Echoes of the Heart”

Within a man’s heart, myriad plans unfold, While in a woman’s, greatness seeks to hold. The world, like seas, stretches wide and vast, And water’s weight varies with hands’ size cast.

When love blooms deeper than mere mortal ties, A woman’s heart remains forever pure, skies Of divinity glimpsed by the pure in heart, Blessed souls who seek God in every part.

Yet love, a tempest, leads us astray, Toward unattainable shores, where we sway. Filtered photos veil longing smiles and grace, As poets weave emotion into every trace.

Misunderstood tones echo through our verse, A symphony of feelings, for better or worse. Trust wavers—can we surrender once more? Falling, yet fearing we’ll never rise ashore.

So, guard your heart, my friend, with care, For love’s slippery slopes await us there. 🌟

Whispers of Youth

Dusty boxes, like forgotten books, Hold chapters of quantum leaps— My first steps, tiny and determined, Leading to a world of wonders.

Goat’s milk, flavored with Grenada nutmeg, A remedy for cow’s blandness, And lactose intolerance—the secret code Of those simpler days.

Cod liver oil, Sunday mornings’ ritual, Bitter drops to ward off unseen foes, Mumps, measles, whooping cough— Childhood’s battles etched in time.

Curiosity fueled my quest: Pebbles, night crickets, butterflies— Each a treasure, carefully collected, One line at a time.

And that snarky bird, Caged, then set free— Freedom’s squeak of happiness, A lesson etched in feathers.

The kitchen window, a gateway, Its slight squeak echoing freedom. The bird, banana thief turned guardian, A debt repaid in whispers.

Childhood memories preserved, Not just atop that distant hill, But in the flutter of wings, And the quiet moments we cherish.

🌼

Reflections of Love

She approached me, her eyes filled with longing. “Why is it so hard to love me?” she asked. I hesitated, knowing the truth would wound her. “It’s not you,” I replied softly, “it’s them.”

Never promise eternal love to anyone. Nothing lasts forever—not even a poet’s wishes. Thoughts and feelings exist only in the vast expanse of space. My heart retreats into solitude, seeking answers.

I made a pact with him: ten years. In that time, he must see only me, taste only my lips, and make love to only me. Our souls, like enchanted mirrors, reflect each other’s desires. Hope blooms, fragile yet resilient.

Morning blessings—happy or sad—become our ritual. His white attire, the baseball cap—the innocence of youth captured in every glance. Falling in love after seclusion is both exhilarating and terrifying—a roller coaster of emotions.

I see no flaws now, only what my heart craves: his eyes, those high cheekbones. Our souls entwine under the sun’s warmth and the north wind’s chill. Who will bless this union? Who will stand by us when leaves fall, and all fades like forgotten dreams?

For now, let me love him. Let our smiles intertwine. Let our souls make love, defying time and space. 🌟

Echoes of Innocence
Who weeps for the child,
who carried her father’s gun to school?
Was she truly alone in this premeditated tragedy?
Did Sesame Street’s lessons reach her tender heart?
Nothing remains discreet—
love and sorrow intertwine.
A child, advised to be kind,
but who taught her to pull the trigger?
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
reveal the true danger:
Is it the gun, its owner, or the would-be thief?
Insanity, madness, and lunacy dance,
yet the gun itself remains innocent.
People, not guns, wield fatal power.
Who will cry for this child?
The court system?
Perhaps only divine intervention can heal her wounds.

Resilience Unveiled”

To the woman who weeps upon betrayal’s blade, Her heart’s fragile wings, in tempests swayed. Yet within pain’s chisels, a metamorphosis blooms, Mating intelligence refined, wisdom consumes.

She deciphers subtle cues in future mates’ eyes, No longer blinded by love’s sweet disguise. Her heart, a compass, guides through the storm, Detecting low mate value, keeping her warm.

But what of the other woman, entwined? Dancing with deception, love’s twisted bind. Her prize: a man who betrayed with ease, A heart ill at ease, history’s infidelity keys.

Days pass, the all-woman stands tall, Dress discarded, memories small. Her worth, her happiness—her own throne, No charity case, no borrowed zone.

Malice whispers, venomous hiss, She invokes Hanlon’s razor, dismissing the abyss: “Never attribute to malice,” she imparts, “That which is explained by stupidity’s arts.”

Human behavior, folly and wisdom entwine, And silently, one weeps upon life’s knife.

Tainted Blood

They lost me because I loved them enough to let them go, If you love something, set it free; if it returns, it’s yours. Or perhaps they wanted to have their cake and eat it too.

As poets, we often shy away from lines like these, Odium-filled phrases that don’t necessarily mean failure. A failed relationship doesn’t imply personal failure, But rather a problem—either created by us or our partner.

Let’s list the problems:

Lack of capital

Lack of patience

A weak man seeking rescue from a strong woman

And the list goes on, each issue a thorn in the heart. The pain fades after the first heartbreak, Yet trust and love become elusive.

I knew I would lose them—the scent of tainted blood wafted from their pores as they drew near. So, I stopped the kisses, the intimacy, and then came the unwarranted jealousy, the emotional hurt of rejection.

We see them for what they are, and sometimes, that’s enough to set us free.

Grief Unmeasured

I measure every grief I meet—
knowingly, they’re all related to me.
Some smaller, some larger,
but all carry weight.

Yesterday, a friend’s text arrived:
“Her daughter was shot in the head.”
The words formed a puzzle I needed to unravel:
What, why, where?
I kept asking.

Death came too soon for this young woman.
My thoughts turned to my own children—
why must mothers bury their offspring?
Black-on-black violence, a painful reality.

I reached out to my friend,
but she refused my texts and calls.
Understandable—the shock is overwhelming.

Will pain ever grow old?
Will humanity cease its violence?
Or will weapons persist indefinitely?

Why does existence hurt so much these days?
Will we run out of comforting words?

This morning’s headlines were grim:
“A young mother abandons her newborn.”
Heartless? Perhaps not.
Fear for the child’s life drove her actions.

What future awaits that abandoned soul?
What trials lie ahead?

Emily Dickinson once wrote:
“The meaning of life is just to be alive.
It is so plain and so obvious and so simple.
And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic
as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.”

In passing, we find solace—
a piercing comfort on our journey through Calvary.