Why is poetry so easy to write
when you're really really sad?
Boy when the tears they come again
my muse he will be glad,

Becuz today I'm not that way at all,
well I'm feeling only happy,
so the muse he's gone elusive still,
an my writing rather sappy,

But I will write again I'm sure,
still I pray he let me be,
I want to be a poet true,
though one who's heart is free.
.

Ma Cherie © 2017

Between day and night, choose fight or flight, hide out of sight, shield from the light.

Cocooned in our beds, words trapped in our heads, a poets mind is forming, ideas begin their swarming.

Not conforming
              Lines deforming
                        Minds contorting
                                       Rhymes consorting.

Each night I die a little more,
Each day I wake alone as b4.

Here comes my lycan
His paws as if scuplted for my cheeks
His blue eyes boring into me
His snout as calm as a stream
His howl always heard by the moon.

Here comes my mermaid
Her scales shimmering in the sun
Her hair envied by many
Her webbed fingers aligning with mine
Her voice as soothing as the sea.

Here comes my sphinx
Her golden feathers lifted gracefully
The mother of all knowledge
Bound to be consumed by her own flames
Yet, a century she breathes.

Here comes my centuar
His other half as strong as Zeus' bolt
His human half appeals to my eyes
The four footed fellow
A creation of gods.

Here comes me
Made in the image
of the creator I feel but can't see
Admiring the mythicals I never beheld,
Only left with the tell-tales of Greece.

How heart-wrenching the four-letter word can subject one to.
Surpasses all emotion and is the creator of the good and bad.
You taught me.
I learnt but you faltered.
Stuck with his image when in another's arms.
The feeling keeps gnawing.
Heartache grows and I just can't adapt.
Caught between happiness and conscience.
But the former surpasses the latter.
To suppress I have tried.
Till I know not my self anymore.
Don't make me choose.
One or two?
You always triumphed.
What LOVE could do!
With time, perhaps
The memory should fade
But only a comforting lie to myself.

Saying too much is regretful.
Saying too little is poignant.
But what is it when you feel
you've  done both at the same time?
There are words left on my tongue,
shards of sentences I'll never utter
shards that I had to swallow.
They cut deep into my flesh
and my insides turned into
a patchwork of glass, scars and blood.
And yet my mouth is dry,
tired of everything I let slip through my lips
when it should've never seen the light of day
or reached your ears
or reached your heart.
I keep thinking I should've known.
But I shouldn't have.
My mind would've gone mad
had I not released it
of some of its burden.
My heart would've dried out
had I not let
a few drops of your ocean
seep through.

My archive comes to me
Memories of my path of acts
I twigged you vividly in absentia 
Glazing your file ribboned with golds
It's more years and six
We bade to say adieu

Oh love! Sweet love
When again shall I feel you skin
Is it still skinny fresh as your youth 
With the micro-pores  breathing fresh air?

Oh! Sweet Love, my pearl 
Do that pink lips exist fresh? 
Little blustery, many zypher
The words that therein, I recall
Behind, queued a glowing teeth 
Like bullet set in arsenal belly.

How many times has your tongue 
Licked my coy blushes? 
Oh! That damning eyes,
The mirror I see my face
How many winks of your beauty, 
As recorded to me smiles?
Your touches rose my hairs.

My dearest, I have given you my love
I have seen many cute faces
But none is rated than yours. 
Have you ever felt same as I 
Ploughing on our days
Moments we rollick our love
Which profers like an everyday neon God be with us till we meet again.