Is it really special
If he tells you your hair smells
like freshly picked strawberries?

Does it make you smile
When he compliments the dress
you bought from some vintage store
where they've got hundreds more?

Would you call it love
If you watched the same shows
and could talk endlessly about them
but there was nothing more?

I'd hate to burst your bubble,
but strawberry shampoo is global,
and that dress won't sell out in years,
and those shows will eventually get old.

All the while they were talking the new morality
Her eyes explored me.
And when I rose to go
Her fingers were like the tissue
Of a Japanese paper napkin.

The petals fall in the fountain,
the orange-coloured rose-leaves,
Their ochre clings to the stone.

you did not see me crumblin
                                                    g
under the weight of my thoughts
you did not see the tear slip down,
rolling down my cheek

maybe you did not care.
maybe i'm tired of always being the second choice
maybe i want to feel important and loved and worthy
and maybe you can't do that for me
and maybe that's okay
i've lived my entire life like this,
what's a while more?

thank you for being there during all the good times,
they were few and far in between but
you were there i guess.
you were always there.

just never when i needed you most

Breath deep
You've walked a long road
Fought many battles
Put it all on the line
Gained everything
Subsequently lost it all

Nothing to lose now
Nowhere to turn back to
Regrets are worthless
Look ahead and forget

Sit for a moment and observe
Take in all the beauty around you
You will not be passing this way again

Its time
Sprint towards the mouth of hell and dive in
Look into the devils eyes and don't flinch
Take everything you've got
Hit that ******* in the mouth

Last Of The Season

So trifling –
Going out and berry-picking.
Then at once your eyes pick out
What mind does not.
Fruits few, and you’ve
A doubled effort,
Legs now filled with lactic acid
For the berries are so separate, so far apart
And so far spread that you’ve a stretch
To pick one cluster
And an equal mental strength
To muster.

Berries big but water-filled,
You fill your pail with ease and skill
Glad that you own much ground
And have such land to walk around.
You know that you have filed your last
Holes, hills and hindrances regardless.

Stumbling – but it’s spongy,
Falling – but it’s mossy,
You’ve succeeded,
Your success half-litered and not needed;
You’ve already liters lidded.

Temperature about to drop
Already showing signs of dipping,
Wind is up
And there is no conclusive feeling;
Berries that are season’s last!

You hope you’ll be alive and kicking
Next year when it’s time for picking,
Now that picking time seems past.

Last Of The Season 9.2.2016
Circling Round Nature II; Birth, Death & In Between II;
Arlene Corwin