You fill in the blanks
Add adverbs to happy adjectives
Make days dance with similes of sun beams
And turn nights into metaphors of heaven
Words become songs
That beat to the rhythm of the heart
Muse and art merge
To become one -
And life becomes a verse

When winter came with blankets of mist
A cover of cloud through the day
Skies would stretch in endless grey
No dancing rays of an ochre sun
Then, what comfort and sweet bliss -
Was a cup of tea with cinnamon.

All wrapped in scarf, cap and mitts
Warming hands and toasting toes
Singing rhymes or talking prose
We'd whisper tales that winter spun
Tucked at night in layered quilt -
With a cup of tea with cinnamon.

With happiness, memories sing
Of smiles of youth that teased the cold
Battled wars that could be won -
To gloat in glory when grey and old
Oh, what comfort it still brings -
That cup of tea with cinnamon

Happiness is a bird
Flying in the sky - free
It's the dance of silver snowflakes
It's the cerulean blue of the sea
Happiness is generosity
Kindness, compassion too
It is a warm blanket of love -
Happiness is you.

You make it simple
You make it so so easy
To deprive myself of love
And hate everything about me

You make it minimal
You make it so so easy
To turn off my tears
And to hold it in fiercely

You make it innocent
You make it so so easy
To fall off my rocker
And lose sight of clarity

You make it quick
You make is so so easy
To hurl up my meals
And to punish my body

You make it humorous
You make it so so easy
To cut off every friend
And isolate reality

You make it effortless
You make it so so easy
To doubt everything I say
And to call myself crazy

When things seem easy
You don't tend to ask for help
But you make it a little too easy
To completely destroy myself

Maybe it adds up, the things we wish to ignore
And we see it set in all at once
The worst case scenario happens
and I knew it from the get go
I felt relief rushing in
That I didn't die as it happened
Like I can still breathe in
and find ways to sort the issue
It multiplies, the level of the next thing to come
I cannot believe how much this human
Is made to see in one lifetime
The limits to be taken further
One panic to other, one escalation to another
All it adds up to high blood pressure
And one day I will completely disappear
Without a care and no thought to spare.

I like the sun in winters
On cold cold days
The way it beams sunshine
So warmly my way
I soak in the light
As the day calls
Bright molten gold
That from the sky, falls

I woke up to a sky of grey
a hiding sun, a rainy day
clouds of hail - stormy what nots
rotund, dang and heavy drops

I said to them, be my poem.

Then the clouds of storm cleared
the golden orb appeared
a rainbow spilled color on the grass
the blossoms sang sweetly - unasked

I said to them, be my poem

To the poor man on the street
and the rag picker with bare feet
the cobbler and the fruit seller
the palmist and the fortune teller

I said to them, be my poem

To a new born and then, flesh on a pyre
the wind that whisks ashes from fire
to the fragrance of spring and the frost of cold
the stench of garbage and the scent of rose

I said to them, be my poem

I turned to love, anger and defeat
laughed with humour and cried with grief
traced the many fleeting expressions on a face
fluid movements and those without grace

I said to them, stay and be my poem

Then I paused, I looked within -inside
into my heart and into my mind
so I could meet myself and know
see and hear, feel and grow

So that one day, I too may become a poem

The sky unrolls like parchment
and angels lose their footing
as all the devils of the world
fly free, screaming.

My hair is a tuft of clouds
Who knows
Maybe I could find an angel
Hidden there
Having fallen from the skies

CHEVAL Á BASCULE EN FEU

she keeps
the room
just as it was

as if
Death
had never entered it

still
turns
teiderdown down

still
straightens
sheets

still
plumbs
pillows

brings breakfast
every morning
just like before

but
there is no before
anymore

even
the future
has vanished

one day
it hurts her
this haunting

the room has become
a shrine
and she its priestess

so she decides
to burn the past
escape this trap

the wind
turns the pages
as the books flame

dolls
melt
in the witch hunt

a rocking horse
is on fire
its mane a flame

"Go now!"
she commands
"These are only things!"

she hides
her daughter
in her heart

where nothing
can touch her.
fire reflected in her tears

*

She hunted down all the dolls and they were all burnt at the stake so to speak. Two reactions to grief in the one person...preserve everything...destroy everything.