After dropping her child at school
the day was a dream only hers
when she could make her own rule
follow it for all those hours.

She would sit on some house terrace
see the busy steps passing by
trying to gauge from their pace
the errands written in their eyes.

She would watch the life of birds
amused how they labored for a nest
and when falling day drew homeward
folded sunned wings into rest.

Spread her eyes beyond the concrete
above the trees far into the haze
where young kites were taught flying feat
by mothers circling the summer blaze.

Everyday all things were renewed
seasons rolled a movie before her
all that even though already viewed
was never bereft of a sense of wonder.

How her hours flew was not known
days turned to years as a rule
her child in no time was grown
no more she needed to go to school.

When the day was dying
I was back to the market.

The last time I was there
haggled with her over the price.

She wanted to sell high
I wanted to buy low.

You win she said at last
I bought high
but have to sell low.

I knew she was lying.

This time she wasn't there.

Someone said
her man had left for another woman
and she hadn't since been seen.

The deepening evening hung like a dagger of pain.

She was never good at bargain.

she dries her hair in sun
in red frock windborne high
dreaming there's one
one day would pass her by

enwrapping in heat
sun licks her oily skin
flows down her lithe feet
craves one peep deep within

tickles her wind's mischief
its murmurs's caress
titillates her like a leaf
paints a rose on face

with her i can spin
yearns in my core
she's sweet sixteen
i'm two scores more

I don’t want to fall asleep
Cause death is not that far
From the other side of wakefulness

The ship is done.
The sea is bare.
My ocean soul
no longer stares.
The ripples still.
The water stops.
The waves rise no more.
The journey is through.

She comes to me to hold her up.
So beautiful and yet so sad
Her would don’t treat her right
Guys hurt her
Friend they hate her
But me I’m her boat in the ocean I keep her floating
Protect her from the hard waters
She use to hurt her self
Dripping blood in to the was to feed the sharks
Frenzy she is looking for a way out
I save her
Opened minded and fair
Beauty and despaired
Her eyes they cry so much yet they are so bright
She keeps floating and I will all ways save her from the beast under the sea

Is there anything more wonderful
Then being part of the poet’s corner?
Lucky am I to be a poetry lover!
A romance novelist used poetry to ponder
A story that changes and transforms
One’s heart.  Is there anything more wonderful?
Joining a poetry site, I blundered
My way to writing a poem, oh what torture!
But lucky am I to be a poetry lover.
Many offered their support, allowing me to discover
My path and slowly my writing became stronger.
Is there anything more wonderful?
So many inspired awe and wonder,
Giving me strength to claim my own corner,
Justifying my becoming a poetry lover.
To those who offered encouragement so tender
I offer my thanks and give honor.
Is there anything more wonderful
Than becoming a poetry lover?*

Kelly Rose
December 29, 2015