A candle sputters, releasing the scent
of cinnamon and apples. Inspiration ignites
within the poet’s mind, like a lit flare.

Passion cooks within her, simmering ideas
like stir fry. Joy sparks from her fingertips
as she types. Her digits blaze across
the keyboard in fiery bursts. Her words
flow out of her like wildfire, consuming
the empty page. A pyre of text appears
on the screen. She fiercely feeds the flame.

Poetry and prose emerge like a phoenix
from the ashes. The warm glow of contentment
surrounds her as she admires her work.

The fires of creation are burning through her.

The day they lower me into the dirt,
I want to be remembered by my work.
One day when I am six feet under,
I want my treasures torn asunder.
I won’t need riches, wealth, or money.
After all, it’s kinda funny.
They won’t follow me to hell.
I want to be remembered well.
May my art lead others to glee.
May my work make others free.
After all, what’s the point, if it all ends with me?
Art and creation are for confronting mortality.

Then out the Void,
The Monster springs,
To serve his maker, Man.

Painted on her face
is the longing for something
she can’t even fathom.
Its brushstrokes grace her brows
as a sorrowful cluster
of wrinkles cover her forehead.
Carefully colored eyes
show the depth of underwater trenches.
A palette knife covered her jaw with tightness.
She craves safety, security, and softness.
She was so carefully crafted
by those who deprived her
of tender touches and love.

Where does art come from?
It comes from pain for some.
Others find it in joy or glee.
Some are struck by creativity.
Regardless of its origins,
Art is where humanity begins.
Drawing, writing, even dance.
Any art form is romance,
With the universe and the world.
A timeless tango forever twirled.
It’s the greatest story ever told.
Art is worth more than gold.

Let the world read the words you have written.
Let them sink in like fangs that have bitten.
Into the flesh and into the soul.
Filling the deepest and darkest of holes.
Voids in our minds and caves in our hearts.
Filled to the brim with beautiful art.

Color the sky with cerulean blue.
Know in your heart it will be true.
Paint the clouds titanium white.
Use indigo to pigment the night.
Oh, painter, your palette is as sharp as your knife.
May it guide you towards vibrancy all of your life.

Dear Love

Be my honey darling
We can make solitudes
like candles golden

Sweetly
Come within,
With or without your robe
let our gaze feast
Upon stars and grapes
And Caress
everything that soothes
Within a fine wine vineyard

Reynaldo Casison

The morning glory
Is not only my friend
It is my cool oasis

Reynaldo Casison

First Spring rose
Even the Rain
Blushes naked with moonlight

Reynaldo Casison