Freshly brewed coffee,
a much needed cup
waking my senses,
along with the earthy scent
of grass newly cut.

The perfume of lilacs
bring a glorious haze,
inhaling the scent,
along with petrichor
on warm rainy days.

From warm ovens
with a promised rise,
a baker's joy is uplifting
like wheaten clouds
that fill our skies.

While onions sweat
on top of the stove,
patiently tending
as sweet **** scents
slowly fill the home.

Salt-kissed winds
from coastal shores,
as fresh clean air
sweeps through linens,
sun-dried for hours.

Hung on the line
crisp and clean,
surrendering to the breeze
like white flags
to a sky serene.

Blossom confetti
celebrates the day,
as sunshine warms hearts
and Hyacinth perfumes
the month of May.

A warming cup
of cocoa steams,
bringing hopeful sleep,
as every weary breath
becomes a waking dream.

©️Lizzie Bevis

My warm blanket feels so blissful,
the morning sun
offers a cruel betrayal,
I know that reality's
cold fingers will crawl
with monotonous detail.
My soft pillows are so comfy,
and time will slip by anyway,
the world outside
can wait its turn
as I delay waking up today.

©️Lizzie Bevis

No,
not every poem
needs to bloom
with romance
to make a heart grow
full and wise;
There is poetry
found in survival,
in unhappy endings
and goodbyes.
Not every poem
must woo the reader,
or make their yearning soar,
some poems taste
like bitter coffee grounds
and nothing much like love.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Steel my heart
with nimble skill,
and sharpen my mind
with a warrior's will.
Let my courage flow
through my ****** veins,
as storms will come,
but I'll break their reign.
My battle cry will shatter
foes at dawn,
and they will break,
but, I will never bend,
as I fight valiantly
until the end.

©️Lizzie Bevis

We used to exchange
beautiful poetic words,
but quills are now daggers,
intended to wound,
and slice each other through.

I witness comment threads
becoming bloodied battlefields
of hate and degrading spite,
where poets wage war
over who is in the right.

Tearing down metaphors,
crushing the spirit,
slashing at rhymes,
becoming belittling critics,
between the smashed lines.

Welcome to the reality
and the destruction
of our own kind,
which leaves poetry
and its purpose far behind.

Has this become a poet's curse,
waging war on each other
with hurtful words?
Will this finally all end
with the assasination of verse.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Each morning grows a little longer,
with the courage of sleepy animals
waking up from their rest,
as March begins to
rouse nature awake
and everything once dormant
is now about to bloom.

The Snowdrops bow in peaceful prayer
like tiny prophets dressed in white,
offering a blessed hope
of a brighter tomorrow.
We begin to trust in growth,
and in the sure promise
of new buds unfurling
into cheerful green leaves.

Even the rain falls differently,
like a pattering rhythm,
unlike the sodden grey downpour
of a cold day in mourning.
The Sun begins to smile upon puddles
and changes them into
mirrors revealing
the cloudy bluing sky.

The air softens,
and the chill no longer bites
instead, it carries a fresh
breeze of new life
and so many possibilities.
March will bring something
so very beautiful,
and I cannot wait
to feel alive again.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Between steady breaths,
I float away in peaceful sleep
although, I am not quite here
and I am not quite gone.
My slumber becomes a nightly rehearsal
for when the final curtain falls
only without strings attached,
as I flirt with oblivion
and keep my options open.

Each night I ghost the otherworld,
leaving my body wrapped in a duvet
as I run away with my dreams
and return before dawn breaks.
I have become death's friend
as I surrender to the darkness
without agreeing to forever,
as I experience my temporary death
with daily resurrection rights.

We share in the nothingness,
as my consciousness is on pause.
Tonight I'll die again,
and tomorrow I'll return.
It is the perfect arrangement
with death who waits patiently, understanding that I'm not quite ready
for anything so permanent yet.

©️Lizzie Bevis