an innate part of who we are, happening independent of us, we don’t really think about it. Especially as we’ve had to wear masks for many months, at the start of this new week I pause to poetically acknowledge breath.
Whimsical, as light as feather
Breath, a gentle breeze Sustains life’s eternal flow Peace in each exhale
Inhale to exhale effortlessly
Inhale life’s sweet air Exhale worries, find solace Breath unites, heals all
Rhythmic in-and-out flow
Beneath starlit sky Breath ebbs and flows, life’s rhythm Vital energy
Sustainer of life
Lungs embrace the air Vital rhythm of existence Breath whispers, “Be alive”
Cannot be voluntarily constrained
Breath dances freely Liberation fills each lung Freedom whispers life
Powerful controller of life and death
You’re life’s beginning A faithful companion Constant to life’s end
Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land will again experience the oppression of one by another.
Nelson Mandela
..with suffragist, freedom fighter Miss Sojourner Truth
Juneteenth is a federal holiday in the United States commemorating the emancipation of enslaved African Americans. Juneteenth marks the anniversary of the announcement of General Order No. 3 by Union Army general Gordon Granger on June 19, 1865, proclaiming freedom for enslaved people in Texas.
In my potted garden, blessed and green Mint added to create space serene Their fragrance dances in the air Adding delight, a whispering flare
With a gentle touch, one sprig I pluck Crushing it lightly, its essence struck My senses, awakened with delight Unfold the magic, sip by sip, tonight
Steeping in hot water, leaves’ flavor unfurl Releasing their essence, a tea-gift like pearl Aromatic tendrils curl and ascend Into my cup tranquility blends
Bit by bit the minty potion I sip My senses held in a heaven-like grip Its cooling touch calming my soul An elixir of peace, my spirit made whole
From garden to teacup, a journey complete Mother Nature’s symphony of flavor sweet Oh humble mint from the earth you spring Flavoring my tea, a simple joy you bring
So with me raise your cups and cheer To the mint from our gardens, ever near A fragrant companion, faithful and true With each sip, moments of bliss will ensue
Mint
Afterword: If you’ve been visiting this space for awhile you know I started a garden under the pandemic. I also wanted to plant a vegetable garden. This year I gave up on waiting on boxes to be installed and resorted to pots. So I finally planted vegetable and herbs, including mint. I had the first fruit my labor with a fragrant cup of mint tea!!The experience is worthy of its own ode.
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Before-word: One of the first pieces I wrote for this blog was “Why I Write”. It speaks about the power of the written word. We shift and grow and though the written words remain as they were first written, they take on different meanings as we look back at them through the lens of our shifting and growing.
This poem came from reflecting on my why for writing. I transformed my initial “Why I Write” essay into a poem—“Writing Is”—combining a quatrain and a senryu.
Writing Is
Writing is the air to creativity’s wondering In the stroke of words imagination go flying Ideas once dormant take their place among the living Expressed in a symphony of thoughts now revealing
Writing is the oxygen to fire’s flaming Fuels the mind, confined thoughts unlocking Thoughts mixed with emotions dancing A delicate step-by-step word-to-word igniting
Writing is the needle point to tapestry creating Starting from just one single word expressing To a collection of words stitched together stories revealing Whether prose or poetry, expressed ideas weaving
Writing is the spark of inspiration stimulating Giving voice to ideas imagination unveiling Whispers soul secrets from the deepest parts revealing Tales that long await words for the unveiling
Writing is the breath to creative spaces filling A sanctum divine imagination transcending The rhythm and rhyme of words unfolding Symphonies’ hearts, once held in words, now singing
Writing is my soul Words alive, flow through my veins Ink spills my essence
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English Literature, Retirement, Loneliness, Memories, Friendship, Aging with Grace, Reflections, Future Planning, Indian Philosophy, Personal Growth, Family Expectations.
Poems & More 