I say the words
That may or may not help me
I say the names
That may or may not be heard.
I cry the daily tears
That may or may not heal me
And gather up the strength
To face another day of pain
Without a bird outside my window.
         ljm

I have several large, red chillies
Stored away in my freezer,
Awaiting the next time
I chop them up and smash them in my blender -
I will load in brown sugar, caster sugar when I have none,
A squeeze of lemon, or lime,
And then I eviscerate until slender.
Will the frozen chillies transform the taste and texture?
Or will they wilt, weathered and wounded by the dramatic snap,
And make the taste lacklustre?
Or send my tastebuds into an all-out baritone rap!

Someone recently, generously, commented on my poetry:

“Your poems swing from playful snapshots of orange lipstick and coffee grounds to deeper, soul-level stuff like angels, dry bones, and widening circles. That mix is what makes your work feel alive.”

Yes, I write about all things living,
All things happening in my life,
All things I am pondering
All things that are rife —

But, there is one thing about which I don't write…

L O V E

I am not a love poet like the sublime @onlylovepoetry

Love is what my heart longs for the most — yet it's the one thing I can't fix.

I cannot write about the thing I know the least about,
But, I will croon out the longing and the fight!

I want to write a love poem, but perhaps I need to know love first to even qualify…

In my need for control,
I became the monster —