I am sewing a dress
with the thread of strength,
And knots of ambitions,
And when it’s ready,
Then will iron it
with the remission,
I am sewing my broken soul!

By: Nida Mahmoed.

Your "Tree of Life" has many 'leaves'.......
not all are family...and friends

It's that person
   to whom you just said "Hi"....
While walking down the street

It's the driver of the car
   you let back out of that parking space...
and returned a wave as it was driven away

It's the homeless person
    to whom you gave a couple of dollars
without having been asked

It's that elderly person
    you let in front of you
in the check-out line at the grocery

It's those to whom you gave a smile
    those, whose name... you will never know
And may never......see again......

It's those acts of un-selfishness
     that seem to be 'minor' in scope.....
But, not.....to those addressed-

These are the 'leaves'
      that are on your....

'Tree of Life'...

Keep yours"watered", everyday

r. riddle 09-25-2016

I fell in love with you in metaphors. Having never seen you, but reading every word you write.

The way you dangle your participles, naked and raw, yet still soft and round, then casually leave unfinished sentences as if to say, please, finish me as you will

You tempt with your soft parentheses, tightly wrapped around my waist, the words they squeeze rubbing up against the curves

Your similes, a sideways smile, like the cat, canary gone, pull me closer until your delicate punctuation is so warm, so wet, I can feel it pressed against me, you alliterate, such sweet surrender, so sublime, and I succumb

I want you now in rhyme, in verse, in prose, in  sweet haiku

     'where in so few words
you trace the shape of my heart
         and then (somehow) paint its hue'


I fell in love with all your metaphors, the way your sentence structure feels pressed hard against my body, devilishly running on so that I'll follow ,your undulating syllables, your firm round letters, your tight sweet semi-colon, that no common comma could replace.

Finish the music you're playing.
I'll wait.
I'll never get weary
of hearing the melodies
you and your fingers create.

Finish the canvas you're painting.
My heart
fills up with such pride
inside when I see
how much joy you put into your art.

Finish the poem you're writing.
It's time.
I long for a day when
the grey leaves your mind
and you hit on the perfect rhyme.

Finish the book you started.
It's worth
the pain you'll go through
to do what you love
and gift sweet conception with birth.

My coat is black
like the nights
I have long forgotten.

I left heaven
for the taverns.

I did my readings before daybreak
when the moon was far aloft,
but the nights got longer.

I kept putting things off
hoping I would discover a star
I knew was there.

Now I saw logs
and leave the leaves
where they fall.