Dinners under the chandelier
Meaningless chatter and happy laughter
The delicious smell of quesadilla
Drifting through the air from the counter

Grandma rocking in a corner
Little ones sparked before her
Marveling at her skill with the needle
Entranced by the music from Grandpa's fiddle

Stories by the moonlight
Folktales by the fireplace
Connecting dots with the starlight
Losing track of time in space

She never knew the word 'pain'
Then she felt the pain of death
Till the betrayal of Cain
Till she craved the high of ****

Now pain is all she knows
Pain in all forms and doses
Be it through bullets and blows
Or even the thorns of roses

She's grown so used to it
It's started to feel normal
She's grown so accustomed
Without it she's incomplete

As she sits near the cliff's edge
She dares to think of happier times
As she uses her foot as a wedge
She remembers the oven clock's chimes

She remembers mama's cookies
Her favourite was chocolate
She remembers papa's banters
And Nana's beliefs in fate

She recounts Grandpa's pipe
His delicious mixed smells of tobacco and old person
That must be where the crave started
Her crave for the high of forgetting

As the nostalgia washes over her
She dares herself to cry
She removes her footed wedge
And begins to fly

As she flies she feels nothing
Only an empty fortress
A fortress filled with echoes
Echoes of happiness

The morning was partly cloudy, misty and golden with the hint of a sunrise in the sky
Rain came in like a quiet friend and left with a suddenness that shocks even the most familiar
And evening rolled across the concrete with the smell of grass fires a couple states away and hazy beauty
The distances shrouded in a fine layer of imagination that makes clouds seem like abandoned structures
Makes the sun seem a little more sleepy than usual and the horizon dusty and ready for the night

Your eyes smoulder with an imagination that is even bolder than I could have dreamed and colder than this toxic air we've been forced to breathe.

You write poetry across your face to form a Gas mask of rythym, blocking out the hate yet sealing in ideas that might frustrate you.

You hear the birds in the trees and you read the articles in every magazine, you take in information like the bees to the Queen.

Your thoughts radiate an aura surrounding your entire body, you bleed history and pop culture facts, you need the written word like an addict needs their cigarette packs.

You're empathetic to your core, you feel what everyone else does so you hide yourself in your mind until you can categorize the emotions from the lies.

I know you can feel the love in your heart even through all the cracks, like a weathered and torn apart roadmap but you're taped together perfectly and even with a few wrong turns you always find your way back to me.

A honeyed voice that makes love
To musical notes, subtly, intricately, tacitly.
On the dance floor she defies gravity albeit adroitly
Moving rhythmically, sampling moves from a treasure trove
Of influences spanning continents and varied cultures.
Atmosphere’s charged, taut with electric tension
The audience’s jaws had long since dropped
At the fast sight of her and it’s interesting to note
That until the routine’s over
They’ll stay put, held in place
By a blend of magical hypnosis
And sheer eclectic energy.
Well one doesn’t need to be an art connoisseur
To appreciate art, can’t help but savor.

A wave’s born on the
Vast waters and it’s gone torn
From water’s surface

An entranced lone bee
Enthusiastically
Serenades flower.

Wind in deference
To the sun whistles softly
Paying staid homage

A trifle many
Things happen beneath our nose
That escapes notice.

Unicorn sprinkles,
Daffodils jam,
A little star's twinkle
And some dragon ham.

Some emerald clovers,
A pint of fairy dust,
A handful of stover
And some canned gust.

Teardrops of a Selkie,
Well shaken, not stirred,
The horseshoe of a kelpie,
Late Iron Age sherds.

Some fizzy witchcraft,
One bottle or two,
And maybe a draught
Of love potion too.